nebris: (Mirror Spock)
2020-08-04 03:37 pm

Novel Newz

~Now that The Sisterhood has been placed on the back burner by La Rona, I have needed something else to preserve what little sanity I still manage cling to. That has emerged in the form a science fiction novel titled "The Refugees". Here's a draft 'book jacket blurb':

It is 1978 and a small group of alien refugees flee from an ever expanding galactic war between a ruthless alliance of several spacefaring races and an ancient relentless enemy. They arrive on earth very publicly and offer us advanced technology in exchange for our assistance in fighting both The Great Alliance and The Enemy.

The genre breakdown is Alternative History/Space Opera/Military Sci-Fi/Alien Space Bats/America Uber Alles, the latter in that the aliens pick the United States to be their primary human allies for all the obvious military, economic and technological reasons. [It IS 1978 after all...and the president is a nuclear scientist]

As prosaic as that sounds, those who have read my other sci-fi know that I'm definitely going to go to some deep and freaky places with this thing. I will not be posting any previews unfortunately, so y'all will just have to wait for the first volume [it's a trilogy], however many years that takes.


some of 'my other sci-fi': https://365tomorrows.com/?s=michael+varian+daly
nebris: (Mirror Spock)
2019-06-22 09:58 pm

Trek Dreams

Originally posted Apr. 5th, 2010 at 7:28 AM

Be warned that what follows is full on Star Trek geekery...

~I started seriously working on a Trek script back in 1992. It was largely an exercise in hope, hope that if I had some success as a 'film maker', I'd be able to get into The Franchise and make a pitch. Needless to say, as each Star Trek movie and episodic TV show appeared, the concept would mutate.

My brother worked on two Trek movies and had an amicable working relationship with Jonathan Frakes for while, so I hoped I could use that as a way in. [no details on that, but he was 'up the food chain']

The text below is what I called 'more than a treatment, but less than a script'. My strategy was to get it to Frakes, let him take principal credit for a more polished product, and then have him take it to Nimoy.

The plot is built around Spock, it resolves the Romulan Question, cleans up Kirk's death, and lets Spock 'get the girl'. It also sets up the framework for two more Star Trek TV episodics, one set in the Mirror Universe centered around a Starfleet task force commanded by Seven of Nine, and the other a Klingon migration to the Delta Quadrant.

The extra hook for Nimoy was the villain, Tambelmak. I wrote the character specifically for John de Lancie, who played the redoubtable Q, and who is a close friend of Nimoy's. [they do audio books together] All this was cooking just after ST: IX, [which was actually the abysmal Nemesis] so I called it Star Trek X: Apocalypse.

I did a tremendous amount of work on all of this, lots of back story, notes, etc, even for the two episodics. And I hoped an awful lot...

Of course, all this – like so much in Hollywood – came to naught. That I would need to go through my brother made the whole thing impossible; he is part of the family system and well, let us just skip all that.

Anyway, the 'new' Trek has totally put paid the entire concept. [I truly hate the 'new Trek] That I'm posting this is an admission that these hoped for projects shall never be...

Treatment Title: STAR TREK X: APOCALYPSE
Author: Michael Varian Daly
Type: Feature Length Motion Picture

In 2367, near WOLF 359, the S'ROBAAL, a Romulan long range scout ship, lurks cloaked, monitoring Starfleet vessels as they gather to fight the Borg. On the S'Robaal's cramped bridge is TAMBELMAK, the Science & Medical Officer, charming, handsome, sinister: A Romulan 'Hannibal Lector'.

The S'Robaal detects the battle at Wolf 359, proceeds cautiously, discovers the wrecked starships. Then its instruments jump: The Borg Cube self-destructing. The S'Robaal rushes to that location, quickly picks up significant pieces of Borg wreckage, including an apparently deactivated DRONE, then runs as Starfleet vessels begin to gather.

In the S'Robaal's sick bay, Tambelmak examines the drone, which suddenly activates and tries to assimilate him. Tambelmak kills the drone, but the Borg nanites are in his system.

In his cabin, Tambelmak struggles: Moans, sweats, thrashes about. A disembodied voice repeats: "We are the Borg. We are the Borg." Borg implants appear on his body, but by sheer force of will, he makes them retract. Then, all is still. Tambelmak sits up, his EYES TOTALLY BLACK with FLASHES OF GREEN LIGHTNING. "No, we are not the Borg. We are... (smiles) ... something else."

Tambelmak walks along a narrow ship's corridor, comes to the Captain's Quarters, requests entry. Captain(o.s.): "What do you want?" Tambelmak: "It is a matter of some urgency." The door opens. Tambelmak enters. The door closes. After a beat, SOUND OF HORRIBLE SCREAMING.

Back on Romulus, at the ROMULAN ADMIRALTY, Tambelmak and the S'Robaal's TWO YOUNGEST CREW MEMBERS (1 MALE, 1 FEMALE) report on "a fierce battle with a Borg boarding party."They are the only survivors. The admiralty commends their bravery, dismisses them. Outside the Admiralty building, Tambelmak tells the others: "You know what to do." They smile, their 'eyes black with green lightning.'

At night, in a seedy section of the Romulan Capital, Tambelmak in a hooded cloak, roams the streets, enters a tavern: a 'thieves den.' A PAIR OF NASTY LOOKING TYPES check him out. He pretends not to notice, goes out the back, they follow. SOUND OF STRUGGLE. Sometime later, Tambelmak emerges with the Nasty Types in tow, their 'eyes black with green lightning.'

Jump to 2380: The USS HALE, an old Miranda class vessel, with an AGED CAPTAIN, a very YOUNG CREW, and several of FRESH FACED ENSIGNS as passengers, who are being dropped off at Communication Relay Stations. The Hale takes a GAWKY ENSIGN to an off-line, out-of-the-way RELAY STATION, leaves him there alone.

Once on board the Station, Gawky Ensign turns serious, rapidly modifies several systems, then waits. Time passes. A KLINGON BIRD OF PREY, B'rel class, decloaks nearby, beams the waiting Gawky Ensign off the Station. The Bird of Prey recloaks.

On the Bird of Prey, Gawky Ensign is greeted by ARDRA, who introduces herself as "Commander Sha'ara Garis, Starfleet Intelligence." She and her crew wear 'Maquis style' clothes with Starfleet Com Badges and Provisional Rank Devices. Gawky Ensign's 'bioform' mask splits open, revealing DATA. Though surprised, Garis seems genuinely pleased to see him, welcomes him on board the USS DZERZHINSKY. Data tells her to move off from the Station. She does this, he works a PADD, the Station explodes.

As the Dzerzhinsky proceeds to a distant point on the Romulan-Klingon border, Garis explains to Data(who wears Captain's Rank) that she was recruited by SF Intel after her arrest at Ventax II. "My talents were too valuable to waste. So, now I get to commit crimes legally."

Upon arriving at the far end of the Romulan-Klingon border they encounter a KLINGON PATROL SHIP (B'rel class) on its station. Garis assumes a 'Klingon visage', claims to be its relief. (in Klingonii /with subtitles) The captain, a GRIZZLED OLD KLINGON, grumbles "You're a week late." Garis: "Everything is going to Gre'thor because of the Federation Treaty." Old Klingon: "I still can't believe the Empire is becoming part of the Federation. My ancestors will ban me from SToVoKor!" Garis: "We have no choice. The Cardassians have already joined." Old Klingon: "But they lost the war!" Garis: "And if we don't join, we will lose the peace." Old Klingon growls, then laughs: "Well, then, pray for war." Garis laughs: "Yes, pray for war." They sign off, the Patrol ship departs. Data: "I believe that his prayer will soon be answered." He shuts up. The Dzerzhinsky waits.

In the Romulan Imperial Summer Palace, a beautiful structure amid lush gardens, Tambelmak has a magnificent office. He sits at an imposing desk. Holograms flicker in rapid succession above the desk top. He responds to each one with short unintelligible utterances. SOUND OF DOOR CHIME. He stops the holos: "Enter." A ROMULAN SECURITY OFFICER enters; “The subject has escaped.” Tambelmak smiles: "Good. (wistful) I shall miss him. (focuses) Tell the Crown Prince the Regency is at hand." The Officer exits. Tambelmak takes a delicate flower from a small elegant vase, admires it, sniffs it, then eats it.

On the Dzerzhinsky's bridge, Data, Garis, et. al. play poker at a Com station. Data is winning. SOUND OF 'CONTACT ALERT'. A ROMULAN WARBIRD has decloaked a few million kilometers distant, begins firing at an unseen target, hits 'something'. A ROMULAN SHUTTLE CRAFT loses its cloaking, races toward the Dzerzhinsky, the Warbird closing in.

The Dzerzhinsky goes to 'Red Alert'. Garis assumes her 'Klingon visage', warns the Warbird: "You are violating Klingon space." She is ignored. Scanning reveals the Shuttle has two occupants, is in trouble. The Dzerzhinsky tries to get a transporter lock on the Shuttle crew, starts firing at the Warbird, which fires back.

Suddenly, the Warbird takes a bad hit from an unseen source, loses shields, but still attacks the Shuttle, which is badly damaged. The Warbird is being fired upon by a CLOAKED BIRD OF PREY, as well as by the Dzerzhinsky, which now has a transporter lock, begins beaming as the Shuttle breaks up. The Other Bird of Prey decloaks, they both blast the Warbird to pieces.

On board the Dzerzhinsky, Data and a SECURITY TEAM wait at the transporter pad, weapons ready, as the transport completes to reveal SPOCK AND SELA. Data apologizes as he scans them with a formidable device whose blue/white rays envelope Spock and Sela. Data smiles: "It is good to see you again, Ambassador." Spock: "Thank you. And congratulations on your promotion." Garis: "Well, that was a close run thing." Spock: "Possibly not. Captain Data, if you would please assist me.”

Data follows Spock to the Science Station. Garis: “Is he always like that?” Sela smirks: “He has a legend to maintain. (smiles at Garis) I'm Commander Sela, late of the Tal Shiar. That is an interesting weapon your ah..sister ship used.” Garis: "Yes, that's the USS Yagoda and its main armament is an improved version of the Breen energy dampening weapon modified to be operable from a cloaked vessel.” Sela looks amazed. Garis: “Surprised I told you that?” Sela: “Somewhat. But more surprised that Starfleet has such a vessel.” Garis (grinning): “Starfleet is full of such surprises these days.”

SOUND of HALING COM. The viewscreen activates revealing a FERENGI in an outfit much like the Dzerzhinsky's crew. Ferengi: “Is everything in order?” Garis: “Yes, Blaad, the package is on board. Stand by.” In the B/G Data exclaims: “Fascinating!”

Spock now explains that in scanning the Warbird's wreckage they determined that is was greatly under crewed, “less than third standard compliment,” the DNA traces were mostly Mintakan, a primitive proto-Vulcan race, and the Romulan DNA all had cloning signatures. Spock: “We were allowed to escape.”

Garis is unphased: “My assignment is to deliver the Ambassador safely to Starfleet.” Data: “We are to proceed directly to Star Base Kavis Alpha." Sela smiles: "Ahhh. Starbase Zero." Data: "Starbase Zero?" Sela: "We had noticed a lot of Starfleet personnel and resources going in the general direction of the Kavis Alpha Sector, but were almost completely unable to discover what Starfleet was doing, so we nicknamed it Starbase Zero." Data smiles: "Starbase Zero. It has a nice ring to it."

Sela: "How long to get there?" Data: "Three days maximum warp." Sela looks around at the Dzerzhinsky with distaste. Garis laughs: "Not to worry, Commander. Do you really think Starfleet would entrust its greatest living legend to this old bucket of bolts?" She taps her Com Badge: "Garis to Riker. Queen to Queen's level three." Riker (o.s./Com): "Riker to Garis. Queen to King's Level one." Garis: "Dzerzhinsky acknowledges. Mission complete."

Suddenly, all around the Dzerzhinsky and the Yagoda an ENTIRE FLOTILLA OF STARSHIPS decloak, generally recognizable as Starfleet vessels, but of new and formidable design: dark-hulled, aggressive lines, bristling with weapons, varying in type from the USS SONAK, a MASSIVE STARSHIP with large landing ports, that is triple the size of a Galaxy Class cruiser, though SEVERAL STARSHIPS, Nebula-, Intrepid-, and Miranda-sized to approximately THREE DOZEN 'DEFIANT-LIKE' FIGHTERS, Runabout- and Shuttlecraft-sized.

Sela is stunned. Spock is quiet. Garis: "That is your ride home. (to Conn Officer) Take us into Landing Port A." The Dzerzhinsky slowly maneuvers into the huge landing port. Spock is very pensive. Data: "A credit for your thoughts, Ambassador." Spock: "These are all purpose built warships." Data: "Much has changed in the last decade." Spock: "These vessels bespeak fear." Data: "One person's fear is another's prudence." Spock raises an eyebrow: "Tell me, Captain, are you becoming a politician or a philosopher?" Data: "That has not yet been determined." Spock grunts softly. They watched the Dzerzhinsky pass through a containment field and enter the vast landing bay, which bustles with activity. The Dzerzhinsky floats deep inside, followed by the Yagoda. Both land, shut down their engines.

Something beams onto the bridge, materializing in mid-air. It looks like a miniature starship (the size and shape of an auto transmission). A holographic head (looks a lot like Data) appears above the 'little starship', addresses Data: "Greetings, Grandfather. I am Lt. Commander Montgomery Seven One Five Two Eight Six, Chief Liaison of the Soong Embassy on board the USS Sonak. Your presence honors us." Data: "Greetings, Lt. Commander Montgomery Seven One Five Two Eight Six. The honor is mine." Montgomery: "Grandfather, please come with me." Data (to Spock): "I will see you on board." They beam out.

Sela: "What was that thing?" Garis: "A Soong. It's a long story which you'll learn soon enough. (indicates transporter pad) But, now you must meet with Admiral Riker." Spock and Sela beam out. Garis sighs, hits a Com switch. A CARDASSIAN STARFLEET LIEUTENANT appears on the viewscreen. He wears a new Starfleet uniform: jet black, form-fitting, with Service Color piping, unit shoulder patches, and a large oval Com Badge. He is also wearing a Bajoran D'jarra earring.

Garis smiles: "Ah, my dear Lieutenant Pralok." Pralok smiles: "How may I help you, Commander?" Garis: "My ships need deuterium, replicator mass, and photon torpedoes. And please expedite. I wish to get off this giant target as soon as possible." Pralok: "I understand completely."

In the Sonak's sickbay, Spock and Sela complete transport. Waiting for them are REAR ADMIRAL (2 pips) WILLIAM RIKER, COMMANDER DIANNA TROI, and a FEMALE KLINGON (hair in ponytail). All wear the new Starfleet uniform. The Klingon's Rank Device is an old (2280's) Commander's Device. Riker taps his Com Badge: "Riker to bridge. Get underway, maximum warp."

In space, the Starfleet vessels begin to come about and start recloaking. In their wake, the Warbird's shattered wreckage tumbles through space. A CYLINDRICAL 'PIECE OF WRECKAGE' stops tumbling, orients itself in the same direction as the Starfleet vessels, accelerates, cloaking as it goes.

In the Sonak's sickbay, Riker introduces Troi a s his 'ACD' and the Female Klingon as "Lt. Colonel Greska, Starfleet Marines, and the Sonak's Chief of Security." Riker apologizes for the containment field that isolates Spock and Sela, then summons the EMH to examine them for cerebral implants.

Troi whispers to Riker: "The Ambassador is blocking me, but I did get a flash of intense mistrust and suspicion. Sela, however, is in great physical pain." At this point, the EMH announces that, though neither has implants, Sela has severe internal injuries and confines her, over her protests, to sickbay.

Riker excuses himself, departs with Troi in tow. Greska escorts Spock. As they exit the sickbay, Greska dismisses the TWO FEMALE KLINGON SF MARINES IN BATTLE ARMOR guarding the door. (As they talk, Spock & Greska walk down a corridor, take a turbolift, etc.) Spock: "Last time I heard, there was only one Klingon in Starfleet." Greska: "Things have changed, Your Excellency. Klingons.. (smiles fiercely) ..Female Klingons make up the majority of the Fleet Marine Force."

Spock ponders this: "Fleet Marine Force." Greska: "The Starfleet Marine Corps is a new service, an amalgamation and expansion of several older branches." Spock: "And what of Starfleet's original mission?" Greska: "The primary components of Starfleet are still scientific and exploratory." Spock: "The primary components?" Greska: "We, the Marines, and these vessels.." Spock: "Purpose built warships." Greska:"Yes, these warships are, in a way, separate from Starfleet, t though still directed by Starfleet Command and the Federation Council."

They arrive at a door marked FITTING ROOM and enter. It contains a replicator and several 'alcoves'. Greska: "Computer. Provide Ambassador Spock with a basic Type Three Service Uniform." The uniform materializes in the replicator. Greska: "If Your Excellency would please change?" Spock regards the uniform askance.

Spock wears the plain black uniform, looks at it in a mirror, seems pleased. Greska smiles: "It suits you, Your Excellency. Computer. Provide Ambassador Spock with a Type Nine Com Badge." Computer: "Voice ID and pass code required." Spock (in Vulcan/subtitles): "Spock, son of Sarek. The fragrant flowers of Omicron Ceti III." An oval Com Badge materializes.

Computer: "Spock, son of Sarek, acknowledged. Please note, your security clearance has been downgraded to Level Five." Greska looks unhappy: "Admiral Riker can override that in an emergency." Spock: "Thank you for your concern, Colonel, but I take no offense at this precaution. I have been on an unauthorized mission in essentially hostile territory for nearly twelve years. All things considered, Level Five is fairly generous."

Greska nods: "Yes, Your Excellency. Now, we must do one more thing. (indicates an alcove) Please stand in there." Spock does so, is scanned up and down. Greska: "On board the Hunter series vessels, the crew wears 'shipsuits' during Red Alert." Spock: "And the Sonak is a Hunter series vessel?" Greska: "Yes, the largest. A Yorktown class Heavy Fleet Carrier, massing thirty-six point eight million metric tons." Spock is amazed: "This vessel must be extremely dense." Greska: "The Command and Battle hulls are protoneutronium shells with an average thickness of four meters." Spock: "And how does one case a hull like that?" Greska: "Not cast. Replicated. And I've already exceeded your clearance saying that." Spock: "Understood, Colonel. Please proceed." Greska: "Please stand like this." She stands with legs apart and arms angled away from her body. Spock follows suit. Greska: "Computer. Simulate Red Alert."

SOUND OF KLAXTON. RED ANNUNCIATOR LIGHTS FLASH. Greska: "Please say 'Spock ready'." Spock: "Spock ready." Suddenly, a 'transporter haze' shimmers all around him, coalescing into an ARMORED ENVIRONMENTAL SUIT. Greska: "Computer. End simulation." Quiet returns. Spock examines his suit: "This is quite impressive." Greska: “It's keyed off of your Com Badge. During Red Alert the hookup is automatic. At all other times, you access the computer with your Com Badge and ask for a Mark Fourteen Shipsuit. The Mark Fourteen is EVA capable, has flexible armor.. (pulls phaser, points at him) .. and integral shielding." She fires. The beam deflects off the suit's shields. She smiles: "Any questions?" Spock (deadpan): "How do I get out of this thing?" Greska: "Tap your Com Badge and say 'Computer. Retrieve Suit." He does this. The suit 'beams out'.

They walk down a corridor in silence. They pass TWO CARDASSIAN STARFLEET OFFICERS, both wearing Bajoran D'jarra earrings. Greska notices Spock glancing at them. Greska: "The earrings?" Spock: "Yes." Greska: "The Dominion War devastated Cardassia. Rugal, a Cardasssian Prylar raised on Bajor, says the war was punishment for Cardassia's crimes against Bajor. He is soon to be elevated to the Vedek Assembly, which would have been an utterly unthinkable event just five years ago. Plus, he is the son of Kotran Pa'dar, Cardassia's First Minister. So now, many Cardassians, especially those serving in Starfleet, follow the Way of the Prophets, most of them out of genuinely spiritual motives." Spock: "You sound as though you admire them for that."

Greska: "Khichan, my own spiritual master, had an experience of the Prophets when he traveled through the Bajoran Wormhole. They inspired him to write The Khidaak." Spock: "I am not familiar with that work." Greska: "It's only a few years old, but it has already had a profound effect on many Klingons, and on the Empire as a while. Khidaak can be translated as The Way of Ways, The Way of Quiet Listening or, most commonly, The Way of The Ponytail." Spock: "I had noticed your ponytail holder." Greska: "It bears a quote from the Khidaak. It says.." Spock (in Klingonii/with subtitles): "Be a blade, not a hammer." Greska is impressed.

They stop before cabin door. Greska: "Your quarter, Your Excellency. They are small by Starfleet standards." Spock: "But decadent by Klingon standards." Greska chuckles: "Exactly so." Spock: "A personal question, Colonel?" Greska nods. Spock: "What did you do, before you joined Starfleet?" Greska: "I was a music teacher." Spock's eyebrow goes up. Greska grins: "Klingon opera." Spock nods approval: "I've heard that prepares one for anything."

Greska laughs. Then, she turns serious: "My grandfather was at the trial of Captain Kirk. Even though he hated him, he said he seemed an honorable man." Spock (soft): "Yes, he was. And a loyal friend." Greska: "There is no better epitaph. (pauses) My father and my older brother died in the Dominion War. If the opportunity arises, Your Excellency, I would be honored to serve in your command." Spock: "Thank you, Colonel. I will remember that." Greska nods abruptly, exits.

Spock sits in his cabin. It is similar in layout to his old quarters on the Enterprise-A. He sorts through a stack of PADDs on the desk, next to a 3-D chess set, picks one titled "Freedom And the Stars; A Memoir of the Dominion war, by Admiral William Ross/with a Forward by Elim Garak." He begins to read.

ADMIRAL ROSS appears in a 'pool of light' as his V.O. FADES IN: "...Having risen to Flag Rank during two decades of great peril for the Federation: the Cardassian Wars, the Borg incursion, the re-emergence of the Romulans, the Klingon Civil War, Gowron's abrogation of the Khitomer Accords, his invasion of Cardassia, the wrenching holocaust of the Dominion War, one might think me hardened and cynical. In some ways, I am. I bear wounds inside that will never heal. I number myself among the so-called Zealots, those who demand battle fleets and greater militarization of Starfleet. However, I also know the dangers inherent in such a course, that defenders do tend to become warlords. We may win all our wars, but we must always guard against losing the peace."

Spock toys listlessly with the 3-D chess set. Spock: "Computer. Play Vattratec's Twenty Seventh Symphony." SOUND OF 'MOURNFUL' MUSIC. He closes his eyes. SOUND OF MUSIC GROWS DISTANT.

Suddenly, Spock is on a crowded, noisy street in a poor market district of the Romulan Capital. He wears a hooded cloak, listens for something. DISTANT SOUND OF MUSIC. He follows the SOUND. It is coming from a Romulan 'coffee house'.

As he enters, the COUNTERMAN greets him cheerfully. Spock inquires about the music. The Counterman says it is the owner's music. The 'owner' appears at Spock's elbow. It's Tambelmak: "Sir, you are an aficionado of Vulcan music?" Spock: "It evokes a feeling of beauty through a non-intellectual form of flawless logic." Tambelmak: "Well, my word, isn't that something of a contradiction?" Spock: "The true sign of a first-rate mind is being able to hold two opposing ideas simultaneously."

Tambelmak laughs airily: "Come, my friend. Sit down and let me buy you a drink. I am Tambelmak, and this place. (vaguely indicates surroundings) ..is my hobby." Spock: "I am .." Tambelmak: "Oh, come now, Ambassador. Everyone knows who you are." Spock carefully looks around. Tambelmak: "Not to worry. No Tal Shiar. No Municipal Security. Not here. I'm a duke, fifth cousin to the Emperor, and a military hero, to boot. Who else could get away with blasting Vattratec halfway across the city? Tell you what. You call me Your Grace, and I'll call you Your Excellency. (grins) Agreed?" Spock regards him steadily: "What do you wish of me.. Your Grace?"

Tambelmak sighs: "Relief from boredom. You see, Your Excellency, you are a special problem. Can't be arrested, not without starting a war. Can't be ejected, not without destroying the myth of reunification. (laughs) You keep the government on pins and needles just by being ... you. And being here. That amuses me." Spock relaxes: "Very well. Your Grace may buy me that drink." Tambelmak seems pleased: "Good, good. (to Counterman) Kal, bring us a pot of the house brew. (to Spock) It's Padoran tea, spiked liberally with Saurian brandy."

SOUND OF MUSIC BECOMES DISTORTED. Tambelmak places a 3-D chess set on the table. The CHESS PIECES seem alive. Tambelmak ('eyes black with green lightning'): "Care to play a game?" The Counterman brings a tray to the table, his 'eyes black with green lightning'. He pours the tea, but MECHANICAL TENTACLES come out of the spout, slithering around the 'living' Chess Pieces, one of which is a ROMULAN TEENAGE GIRL. The Tentacles wrap around her, blades extending from their tips. She SCREAMS as her head is carved open.

Spock opens his eyes in his cabin on the Sonak. He seems calm, but is perspiring slightly. He takes a deep breath.

Spock stands by the replicator as a PADD materializes. Its title is written in Klingon: (subtitles read) "The Khidaak Revealed; First Book/ transcribed by Khichan, a monk."

KHICHAN, fifty-ish, in monk's robes, a 'Klingon Dalai Lama', appears in a 'pool of light' as his V.O. FADES IN: "There is no StoVoKor, no Gre'thor. There is only The Wheel of Souls, turning endlessly. I do not say this gleefully, but with a tender melancholy. As a child, I wished nothing more than to navigate a ship in the Black Fleet through the Ocean of Stars, the Songs of Heroes on my lips. But, I have learned to pull back the Veil of Death. I have seen the lives I have lived before. Tho' I till sing the Songs of Heroes, I say this again: No StoVoKor, no Gre'thor, no Black Fleet. We Klingons long ago slew or gods, but we still live in their mansions. It is s past time we moved out."

Spock puts the PADD down: "Fascinating." He seems at peace.

After a moment, he activates his viewscreen. Riker appears: "How may I help you, Ambassador?" Spock: "I was wondering, do any of your crew play poker?" Riker grins wolfishly: "As a matter of fact, they do."

Spock, Riker, Troi, and Data, sit at a table in the ship's lounge, a poker game well underway. Data and Spock both appear to be 'ahead of the game', but all seem content.

Troi asks Spock how long he has played poker. Spock confesses that this is his first game. All regard him skeptically. Spock blandly replies: "Vulcans do not lie." Riker laughs, asks him why the sudden interest. Spock: "An old friend once referenced the game during a difficult tactical situation, so, possibly, this is a form of nostalgia. What ever the case, it seems to clear the mind." Data nods, as the others contemplate this. Spock takes a card. The game goes on.

Riker and Troi in the Admiral's Quarters (only slightly larger than Spock's) speak with FLEET ADMIRAL (5 pips) SAAVIK on a viewscreen. She has aged gracefully. Troi: "He is still blocking me, but not as forcefully. The years on Romulus must have created an automatic defense. he seems to be slowly relaxing." Saavik: "Have you been able to sense anything?" Troi: "I've felt a shifting mix of sadness and loneliness." Saavik: "Anything more specific?" Troi: "He is unhappy about all the warships."

Saavik: "That is to be expected. Admiral, what about Sela?" Riker: "Her injuries provided us with a completely legitimate excuse to confine her." Saavik: "Good. And you're both certain that they are uncompromised?" Troi: "Yes." Riker: "Absolutely." Saavik: "Very well. My thanks to you both. Saavik out." The viewscreen goes blank. Troi: "She is so cold, even for a Vulcan." Riker: "She is carrying a very heavy load." Troi: "Which she is going to shift to Spock." Riker: "Which is not our problem." Troi: "And that's pretty cold, too." Riker grins: "Care to warm me up?" Troi smiles: "You are so easy." He laughs. They kiss.

The Sonak's' bridge hums with quiet activity. The bridge is both large and compact, an oval space with a traditional Starfleet layout, but with a two-tiered row of stations (approximately two dozen) along the side walls. Each station is a massive, semi-self-contained 'operations center'. The main viewscreen shows a field of stars. Riker sits in the Captain's Chair, with Troi and Data on either side.

Spock exits a turbolift onto the bridge. Data stands, offers his seat. Spock demurs. Data: "I have to attend to Commander Sela anyway." Data exits. Spock sits, looks around: "Impressive." Riker: "The bridge is contained within a separate protoneutronium shell thirty meters thick." Spock: "These vessels can withstand significant punishment." Riker: "I'd like to say that they can stand up to anything, but that would be tempting fate." Spock: "Indeed."

The CONN OFFICER, A FEMALE CARDASSIAN ENSIGN (with a D'jarra earring), turns to Riker: "Admiral, we are approaching the Outer Circuit." Riker: "Slow to one tenth impulse. Signal all vessels to decloak."

In space, the Flotilla decloaks. All the vessels are in a single line, nose to tail, with the Sonak in the lead.

On the bridge, Spock says to Riker: "I've noticed a large portion of your crew are Cardassian." Riker: "Starfleet absorbed most of their veteran military personnel, for obvious reasons, put them through a ninety-day orientation course on Starfleet procedures and protocols, and shipped them out to duty assignments, mostly with ComFleet." Spock: "ComFleet?" Riker: "The Combined Fleet.(hesitates) That's about all.." Spock: "Security". Riker: "Yes, Ambassador." Conn Officer: "Admiral, Perimeter Nine is hailing us." Riker: "On screen, Ensign."

The viewscreen shifts to a TELLARITE MALE LT. COMMANDER: "Task Force Twenty-six, this is Perimeter Nine Control. You are in the slot, five by five. Welcome home." Riker: "Thank you, Perimeter Nine. Task Force Twenty-six is ready to relinquish the Conn." Perimeter Nine: "Acknowledged, Task Force Twenty-six. Taking the Conn in Five, our, three, two, one. Perimeter Nine has the Conn. Sit back and enjoy the ride. Perimeter Nine out." The viewscreen shifts back to the field of stars.

Spock looks at the viewscreen quizzically. Riker smiles: "It's all cloaked. (to Conn Officer) Ensign, put the tachyon scanning monitors on the main viewscreen." Conn Officer: "Aye, sir." She works her board. The viewscreen fills up with an array of ghostly green shapes arranged in a geometric pattern superimposed on the star field.

Riker: "That is the Kavis Alpha Outer Defense Circuit. Those little dots are self-replicating mines, Rom/O'Brien Mark Fours. The spidery crablike shapes are automated weapons platforms, a modified Cardassian design. And the big egg shaped blob looming up to starboard is Perimeter Nine, a battle station and 'gatekeeper'."

Spock thinks a moment: "It controls the nearby mines and weapons platforms?" Riker: "And the paths through them." Spock: "But this scan is the Sonak's own internal system?" Riker: "Exactly. That's how we can maneuver cloaked multiple vessels." Spock: "And fight cloaked?" Riker: "Yes." Spock: "A compatible multiphasic system to defeat enemy detection capabilities?" Riker smiles: "Ambassador, I'm afraid we have already sailed far past your present security level." Spock nods: "Understood, Admiral. Old habits." Riker: "But good ones."

Spock looks at the viewscreen, seems unhappy. Troi: "Ambassador, I believe I can understand your dismay coming back to all this. weaponry. Once I felt similarly. But, Betazed, my home world, was occupied during the Dominion War. It was a brief occupation, but still unpleasant. That changed things for me." Spock: "You partially misunderstand me, Commander. My dismay with all this war fighting capacity is not because I think it too much, it is because I am concerned that it may be too little." Now, it is Riker and Troi's turn to be dismayed.

Sela is in a bed in sickbay. She looks unhappy and 'under the weather'. The EMH is checking her vitals. Data enters: "How is she, doctor?" Sela: "I'll be fine once this photonic fool stops his poking and probing!" The EMH ignores her: "If she had gone another five or six hours without medical attention, she would most likely have died. Thanks to my 'poking and probing', however, she'll live." Data: "Thank you, doctor." EMH: "Thank you, Captain. I appreciate your appreciation. Computer. End program." He 'dissolves'.

Sela: "Ugh!" Data: "He is sentient, you know. And one of the best doctors in the Alpha Quadrant." Sela huffs: "He's probably half the doctors in the Alpha Quadrant." Data: "You have a problem with holograms?" Sela: "With smug, officious holograms, yes." Data: "Your mother also used an aggressive attitude as an emotional defense." Sela looks angry, then 'deflates': "Don't talk to me about her!" She seems on the verge of tears, is embarrassed about that.

Data sits next to her: "You have had to abandon all that you identify with and have worked for your entire life. If you wish to survive, you must find something else. Your mother was strong and believed in her destiny. You share those qualities with her. Embrace them to live." Sela looks at him in amazement, begins to cry: "Why are you so reasonable?" She hugs him, cries softly. Tentatively, Data hugs her back: "It is my nature." Upon reflection, he likes this.

The Sonak moves majestically through space as DOZENS OF SOONG, loaded with MYRIAD EQUIPMENT PACKAGES, swarm over her hull scanning back and forth. In the distance, a SUN and NUMEROUS STRUCTURES are becoming visible scattered across a star field.

Suddenly, the Cylindrical Probe decloaks, detaches itself from the Sonak's hull, dives away with several Soong in pursuit. After a beat, a SMALL INSECT-LIKE OBJECT scuttles away from the same spot and into a recess in the hull.

The Cylindrical Probe has a running 'firefight' with the Soong and then explodes. The Soong close in, begin gathering debris.

On the Sonak's bridge, Riker receives a report on the action, looks unhappy. Spock: "I assume you know that the Romulans are aware of this installation?" Riker: "Yes. 'Starbase Zero. (looks at viewscreen) We do our best, but it's difficult to hide something of this magnitude." Spock looks at the viewscreen.

The Numerous Structures have become clearly defined: THOUSANDS OF HUNTER SERIES SHIPS: CARRIERS, BATTLE CRUISERS, ESCORTS, TRANSPORTS, SPECIALIZED SUPPORT SHIPS, etc. Some are in CONSTRUCTION PLATFORMS, many in DRYDOCKS, some slowly maneuvering. Swarming around and in between them are THOUSANDS OF SMALL SUPPORT CRAFT: WORKER BEES, SHUTTLES, LIGHTERS, TUGS, etc. Looming behind all of this is a HUGE SPACE STATION: TWO WIDE SAUCERS, each topped by MULTIPLE ANTENNA ARRAYS, connected by a MASSIVE CENTRALI COLUMN. (The Hunter Series Vessels look like fleas on a fireplug next to it) A DOZEN (approximately) 'STANDARD' STARFLEET VESSELS come and go amongst all of this.

On the Sonak's bridge, Spock watches 'all of this' with something akin to awe. Riker indicates the Space Station: "That is where you are heading, Ambassador. Sector Six." Greska comes onto the bridge: "If I may escort you to the transporter room, Your Excellency?" Spock turns to her: "You know, Colonel, Khichan may be wrong about one thing." Greska stiffens. Riker, Troi, several Bridge Crew 'casually' turn to watch. Greska (soft): "How so?" Spock calmly looks back at the viewscreen: "He said there was no Black Fleet." Greska laughs gutturally. Everyone else smiles.

Spock materializes in a large transporter room. LT. COMMANDER DAASH, a MALE ARGRATHI, approaches, gives the Vulcan hand salute: (in Vulcan/subtitles) "Greetings, Spock, son of Sarek. In the name of Saavik, daughter of Sadok, you are welcomed." Spock returns the salute: (in Vulcan/subtitles) "I accept your welcome, Honored Greeter, and give thanks. (in English) Your Vulcan is quite good." Daash smiles, bows slightly: "A profound compliment, Your Excellency. I am Lieutenant Commander Daash, Protocol Officer to Admiral Saavik's staff. Welcome to Sector Six. (indicates door) If it would please Your Excellency." Spock proceeds, Daash coming alongside.

The door opens to reveal a FLOATER (an over sized flying golf cart) waiting in a large corridor. Next to it is a FEMALE KLINGON MARINE (w/2280's Senior CPO Rank Device, a ponytail, a sidearm). Daash: "You Excellency, this is Master Sergeant K'Tusha. (they nod to each other) She is your driver and bodyguard." Spock (raised eyebrow): "Bodyguard, or keeper?" K'Tusha grins wolfishly: "This is a large facility, Ambassador, and danger lurks everywhere." Spock: "No doubt." Daash is unphased by this: "If Your Excellency will allow us, we will take you to your quarters." They all board the Floater and proceed down the corridor. Traveling its length in both directions are FLOATERS OF SEVERAL TYPES: CARGO, PASSENGER TRAM, SINGLE SEATER, etc. NUMEROUS SOONG travel along the ceiling with the flow of traffic.

Spock: "Forgive my bluntness, Commander, but I do not recognize your species." Daash: "I am Argrathi, Your Excellency. You would not know of us, as we are originally from the Gamma Quadrant. Several million of us migrated to the Federation shortly after the Dominion War." Spock: "I thought the Founders had become more benign." Daash smiles coldly: "A truth, Your Excellency. Their minions, however, are somewhat more set in their ways. The sly, obsequious Vorta, the grim, humorless Jem'Hadar, the Whip Hand and the Whip. The Federation is a much more salubrious environment. More receptive of our talents, as well."

K'Tusha turns the Floater into a side corridor which sharply angles downward. Spock and Daash take no notice. Spock: "Which are?" Daash: "The Argrathi make excellent bureaucrats and fairly decent poets." Spock: "You learned Vulcan through the study of our poetics?" Daash beams: "Your Excellency’s legendary perspicacity is indeed justified!" The Floater zooms along. Spock: "So, you consider the Dominion an ongoing threat?" Daash: "I love old Earth expressions. They are blunt and full of colorful metaphor. So, to answer your question: If push comes to shove, we would clean their clock."

The Floater comes out into another large corridor. Spock: "An old friend of mine would have found you most amusing company." Daash: "Would that friend have been a doctor?" Spock: "Truly, Commander, you are well-suited to your task." Daash: "Then, Your Excellency, I am content." The Floater comes to a stop by a narrow corridor entrance. All dismount.

Daash: "Before I depart, Your Excellency, I wish to show you one more thing. (taps Com Badge) Computer. Requisition one Mark One Pedboard at my location." A MARK ONE PEDBOARD (a floating snowboard w/T-bar handle) materializes. Daash hops on: "This is the most effective means of transportation here, except beaming, of course." Spock regards this skeptically. Daash: "And this has far more panache. Sergeant K'Tusha is quite expert with Pedboards and is a patient teacher." K'Tusha grins. Spock: "I shall take it under advisement, Commander." Daash bows slightly: "Very good, Your Excellency. Please feel free to contact me at any time." Spock: "Thank you." Daash: "Well then, tee-tee-ef-en." He zooms off. Spock: "Tee-tee-ef-en?" K'Tusha: "It is better not to ask, Ambassador."

Spock enters his quarters. They are spacious and quite well-appointed, with a large viewport of the base. Computer: "There is a Priority Message. Voice ID and pass code required." Spock (in Vulcan/subtitles): "Spock, son of Sarek. The fragrant flowers of Omicron Ceti III."

The desk viewscreen activates revealing Saavik (in Vulcan/subtitles) "Greetings, old friend. (in English) My official duty requires that I inform you that, in accordance with Starfleet General Order One Oh Four, Section F, you are hereby recalled to Active Service, with the rank of Vice Admiral, effective immediately, for the duration of the present emergency. Accordingly, your Security Clearance is restored to Level Twelve. I apologize for that last circumstance. Starfleet Security has become understandably hysterical in the last few years. I left a present for you, on the desk."

Spock picks up a jewel box, opens it, revealing a PAIR OF VICE ADMIRAL'S (3 pips) RANK DEVICES. Saavik (continued): "They were given to me by Admiral Sulu when I reached Vice Admiral. Now, you, I, and Commander Sela have a meeting tomorrow at Thirteen Hundred Hours with important members of Starfleet Command and the Federation Council tot discuss the present emergency, a mostly political exercise. I have 'red flagged' several computer files to help prepare you. My schedule did not allow for me to greet you personally. Tomorrow evening, however, my staff has planned a surprise birthday dinner for me. We will talk then. Saavik out."

Spock stands before the room's viewport, watching the complex operational ballet of Starbase Kavis Alpha. Spock: "Computer. Give me a breakdown of the files Admiral Saavik read-flagged for me." Computer: "Twenty-seven files by thirty-four authors. Twenty-six are intelligence files. Twelve of those files contain significant political analysis. There is one science file. Twenty-nine authors are Starfleet Officers. Three authors are independent observers commissioned by Federation agencies. Two authors are Federation Council members. Seventy-three percent of the subject matter concerns Federation Security. Fourteen percent.." Spock: "That is sufficient. Did Saavik list the files in any particular order?" Computer: "Yes." Spock: "Give me titles, authors, and Clearance Levels of the first three files."

Computer: "First file: 'An Unofficial Analysis of Federation Covert Operations During the Dominion War' by Dr. Julian Bashir, Starfleet Medical, Level Ten. Second file: 'Threat Assessment Review of the Delta Quadrant' by Lt. Commander S. N. Hansen, Starfleet Intelligence, Level Nine. Third file: 'Summary of Project Pomegranate' by Commander Kai Emon, ComFleet H.Q. Staff, Level Twelve." Spock sighs.

Spock sites at his desk, before the viewscreen, which shows ODO in the terminal phase of 'Founder's Disease'. BASHIR(v.o.): "This is a graphic example of the paranoia extant in certain parts of Federation authority." Spock is clearly horrified. BASHIR (v.o.)"....

..and that is as far as the treatment goes. I do have the entire story, but the above is all that is in anyway 'formatted'. *sigh*
nebris: (A Dark Boy)
2017-06-28 08:02 pm
Entry tags:

Random

~I really miss writing in restaurants. I've done some of my best work there. But I have been too broke to do that for years now and that has taken its toll on my creative process.

I've been working on the Liber for-fucking-ever. [Well, seven years and change] I just wrote like a hundred words the Women's Shelters section earlier and then it felt like I was moving through glue and I ground to a halt. I started to terribly miss my old haunt, the Norm's on Lincoln and Colorado in Santa Monica. It's gone now though, replaced by a hipster burger joint.

But even if I could just drive down to the Denny's in Lancaster at around 1 or 2 in the morning on a regular basis I'd be grateful...and far more productive. *sigh*

I'm supposed to mutter something both witty and cynical here, but I have nothing....
nebris: (A Manga Thang)
2015-09-07 09:13 pm

'Random/Her Prophet Speaks/Nebs Writes' Mash-Up

~Emotionally, I'm all over the map, though my baseline is 'okay'. Been a month since my father's death. Feels like a year. I didn't get depressed over my birthday this year, but that might be because my father's death muddied those waters. I did cry over Martin Milner's death. Maybe something about the 'death of my youth'. Dunno. Again, muddied waters.

I've been writing fairly consistently, though not in great volume, maybe two/three hundred words a day, on my novella for Part Seven – “One Possible Future”. I've posted much of that text there already if any of you are interested.

I'm also waiting on my Writer's Blues, the window when I crash after Facing The Page for any length of time. Be nice if those waters got muddied as well....

...end transmission.
nebris: (Nebs Stars [for CU Posts])
2015-08-03 10:06 pm

Nebs Writes: Thoughts Upon My Colonial Union Fan-Fic Novel

~Last September I wrote an 'epitaph' for my Colonial Union fan-fic novel, the one based upon John Scalzi's “Old Man's War” universe. However, now that I have read the sixth volume in that series, I'm ready to resurrect the thing.

Said sixth volume, “The End Of All Things” is certainly just as good as the preceding five books and I cannot fault it as such. Scalzi is, as ever, 'on his game'. And yet, I am...unsatisfied.

Of course, this can be dismissed as some form of 'sour grapes'. I had my own vision of his universe and obviously he would have his own – his bloody work after all – and that should, by right, superseded anything I come up with.

However...what left me unsatisfied was that it all felt...overoptimistic, all wrapping up a little too neatly. I understand that. We live in a time of profound pessimism, most of it totally justified, not that such makes it any easier to deal with. And Scalzi has produced six books and a number of free standing short stories on the subject, so I could see wanting to go all Reichenbach Falls with it, though in reverse.

Fair enough. And I personally do not have to accept that. My vision of the thing has clearly not let go of me. It has its own level of Optimism, but the process takes quite a bit longer and there is a good deal more blood and fire.

So, I shall keep chipping away at it. Won't earn me a penny, but I suspect it will feel like taking a wonderful shit. And that is something that money cannot buy.
nebris: (A Proper General)
2015-07-04 09:01 pm

The Price – A Very Short Story

Jul. 4th, 2013 at 9:42 PM

Merle was a good man. Worked hard. Made a decent living. Never raised his voice or his hand to his wife or kids. Went to church most Sundays. Helped out his neighbors when he could.

Every Fourth of July, he would put on an old pair of combat boots, climb into the bathtub fully clothed and get stinking drunk. He didn’t get out for anything, so he’d end up pissing and shitting himself. He remained dead silent the entire night.

He’d spent ten months in Europe fighting the Germans. He’d had more than enough of things blowing up. Terry, his wife, left him alone until morning, when she’d help him get undressed. He’d mumble, “You’re a good woman,” a few times. She’d take his clothes downstairs and soak them. He’d take a long scalding hot shower.

Merle would then come down for breakfast. Terry would make his favorite; wet scrambled eggs, sausages, country potatoes and biscuits. Those mornings, instead of using cream, he’d take his coffee black with lots of sugar. Then he’d sit on the porch, have a cigarette, seemingly quite calm. He’d smile and wave at the neighbors as they passed.

Merle never talked about this. No one else did either, not until after Merle was dead and then only in a very soft voice, as if he was still up there, getting plastered in the bathtub.
nebris: (A Manga Thang)
2015-03-29 10:07 am
Entry tags:

Nebs Writes

~Writing makes me crazy. My moods flail all over the place. This is why I have such trouble with it.

I woke up yesterday morning, tapped out about a hundred words and had to stop because I felt like I was going to jump out of my skin. And I hadn't even had any coffee yet.

A few days ago I had this dream, very vivid and detailed, a mashup of “Breakfast At Tiffany's” and “Taxi Driver” and I woke up in tears. I was a mess for half a day, weeping at things like a Netflix doc on Johnny Carson. I was exhausted by the time I crashed back into bed.

That's why my Romantic Obsessions were such a useful tool. They electrified me and focused my insanity outward, all while driving me to The Page. But the toll such takes upon me would very probably kill me at this point....

...and The Page awaits.

[156 words]
nebris: (A Manga Thang)
2015-03-22 10:50 am

Random/Her Prophet Speaks/Nebs Writes Mashup

~So, I'm in pain. My anus is inflamed from some 'bad shitting' a few days ago – something I ate – and it fucking hurts. Been rimming myself with a Tea Tree Oil cream, which is helping a bit. But when I gotta go...well, you know.

I also have a small but razor sharp shard of broken tooth floating in my gum. I'm seriously thinking of digging out some needle nose pliers and have Le-Le yank the fucker out. That'll fucking hurt, but the healing would be able to start. Right now it just keeps cutting the flesh.

However, my head seems to be improving. I'm writing again and I'm slowly getting over my lingering Holiday Depression, which was compounded this year by the collapse of my WW2 Alt-History novel late in November. It'd been cooking hot since mid August, but I just ran out of steam. The annual onset of the aforementioned Holiday Depression was no doubt a contributing factor.

I usually come of of said Holiday Depression by mid February, but it was prolonged this year by the GOP House fuckery regarding Disability money. Those fucking cunts all need to be ass raped with meat-hooks and their naked corpses displayed on Capital Hill.

Anyway...

This novel is a Sisterhood Space Opera and has already passed one test. I got badly distracted with the SSI money and dead fridge bullshit at the beginning of this month and I've been able to come back to it with a goodly amount of enthusiasm.

I suspect that is because this work is very much in line with my Path and that has a vast amount of stored up energy and a huge backlog of material. I'm drawing from both the 'up dated' Far Future stories and The Tales of the Vēkkan Cults. This also means I can contemplate The Explanation while working on this novel without being distracted because they all work toward the goal of the New Matriarchy. [that's the Her Prophet Speaks/Nebs Writes part of this mashup]

~The above was written around 6ish this am. The pain has receded with the help of drugs. I went off to the store to grab a few things. My sense of time is distorted. It 'feels' like mid afternoon, but it's not even 11am as I type this. Oh well...

...and there you have it.
nebris: (A Manga Thang)
2014-11-07 03:00 am

Nebs Writes [note to self]

~I've been banging this around in my head for a few days, but I really need to place it on paper because my head is a maelstrom at the best of times. Not always in a bad way. It's just a very very busy place and shit gets lost in the often times violently shifting winds and tides.

So, The Novel[s]. It is a work of Epic Military Science Fiction and it gets me very excited. Of course, being a fucking moody bitch, I go Up and Down rather precipitously, hence my bleak 'note of despair' the other day.

I started off with the thing on a very high note, so high that crashing was foreordained. The Structure and Narrative became quite clear quite quickly, so quickly that I got thoroughly swept away by the thing and buzzed for about a month before the first crash hit me. But even then the above carried me along.

It was not until I ran up against the Basic Nature of the thing that I truly and badly fell back to Earth.

As I say above, this is a work of Epic Military Science Fiction. Let us break down what that actually means:

Epic: it has a grand cast of characters and will comprise [at least] three volumes when finished.

Military: it requires careful attention to the details of Weapons, Tactics, Intelligence and Opposing Forces regarding operations in both the Pacific and European Theaters and on the Home Front.

Science Fiction: the 'science' needs to be believable and to appear workable.

Now many authors can and do blithely skip over all of that. I'm not one of them. Way too OCD, Perfectionist and nit-picky for that...which is what caused me to crash so hard this last time; the reality of The Details.

I'm fine with The Details as long I remember that is all they are. Even the Great Wall of China is made up of single bricks and this sucker ain't that big.

So, I get to work on summoning and fleshing out the vast supporting cast, plan the focus and logistics of the operations – battle scenes are a piece of cake for me – and suss out the details of the 'science'. I'm fully capable of doing all that; have already started. I simply need to remind myself that that is what I'm doing and fucking breath.

And that's the name of that tune....
nebris: (A Manga Thang)
2014-09-19 08:56 am
Entry tags:

Nebs Writes

~Really, it seems as if I cannot write anything 'simple'. Everything I come up with has to be Epic and Massive. Every idea I ever have is like the bastard offspring of something Tolstoy and Heinlein came up with while getting shitfaced...and then L. Ron Hubbard does the actual writing. [I DO wish I could write as relentlessly as he did however]

I am just constitutionally incapable of 'nice little tales' with 'ordinary people'. No Great American Novel for me, I guess. Oh well...not that I'm actually complaining. Fuck the Great American Novel right up its tight Protestant ass.

Now I am sticking with my plan; noodle and noodle and noodle and noodle until I have enough structure and backstory to Get Down To Real Writing, ya know, chapters an ' shit. The clipboards with the legal pads are out and being worked, so you know I'm Fucking Serious.

But 'noodling' is a lot of fun, truth be told. I love to play around in these worlds of mine. Usually better than TV and a perfect way to avoid the ongoing nightmare of Life on Earth most of the time. And it's World War Two. I fucking love World War Two!

So, scribble, scribble...
nebris: (Nebs Stars [for CU Posts])
2014-09-11 05:34 pm

Nebs on 'The Heavens Redeemed'

~As I stated yesterday, I posted the text and notes of the unfinished chapters of Part One. I thought I should also post a few thoughts upon the fate of 'Heavens'. You'll see I was still at by mid August, but by this time last year I'd ground to a halt. The combination of my Writer's Blues and the profound grief I was feeling because of Icarus' tumor and George's refusal to come back inside had quite thoroughly overwhelmed me by then.

I'm very happy with the work I did. I'm one of those seemingly rare writers who actually likes his own writing. Sure, I agonize over it and so on, but I'm almost always happy with the final product and enjoy re-reading. I suppose that makes me a 'hack'. Well, then; I'm a fucking hack.

Thing is, I really do not give a fuck about Great Literature. I have found most of such tedious and wearisome. Maybe that makes me shallow. Well, fuck that too. I write to enjoy myself, not to suffer and I read for the same reason. Yes, I enjoy being Moved and Enlightened and so on by writing, but that's always Gravy in my book.

When I pick up a fiction book – or read it on my monitor – I want to be 'taken away'. If I can get anything else out that experience, I'm pleased, but such is not one of my requirements. Loving the characters is a requirement and being Enthralled as well. But beyond that...well, whatever.

I don't know if I'll ever come back to 'Heaven's. I have so very many of my own projects to attend to I suppose it's doubtful. And Scalzi is writing his next volume of the Colonial Union Saga, so the actual author is going to supersede the thing.

So, for now, let us consider this post to be Closure and move on...

...and there you have it.

Click here to read "The Heavens Redeemed"
nebris: (A Manga Thang)
2014-09-10 10:28 pm

Nebs Writes

~For me the most difficult aspect of writing is not coming up with ideas, etc. I've lived nearly all of my life since childhood in one type of fantasy world or another, so can pull concepts, plots and characters out of my hat all day. [I said 'hat' to be polite]

No, for me the most difficult aspect of writing is my mood swings when I'm truly In Process. That is how I can tell if I'm just fooling around or really doing the do. If I'm chill, it's the former. But when I start to have Manic Highs and Depressive Lows, I'm actually At Work. *sigh*

I just got a good dose of the latter a little while ago. I was buzzing this morning, having some quite useful revelations about how to most effectively work my Process, which I'll get to shortly.

But barely a half an hour after getting up form an admittedly poor nap, reading items on my FB Wall, I just...'crashed', hopelessness washing over me. And yes, I do take my Happy Pills, but they only work so far.

This isn't being Bi-Polar. It's just good old fashion Manic-Depressive ideation. It only becomes an issue when I don't catch it and recognize it for what it is; my Writer's Blues. *deep breath*

Okay, what I realized this morning came to me as the result of posting the rest of the text and notes of the unfinished chapters of my Fan-Fic novel. The revelation was that what had made writing those chapters so much fun was that, as I say in the intro, someone else had done all the heavy lifting of world building and backstory all I had to do was play there, and that therefore what I should do with my own new novel is simply play with 'all the heavy lifting of world building and backstory' until it was fleshed out enough to get down to the Serious Writing, you know, chapters and dialog and all that good shit.

Obviously, this is not even close to being an original discovery. Hell, even I knew this already...but this morning it hit me on a visceral level, which is where such things truly count. Now, my task is to remember that while I surf my mood swings.

There was a bunch more I had to say, but now I feel better, so I'll let it lay. [a cup of coffee etc helped too]


..I know it's trouble when I start to unconsciously rhyme..
nebris: (A Dark Boy)
2014-09-07 03:26 pm

Nebs Writes

~This post is something of a Random/Her Prophet Speaks mashup because of the various elements involved.

We're once again in the process of restructuring our household finances to take some pressure off of ourselves, though I'm the one who seems to internalize that pressure the most...which then kills my writing.

Some of that pressure has already abated and my writing reemerged almost immediately. The form it has taken is a World War Two Sci-Fi novel, which is a double winner for yours truly. The events also make it Alt-History, but that is secondary.

Last summer I had a burst of writing that proved to me on a visceral level that I can in fact write 'novelistically'. That such was cut short by Buckethead's foot tumor is besides the point, though just as well as the work was Fan-Fic and therefore not marketable.

This baby is all mine, derivative though it may be. But it's also highly stealable, so I can't say anything about it publicly. Just believe when I say it's 'crafty' and it blowed up real good.

I'm doing my best to keep momentum going with this baby without burning myself out. Keeping it fun helps. However, the moodiness that comes with Creative Writing for me has already manifested itself, but that lets me know I'm on the right track.

This has also allowed me to look at The Explanation with something other than despair. Plus yesterday's big BIG rant was also a Good Sign. Now if I could just afford my favorite writing paradigm – sitting in coffee shops and greasy spoons to write – I'd be in Hog Heaven. But one thing at a time.

Regarding The Explanation, a Sister said a few months back that I should just focus on writing the thing and forget about Recruiting for now. I already knew that, but the reminder was salubrious.

What you, my Sisters, could do in the meantime that would expedite that process is to make Supportive Noises about the Work. One of you did just that on my Facebook Wall today and I cannot truly express how good that felt. More please...

..and that's the name of that tune.
nebris: (A Manga Thang)
2013-10-17 05:11 am

Nebs Mash-Up

Random: Now that the Teaturd Shitweasels have been driven back we can relax about getting our cheques..for the next three months. Fuck knows what kind of shit they'll pull come mid-January when this 'deal' expires. But I can feel the stress start to leave my body.


Been sleeping a lot and taking all manner of drugs and my back is improving, though it's still pretty fucked. I'll see what they have to say about all this up at Rural Health.


Kitteh Nooz: The Big Stupid Foot is looking pretty fucking ugly. He can't walk on it anymore. *sigh* Now that the Default bullshit is over we have to refocus on dealing with poor ol' Buckethead. We need to work up some manner of post-op payment plan...if, of course, his x-rays are clear.


Nebs Writes: I've been doing a lot of 'skull work' on the first chapter of this novel. Because I'm world building from an existing indigenous culture, detail is important. I can now spend a few bucks to get the bilingual dictionary I need. It's an obscure language, so I couldn't find one at the library.


..and that pretty much covers it.
nebris: (A Manga Thang)
2013-10-09 10:19 am
Entry tags:

Nebs Writes

~As this novel I'm working on now is my own creation, I've been going slowly, doing my world building and laying out the framework of where I want it to go. I'm taking my time. I have no real deadline. If it takes a year or two, that is fine. [oh dear, I'm rhyming]

And I think that is all I shall say at the moment...
nebris: (A Manga Thang)
2013-08-30 02:06 am
Entry tags:

Nebs Writes

~I did a little bit of work on Chapter Three just so I could live with myself...
nebris: (A Guru)
2013-08-27 08:34 am

Nebs Sez

"Read all the Rules of Writing. Studying them thoroughly. Learn them well. Then, when you finally sit down to write, toss them all out the window and write what and how you please."
nebris: (A Manga Thang)
2013-08-20 08:54 am
Entry tags:

Nebs Writes

~As a writer it behooves me to acknowledge the one and twenty third birthday of H.P. Lovecraft and the passing of Elmore Leonard. That the latter died upon the former's birthday is a matter I'll leave to the ages.

I on the other hand am still alive and still writing. And I am the most important person in my life after all. A seemingly harsh and egotistical observation, but then the truth usually ain't pretty.

Anyway, the photo below got me thinking again about using my writing to escape from SSI.

German infantry under cover of a StuG III while fighting at ‪Stalingrad‬ in November, 1942.


Looking at that Sturmgeschütz triggering my fetish with designing armored vehicles, which in turn had me replaying a scene from my projected Second Great Global War series in my The Anglo-American Imperium universe. That series would run to around ten volumes.

In addition, here is my Tales of the Vēkkan Cults series, which is also good for many volumes. And I have bits and bobs floating around as well, including the novel that is 'shadowing' my Colonial Union fanfic novel. That puppy is the first of a trilogy which is already outlined.

The point here is this. I have been reading up on self publishing for a while and though there are many different approaches, one thing seems to be crucial: the on-line author needs a large number of titles available. It works like this. Someone reads something of yours and likes it. If you have many tiles, they'll most likely go ahead and buy one of those. If they like that - which is probable - they'll repeat the process. And that's how sales multiple.

Sure, this will take years. But it's not like I have anything better to do...and my Muse seems to have returned and I have embraced Her fully.

And so it is....
nebris: (A Manga Thang)
2013-08-18 12:43 pm

Nebs Writes

~While having coffee this morning I completed Chapter One. I had already proofed it a few times and did a few more once overs. I suspect I'll tweak of a few more times, but it's now ready for public consumption. So...

...here is some Cover Art.

...and an Introduction.

...and the First Chapter.

...and the Second Chapter.

Those two come out together at over 13,000 words so I expect this thing is gonna be 'hefty' given that I've got twenty one more chapters outlined. I'll post them in their proper order as they are completed. For example, finished Chapter Two a few weeks ago, but didn't post it until now because Chapter One wasn't done.

I suppose maybe one chapter a month, more or less. Anyway, have fun.

PS Here is an overview of the first section
nebris: (A Manga Thang)
2013-08-06 03:55 pm

Nebs Writes

~After those few days in The Pit, I came back and started making notes again, then quickly progressed to actual writing. Still plenty of note making mixed in with that process of course. I'm feeling like after all these fucking years I've finally figured out how to get myself to write a novel.

I'm two-thirds done with the first chapter. I finished the second chapter and have re-write notes on that. I have entire sections from a dozen or more chapters written and the whole damned thing is fully structured and outlined. Yeah, I'm jumping all over the place but it seems that's just how I roll and I'm not going to fight it.

When that first chapter is done I'll post it. The second should follow soon after. As a teaser, I just made the introduction public.

I suspect it'll be a good year or so before this thing is finished. But I also have an original novel of my own 'shadowing' this one, e.g. Outlining and Note Making. And that one is pretty insane and off-the-hook even for me. Stay tuned...