Snapshot of the Stars

Prompt: Write a scene inspired by something a character cannot see

I'm on a mountain observing this week, so I have been mainly editing instead of writing. Have a short snapshot written at nearly midnight.

Favourite writing from this week: 

She stood in the dome, forearms rested on the ledge. The glow from the setting star was fading from the sky, the colours a gentle gradient. The wind was picking up, she shivered, but it was keeping the clouds away. She turned from the sky to admire the instrument behind her. The large mirror of the telescope was nearly fifty metres across,
It was hers now. Not exclusively, but she was in charge of what it was used for, and who used it. It also meant she could come up here whenever the mood struck. And it struck often.
How could it not when surrounded by the stars? She may not be able to see the distant galaxies without the aid of the telescope, but even knowing it was there ignited a spark of inspiration.
Maybe it wasn't the same as boldly going, but seeing all those different worlds was almost as exciting Someday they would hear back form the explorers out there. Someday they would know what it was like to play ping pong on Catullia.
But today, tonight, she would know what distant galaxies looked like ten billion years ago, she would know their star population. The work she did tonight may even one day help unlock the even less tangible mysteries of the universe. It wasn't a bad career.

One, Two, Three Slaps

Prompt: Use numbers in an interesting way.

The prompt didn't exactly get fulfilled, but it got me to finally get this chapter out of my head and on to the page. I had tried to avoid writing a torture scene in this short story since I am not good at writing that, but when I skipped it my beta editor kept getting really confused by what I had envisioned. And so with some numbers in there, I got the chapter written. What follows is a snapshot of the chapter.

Favourite writing from this week: 

While he spoke, R took the opportunity to discretely tap the side of her foot three times. They didn't seem to know who she worked for, so she assumed they hadn't disabled her tracker. Perhaps if she kept them talking, her rescuers would find her before anything happened to her.
“And so, as he built his company in the wake of our humiliation, we vowed to seek revenge forever more.”
It seemed it wouldn't be too hard to keep them talking.
“We waited patiently, growing our new business from the ashes of the old. And like a phoenix we have been reborn. Now is our time to seek glorious payback. And from his success, his downfall will be so much sweeter.” The man smiled, staring off into the distance, perhaps seeing a chorus of angels singing his praises.
“Let's get to the plan, Rob,” the second man interrupted the daydream.
“Of course.” He shook his head quickly, as if to shake off the fantasy. “It's quite simple really. We need you to wipe Jerome Cardinal’s identity from the Internet.”
R blinked.
“Well, did you hear me?”
“Yes, I heard you. Sorry, I don't think you realise how difficult that will be.” R was tempted to laugh. Even Q would find it difficult. “Bank statements and credit cards, those are hard, but I can manage. But a person’s entire identity? You know the government has copies of birth certificates, right? Not to mention driver’s licenses, marriage certificates, university enroll--”

“That's enough!”

For want of a TARDIS

Prompt: Take an author photo and write yourself a bio.

It was going to be more serious, but this week has been too serious by far. So here is the fun.




















Jennifer is on her way to becoming a professional astronomer who can make you call her Doctor even though she lacks a blue box that travels in time and space. If she had one, she might have more time to do her homework while writing, making youtube videos, and sleeping.

She also enjoys baking to forget about deadlines, swimming to forget deadlines, and pretending to be a fantasy warrior queen despite only having four crowns (okay, maybe that is more than normal) and being terrible at archery.

Favourite writing from this week: 

Stealthily, they stole down the hallway, passing a few different doors to large storage rooms. Listening to the minion in his ear, Q kept walking and lead them up to the top floor, where there was a guard. It was also another clue that this was not a professional group.

The man was dressed in business casual, leaning back in his chair, and watching something on his phone with one earbud in. Q and Casper exchanged raised eyebrows before the former shot a dart into the man’s neck. He barely had time to register surprise before losing his balance and toppling backwards. Q winced as the phone shattered on the concrete. Although, he glanced down as they walked past, serves him right for not having a case on an iphone. The door he had been in front of was the one they wanted. Even if the GPS hadn’t told them, the faint light coming from under the door indicated that something was going on inside.

Glaring at the Moon

Prompt: A character realizes something as they look up at the night sky.

I completely thought that this prompt would be applied to my nanowrimo story. They are approaching a time limit that is marked by a sunset. However, apparently that story did not want to be written this weekend. So this morning I tried to fit it into my other new story. (If you are counting, that is three that are currently in progress.)

Somehow that turned into a plot point that seems like it will add two chapters to the story I thought would only have one chapter. Well, you can't deny the muses when they want something. And so below is the night sky and the turning point of this story.

Favourite writing from this week: 

His branch could alter nearly every digital record, but they could not add people into every yearbook in print and if one looked close enough, discrepancies could be found.
Although the hackers had not determined true identities of the agents, a correct guess had been made to connect them to MI6 and they put phase two of their plan into action. So while Scotland Yard prosecuted the ones who had been in the bank for robbery and arson, Q tasked a group to trace the hackers in the digital world
They were found surprisingly fast. Q called back the agents and told his staff to go home. R volunteered to accompany the police when they collected the hackers to pick up their equipment. Even Q went home then.
The night was warm and clear so he took the opportunity to take a late night stroll in the local park. Under the crescent moon, he could feel his muscles relax, the tension fade away.
Only then he felt his phone vibrate. He would have ignored it if it wasn’t morse code for SOS. Well shit. He pulled up the alert. It came from R. He glared up at the night sky, daring it to tell him it was not as he feared.

War Games

Prompt:  Put a character in an abandoned building or space

This was a great prompt for me this week. I was already sending one set of characters into an abandoned temple (although they have only just found the entrance) and I started a new story the revolves around this idea. I will share the beginning of that with you below. It was originally going to be Halloween themed, but the story changed on me.

Favourite writing from this week: 

Attn: Agents currently enrolled in M265: History of Spycraft and MI6

Field trip to Churchill’s War Rooms has been scheduled for March 18th. Meet Agent Simmons outside the entrance at 2100. Modern technology is forbidden on this excursion, please leave your technology at home or be prepared to surrender it upon arrival. Notepads and pencils are encouraged. Attendance is mandatory.

Agent Simmons lead the agents in training down the stairs into the long hallway that lead to the war rooms. Tommy was right beside her, pompously explaining all the history that the others could easily read on the walls as they walked. Agent Simmons let him continue, but it didn’t take Zoey long to tell him to shut up. They had all done the reading and they had all covered the same material in primary school. Tommy started to snap back at her, but Eden cut him off with a question.

“Why are we here so late at night?” she asked.

“Simply because it is far less busy when it is closed,” their instructor replied, stopping in front of the door at the end of the hall and pulling out a key. “No crowds and no one to stop us from crossing to the other side of the roped off area.”

The new agents perked up at that. Many of them had visited the museum in the past on school trips or family outings to the city, but being allowed on the other side was unheard of. The museum boasted that nothing had been moved since the end of the war, the maps on the walls still reflecting the last known placements of troops and the memos of urgent business lying on Churchill's desk.

In the back of the group, Lillian and Shay exchanged quiet smiles of excitement. It had been a while since Shay felt excited about spycraft, but this felt like stepping back in time, into one of his books.

“Now I know some of you have visited before, but in case it had been a while, I will give you a brief tour before letting you explore more fully on your own.” He straightened and skillfully his the grimace and the twinge of pain shooting across his lower back. Turning, he lead his group of six on an abridged tour of the bunker. Even before the end, he knew where each would go when he let them loose. Tommy would go straight to Churchill’s desk, wanting to see for himself what sitting in a position of power would feel like.

Zoey would go to the dormitories and snoop in their closets to learn about the people who had stayed here. Lillian would follow her, sticking together and making sure everything was left the way they found it.

Eden and Shay would head straight for the control room. Eden was the car girl, but she was the one who first brought Shay to Q branch and she would have made a fine engineer if her mind wasn’t so set on being an agent. The increased opportunities to wear even fancier clothes out in the field or at parties while an agent was probably a point of consideration as well.

It was Emerson who was the toss up of the group. After reminding them that if they touched anything, they must put it back exactly as they found it, she watched him slowly walk to the large conference table and sit along one edge. He sat and observed.

A Damaged Reputation

Prompt: Something gets broken beyond repair

First things first, my Merlin fanfic is complete and posted! So far the feed back has been positive and I am relieved. I loved the story, but now it is time to move on.

I was so excited when I saw this prompt. I love breaking things in my stories and providing challenges for my characters. But as I wrote this week, I discovered a dilemma: I was at a point in the story where things were being fixed and information was coming together to give a more complete picture. The opposite of being broken. Then I remembered that sometimes, it doesn't have to be anything physical that is broken. And so just this afternoon I have arrived at the following.

Favourite writing from this week: 

With the lack of other readable text, they decided to leave the book with the doctor to study. They continued to fill her in on their mission and she updated them on some of the worldwide news.

Miraculously, other portals that had been dismissed as dormant were now showing signs of activity. Nothing had come through, however. Those in her field were still puzzled.

The news update earlier that morning had spoke about the Pertinax Scandal. Many scientists had returned home late two night ago after being missing for years, some only a few months, other nearly eight Gidea years. They were all saying that they had been imprisoned and made to work for the company. Currently the government was investigating and already more rooms of unwilling researchers had been found, nearly all had been reported as missing from a variety of different planets.

The investigation was still ongoing, but the reputation of the company had been damaged. Only time would tell how much.

Writing Mary Sues is Important

Prompt: What is something you’re embarrassed to admit you’ve written?

I tend to pretty proud of my writing. There are some stories that I hope people don't find anymore, but I can easily see that all of my writing has been slowly shaping me to be a much better writer. Is it a bit embarrassing to look back at a fic and realise that it is basically a self-insert Mary-Sue fic? Sure. Is it worse to know you did another two years later? Yes. But even looking between those two I am proud to see how much my writing has improved. And bits of the first one has still stayed with me in ways I hadn't predicted.

What I refuse to let anyone see, however, is a reflective piece on my feelings regarding my best friend. It's almost like a diary entry as I try to sort out what my heart wants and what my brain thinks is ridiculous. As I read it back today, I almost wish to obliterate it completely, delete it from my drive and never look back. Yet it remains there, hidden.

My writing this week is the beginning of a short story to celebrate some of the women in the James Bond universe.

Favourite writing from this week: 

With the sun on their backs, their toes happily buried in the sand, and big hats protecting their necks, Tracy and Kissy could not be happier. The sound of the waves gently lapping the Japanese shoreline in front of Kissy’s home relaxed them and melted away any stress better than a masseur could even with the most skilled hands.

It had been less than a year since these two met, entirely by chance, on a flight from Hong Kong to Tokyo. In the short flight, they had come to understand just how similar they were and they continued to spend time together once they landed. Once the background checks were complete, the real friendship began.

Now both of their fathers were delighted by the impending permanent alliance between the Japanese Secret Service and the Union Corse. It was an important connection to mainland Europe for Tanaka and better control of shipping for Draco.

As for the women, they were delighted that they had another female who shared their love of danger and with whom they could trade secrets of their craft. There was spycraft. And then there was female spycraft. The men knew nothing of the code in perfumes or the true skill in hiding weapons beneath a cocktail dress. They did not know how to recognise a poison by the colour of lipstick or spot a barbed braid by the way it lay on the woman’s back.

But for now, that was all pushed out of their minds. Just the sand, and the sun, and the beeping noise. They simultaneously rolled to their sides and grabbed their phones. In sync once again, they swore in their native languages. “Not again.”