Best and Worst of the Fourth Week: In Which I Accept My Fate

29 Nov

I’m not finishing this book by Friday.

I’m not adding a love story, no matter how much my slightly tipsy roommate insists upon it.

What I will be doing is continuing to write it.

I like that I’ve written every day this month, even though sometimes I didn’t want to, and a lot of times what I ended up writing wasn’t worth a damn.

So maybe I’ll just continue writing every day until this monstrosity implodes and then maybe continue to write every day, even without a novel to write.

I think it sounds like an ok plan.

So, here’s the best and worst this week.

Worst:

In this section, Admiral Stoljarov tells us about her convalescence after getting xylenium poisoning.  Stateson = deceased aeronautics pioneer; Dalsgaard = evil-ish doctor; Martel = sleazy ex-husband of captain of Persuasion

I had many dreams, long and languid and surreal and realistic dreams that seemed to stretch on for days at a time.  When I awoke–or, to put it more accurately, when I was in that suspended state between consciousness and unconsciousness, that ethereal, phantasmic place that could be both reality and fantasy, sky and earth, male and female–I remembered them all in some great detail, but as I awakened more fully and became aware of my surroundings–a dimly lit hospital room in which I was the only occupant although the room allowed for four–had left my memory in leaps and bounds like a herd of gazelle escaping some hunter.  And just like a herd of gazelle, the weakest one lagged behind and was seized upon by my predatory brain, hungry for any meaning that might be gleaned.

The remaining dream memory remained, shrouded in a gossamer, hazy cloud.  I saw two figures, who might or might not have been Sylvia Stateson and Sylvia Dalsgaard, and they were performing an operation on me.  They whispered to each other, and they whispered to me, for they had not completely sedated me for the surgery.  I looked down at my supine dream body.  My abdominal cavity was open, and instead of organs or blood, I had what appeared to be wooden blocks, the kind a child might play with.  The lights in the dream suddenly went out, but it was like a movie, in which I could still see Sylvia Stateson’s and Sylvia Dalsgaard’s panicking faces.  Suddenly, Captain Derek Martel appeared and turned the lights back on.  He smiled and asked what he would receive for saving them.  They whispered to him, and he grinned.

As I lay in my hospital bed, I thought of this dream often.  I was attracted to it for several reasons, I supposed: it was very bizarre; I was intrigued about what all parties could be whispering; I wondered why this particular dream was the only one I could remember–it hadn’t been the last dream, nor had it been the most vivid, but it had been the one my mind had been able to capture, and, consequently, I pondered it.

After I had named the evil doctor, I realized I had given her the same first name as a peripheral character I had mentioned much earlier in the book (the aeronautics lady).  I decided to give this slip up a little thematic relevance in this totally space-filler section that serves no other purpose than to fill space and be ominous.

Best:

Ugh.  Nothing was the best this week.  I guess I’ll go with this:  In this section, Lt. Aldridge recounts the opening session of the Mission Review Board.  Stoljarov = head of board; Dalsgaard = evil-ish doctor; Charbonneau = evil-ish string-pulling vice admiral; Martel = captain of Persuasion

“I know that you all are compelled by duty, your oath, and the law to be here, but I’d like to thank you for showing up bright and early this morning all the same.”  I supposed that was supposed to have been a joke, but it came out a little too tentative and a little too rough, and no one laughed.  I smiled at her and made sure to hold it until she saw me.  She looked as though she needed encouragement.  If I could’ve given her a stiff drink I would have.

And then I realized I was sitting there with my career on the line feeling sorry for the woman who was basically prosecuting me.  I got kind of mad at myself for a minute, but then I thought, why the hell shouldn’t I be encouraging her?  She certainly didn’t ask for this job, and she had xylenium poisoning a few days ago.  On top of that, she was probably still used to the way things worked on the moon, which was a lot different from Earth, and several million billion lightyears different from Mars.  Anyway, I refocused on what she was saying.

“I’ve assembled these fine people to comprise the board because I believe their respective intelligence, neutrality, judgement, and keen sense of right and wrong will lead them to fair and accurate rulings on the matters at hand.”  She had hit her stride now, talking in big, weighty words and keeping her eyes squarely on the clock at the back of the room or above my head or in the middle aisle and certainly not on Charbonneau or Dalsgaard.

“Beginning in two hours, we will call you in individually to give your testimonies.  A tentative list of who will give testimony at what times will be posted on the data stream and outside the door although all of that is subject to change.  We will attempt to update it as frequently as possible.

“We ask that you answer the board’s questions with complete honesty and completely factual information.  We are not interested, by and large, with emotions or suppositions, so please stick with things you observed.”

She took a breath and looked around the room and settled her eyes back on the clock.

“We project that this board will last seven to ten business days, during which time we ask that you adhere to the same confidentiality rules that you did during your administrative leave.  Additionally, we ask that you be especially vigilant regarding your transmissions.  If we want to contact you, it will probably be fairly important.”  She tried a trepidatious smile at this one, but still no one was ready to laugh at her jokes, such as they were.  She paused and looked imploringly at her audience.

“Are there any questions?”  I could feel Martel’s hand rising beside me.  I gritted my teeth and wondered what she could ask.  Stoljarov locked her eyes on Martel, and she cleared her throat before she said, “Yes.  Captain Martel.”  Martel recrossed her legs and said in a light tone,

“Might you need to recall any of us?”  Stoljarov nodded blankly.

“Thank you for reminding me, Captain.  Yes.  We might require anyone’s presence more than once due to the nature of eyewitness testimony, etc.  This, of course, makes it even more important to keep a watchful eye on your data streams.”

Stoljarov then locked eyes with someone else, someone in the back.  I didn’t turn to see who it was.  I waited for what seemed like a long time until Stoljarov said, “Yes.  Admiral Charbonneau.”

“Would you like to tell them about consequences, or would you like me to do it?”  Everyone sat completely still.  It was so quiet with just breathing and the quick whir of Martel’s cybernetic eye.

“Thank you, Admiral,” Stoljarov said with a ragged voice.  “I will do it.”  She took a long glance at the room, seeming to want to encourage all of us with individual eye contact.  She took a quick drink of water and folded her hands in front of her.

“At this time, the Mission Review Board exists to investigate the events that comprise the entirety of the failed Mission 4640-Alpha.  Depending upon the board’s analyses of the situations therein, a subsequent board may be necessary to dole out appropriate consequences and/or punishments for those involved.”  She had said it all rather slowly although her breathing had been rapid.  Her eyes darted to the back of the room.  She began to call on someone, “Yes, Doctor–” but she was cut off by Dalsgaard’s voice, which sounded high and strained to my ears.

“And do you anticipate many court martials?”  The room began to murmur, and Stoljarov spoke firmly.

“The board has not currently heard any testimonies; therefore, I cannot answer that question with any level of certainty whatsoever.  And as I’ve already mentioned, this board is not interested in suppositions.”  Stoljarov’s eyes had narrowed, and she had looked rather fierce and admiral-ish, instead of librarian-ish like usual, and I wanted to cheer for her fortitude.  She waited a beat for any follow up and then looked around again before she spoke.  “Thank you again for your time, and thank you in advance for your cooperation.  We will begin at ten AM.  Please check the schedule posted in the data stream and outside this room.  You are all dismissed.”

We see that Stoljarov does not have a good poker face and that Aldridge is compassionate.  The suspense builds a little with everybody in the same room together, and we know there’s some antagonism within the ranks.  Bum bum bum.  Kind of.

So there’s that.  Pretty sucky right now.

***

Current Wordcount: 35,855

Advertisements

2 Responses to “Best and Worst of the Fourth Week: In Which I Accept My Fate”

  1. silverscreenings 29 November 2012 at 6:42 PM #

    Great Scott, woman! You’ve written 36,000 words in less than 30 days! You’re well underway to completing this novel.

    And I want a signed copy.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Book 'Em, Jan O

Ghosts, Tall Tales & Witty Haiku!

grapeling

it could be that

Life in a blog

All there is ever, is the now

Heartspring Stanley

A Heartspring Student Project

The Bully Pulpit

(n): An office or position that provides its occupant with an outstanding opportunity to speak out on any issue.

The League of Mental Men!

A Satirical Word In Your Shell-Like Ear

Deanna-Cian's Blog

An English student who stalks Benedict Cumberbatch. If I'm not pressed against cake shop windows then I'm rambling on about the press.

Fangirl Therapy

All the Feels & How to Deal

Live to Write - Write to Live

We live to write and write to live ... professional writers talk about the craft and business of writing

Barefoot Whispers

Medical doctor, book-lover, aspirant adventurer

iheartingrid

For the Love of Leading Ladies

Melanie's Life Online

Read it to absorb my awesomeness

Collective Thoughts Of My Journey

The liberation of my life, mind, and imagination that is no longer the part of the Collective..

%d bloggers like this: