Block Breaker #7

I’ve not been writing much. I did NaNoWriMo in the two years I’ve been absent, but outside of that, lots of planning, but nothing actually going onto a page. I’ve got pretty terminal writer’s block, but as I mentioned in my vlog (Vlog 16th July 2022 – A New Start and Old Problems – YouTube) I want to get back to writing… so excitingly, after a month, I’ve finally done that. I wrote a little short story, and here it is – my first non-NaNoWriMo story in years

Continue reading “Block Breaker #7”

So… Post NaNo Struggles and a New Writing Competition

It’s been nearly two weeks since NaNoWriMo, and I’ll admit I’ve been struggling. The ideas aren’t flowing, and I’m struggling to write. I tried to keep to just a thousand words a day since December started, but just lacked inspiration.

So, we’ll save that goal for the new year. Nothing wrong with New Year’s resolutions, other than the lack of follow through.

Instead I’m working on a single project, new writing wise, and that’s a Christmas folk tale, well, obviously not an actual folk tale, it’s an original piece by moi, but that’s the style I’m going for.

Still struggling for inspiration on the details – but I’ve set my mind to it, so that is what I’m going to do. It’s not a long piece, maybe 1,500 to 2,000 words, and the implementation is really important for several reasons.

  • First, this is for kids so the dialog needs to be excellent, which is excellent practice for my second draft of the Children’s fantasy I wrote during NaNo
  • Secondly, its got to be funny, I don’t write funny well and again this is something I need for the second draft of the Children’s fantasy and future endeavours
  • Thirdly, that short word count, I’m a verbose kind of guy, but kids don’t want to read twenty words where four will do, so good concise precise writing is called for

All of these things are important for other reasons – they’re good practice for the upcoming NYC Midnight Short Story Challenge, which I’ve entered.

It’s a competition in rounds/heats to write a series of short stories based on word count target, a genre, a theme, and a set character that must be included. It takes place at the end of January next year, for the first round, with subsequent rounds should you pass beyond the first round taking place in April, May, and June – each round has a lower word count, and a lower time frame for submissions.

I’m really looking forward to it. Yes you pay to enter, and there’s a good chance I won’t make it past the first round, but, providing you’ve met the rules for a round and aren’t disqualified, the judges do give feedback on your work.

What you write, stays yours to do with as you please. So expect to seem my submission, (really hoping for submissions), to appear on here.

January, I’m going to go back over a few of the previous years prompts for some practice. I’ve no idea what genre I’ll be given for the first heat, and I have a lot of weaknesses, so practice will be key.

Speaking of short stories, aside from working on my Christmas folk story, I’m also finishing up the editing on a short story I’m going to share on here, its one of the NaNo ones – there’s an early excerpt from the story I used as part of a charity supporting vid for NaNoWriMo:

One word of caution, the character is actually a teenage girl – and I think we would have all been insulted and ashamed if I’d tried to impersonate a teenage girl, as I’m very much not that

As mentioned, around all of this, I’m still working on replotting the chidlren’s fantasy novel with a view to a complete rewrite for a second draft. There are post its and everything so far.

I’m going to aim to do at least one post a week here – but if for some strange reason you are missing me, there’s a Vlog every few days, (sometimes every day for periods), over on my YouTube channel JL Aspiring

Wherever you are, whenever it is, hope you’re having a great time. Happy writing.

You’re doing it wrong…

Yay I’m writing, and it feels great.

Unfortunately I’m doing it wrong. I wanted to write a short story that would act as a prequel to my NaNoWriMo project this year. However, what I’ve done so far is write 1,006 words that have seen a spacecraft land on a planet, and my protagonist go through customs, and ride a taxi to a hotel. It’s not even got him in the room yet.

It’s not a big deal, obviously – a lot can be cut out in the edit, but now I’ve realised the problem I need to write differently, or face having an extra difficult edit process to cut it down. Makes sense? Unfortunately, there’s now a cognitive dissonance between what I’ve written and what I will be writing, switching styles after you’ve started isn’t great.

Needs must though, I feel the need to write this because I’ve made the decision for my NaNoWriMo novel start in the middle of it’s B plot, while the A plot has a more traditional three act structure. So the short story I’m writing is the first part of that B plot, it’ll give me some reference points, without bogging down the main novel with what really isn’t necessary for the story.

Plus it allows me to achieve one of my favourite things in novels, having a world that exists beyond the novel itself. One of my most hated things is stories that take place in a bubble, you want indications of a rich back story that led up to the events of your novel, without directly featuring them.

I also want to do a second short story, this second featuring a bit more world building so being broader in context than my current short story featuring the back story to the protagonist.

In the meantime, I need to get less detailed and more action and intention orientated to make this short story work. I’d like to limit myself to four thousand words.

I’ll publish the short stories on here once they’re done.

Short Story: The Peculiar Blade

I was in Scarborough for the weekend just gone, and took the opportunity to do a little writing – okay, it’s been a while since I actually wrote a story. Mostly I keep plotting them – but this one had no plot, I just wrote. It is very strictly a short story to enjoy, there isn’t much depth to it. I did enjoy writing it though.

The Peculiar Blade

by J L Lawrence

Thomas McVey looked at the peculiar blade in his hands and felt a strange premonition.

He walked over to the window and reflected on his quiet surroundings. He had always loved rainy Scarborough with its quiet, yet wild seaside. It was the place he always came to when in hiding, it was easier to move between the north and south halves of the city, and the headland made for interesting defensive positions.

From his room on the top floor of the hotel, looking out over the North bay, the sea wild with high winds, the sun deep down, he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Mark Kowalski. Mark was an tenacious police agent who Thomas had known for some time was on his trail. Two years previous Thomas had got on Mark’s radar with an operation in Bristol, then again, another operation in Devon, that he had tracked him down in Scarborough over 300 miles away did not bode well.

Thomas gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He looked older than his forty-five years, somehow the past decade on the path of revenge had taken its toll, but it had also made him lean, he had the hungry look of a predator, his skin was taught over lean muscles, belying a hard and fast man. What few acquaintances he had still contact with, saw him as a hard, focused and dark monster. His enemies saw a man to whom death would be inevitable, but until then he was a dark and dangerous killer best to be avoided.

But not even an incredible person who had dozens of kills under his belt, and had fended off more than his fair share of assassins, was prepared for what Mark had in store today.

The rain hammered like jumping rats, the wind made the sea roar, making it hard for Thomas to see and hear the danger around him, the only thing he was sure of was that Mark Kowalski was out there waiting for him.

As Thomas stepped outside and Mark came closer, he could almost see the hungry glint in his eye, and Thomas knew this man had violent intentions.

“I am here because I want justice,” Mark bellowed from the street, in a deranged tone. He slammed his foot down. “I frigging hate you, Thomas McVey, come down here and face me.” Despite the roaring from the ocean Thomas heard him nearly perfectly.

Thomas looked back, even more surprised and still fingering the peculiar blade, then he made up his mind and left the room and riding the antiquated lift down to the first floor where there was a communal balcony empty with the weather. “Mark, you must think I was born yesterday,” he called out.

They looked at each other with angry feelings, Detective Kowalski pulled a handgun from beneath his jacket, a simple Browning and took aim.

Thomas ducked back inside, and head for the stairs down, keeping an eye out for an attack, but he made it to the ground floor doorway.

Suddenly, Mark lunged forward and tried to punch Thomas in the face. Quickly, Thomas grabbed the peculiar blade and brought it down on Mark’s skull.

Mark’s dirty legs trembled and his ugly arms wobbled. He looked anxious, and scampered back, fumbling with the gun. Several over men rushed into the corridor; their guns ready.

Thomas smashed the fire alarm, and retreated back into the stair way, he ducked down heading towards the basement.

The unknown men followed him, but Thomas had moved into a narrow corridor with a blind right hand bend, which allowed him to meet the shadowy men one by one in close quarters, and he rapidly despatched them, rendering them unconscious or unable to stand as opportunity dictated. He wasn’t interested in a body count, he had no way of knowing who these men were, despite being sure they weren’t police.

Mark staggered through the narrow corridor, he started shooting blindly before he could see Thomas, sending ricochets and brick shards flying around the corner. Thomas had no choice but to retreat, coming to the large boiler for the hotel.

“It’s no use,” the detective called out, you’re trapped, and I have a gun and you only a knife.

Thomas refrained from replying, he focused on understanding his setting, the pipes and tanks that filled the boiler room.

Mark charged in, firing that anything that looked like a man. He fired three times before his gun was empty, and he had to stop release the clip to replace it.

Thomas charged out from behind one of the boiler tanks, hot and sweaty but still ready and able to fight, he let forth a roar as he drove the knife in between the ribs of the vengeful detective.

Mark let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Mark Kowalski was dead.

Thomas McVey went back upstairs, and filtered into the crowd making their way out due to the fire alarm, disappearing from the crowd he walked the one mile back to the South Bay and took up occupancy in his back up hotel, and made himself a nice cup of tea.

THE END

The 100 Follow Up

So a very quick follow up to my The 100 post…

I finished watching the show up to the end of season 5 – and season 5 was actually a good show that I wasn’t hate watching. Which makes me feel so much better, as I don’t like to think of myself in such a negative light, I may look miserable all the time, but I’m actually an optimist at heart.

Now, my own story based on the premise of The 100 came out pretty well, I didn’t write it out, just plotted it, did some art work to design my stations and space craft. It was just a thought exercise in effect to fix the problems in The 100. It also let me experiment with some different plotting techniques to get that story idea laid out ready to flesh out with words.

So nothing written, but great success anyway.

I’ll do a future post laying out that plot, the reason I’m not going to write it is because it’s literally derivative, while it was distinct from the original, it wasn’t an original idea in of itself. It’s okay to write something that’s not original, if you came to it independently and did some different things with it, it’s just one of those things. It is truly different to come up with something entirely new, and that’s what I’d prefer to do.

But again, the subject of originality is a post for another time – because it’s one of those that requires a lot of thought to say anything rational.

So this is a largely purposeless post, just following up on my rant, now on to some new things.

It’s been a struggle to get going…

While bored and looking for something to watch stumbled across The 100… so much stupid, poor storytelling, poor science.

I think I can do better, so I’m plotting out a better version of The 100, in detail. We’ll call it inspired by The 100, with some inspiration from Battlestar Galactica, FireFly, and Space: Above and Beyond – so there’s a bit more scope, more science, more interesting stories going on, and an ensemble cast of characters that are interesting and useful.

Still keep the dichotomy of a space side story and an Earth side story, with the challenge of little interaction between the two – but it wouldn’t just be a throw away plot line for series one/book one. However it wouldn’t be an overall recreation, it’s my own story – but inspired by the idea.

Yeah… I’m bored.

I’m also casting through idea after idea recently, nothing really sticks, so not been writing much of late. Plus there’s been other things on my mind, and other distractions, challenges and catastrophes, and some serious life shit going on. But once again, I’m going to try and get going.

Block Breaker #6

Block breakers are short stories, random ditties for which the only real purpose is to write something, anything when Writer’s Block strikes. Quality, verbosity, fidelity, consistency – none of these words apply. Just write or die.

So I’m procrastinating from prepping for writing, by writing… here we go again!


A figure, dressed in loose grey overalls stepped out of a car. He picked his way through the carnage strewn all around the city plaza.

“Stop this!” cried out the Gargoyle, “I’m here.”

From above a body hit the ground with a thud.

“Aww fuck, no, come on no,” Gargoyle said with despair in his voice, “Why’d you have to do that?” He was stood over the body that had fallen, a bloody and broken costumed man, he was so bloodied that there was no way to tell where the open flesh and the red of the costume began in the darkness.

“Just another fool wanting to play hero, no true power,” a deep female voice said, as a cape-clad white costumed woman floated down from the sky.

“This was all so meaningless,” the Gargoyle said, “You didn’t need to do any of this.”

“Of course I did,” she said as she landed lightly on her feet, “They were pretenders. Running and flying around thinking they were good enough, strong enough, to be paragons.”

“And why am I here?” the Gargoyle asked, “You wanted a witness from another time to see you beat them all?”

“No,” the woman said shaking her head, “That would be cruel and meaningless. No, I called you out so I can test myself against the best.”

“I’m an old man? Whatever I was or wasn’t, I’m hardly that now,” the Gargoyle said.

“Oh,” the woman said, over dramatically scratching her cowl, “You would think I’d have thought of that. The Gargoyle hasn’t been seen for nearly sixty years.”

“If you just want to kill an old man, go ahead,” Gargoyle said, “Finish all this with me. Kill me and vanish, leave this world in peace.”

“Don’t give up so quickly,” the woman said, “I have a plan. I need to face you in your prime.” She appeared to flicker for a moment, like a bad television image, and then suddenly she had a device in her hands, which she pointed at the Gargoyle, a beam of light emitted from it striking the old man who cried out in pain and collapsed.

Gargoyle struggled on the ground and started to drag himself back to the car, in pain and screaming all the way.

“I will be here tomorrow night Gargoyle. Come and face me, or I will rip this continent apart, fairly sure that should kill most of the people on it. Understood? I should think so.” Suddenly the woman vanished, flickering out and not returning.

The Gargoyle continued to drag himself along the ground, until the pain became too intense, back arching, a high pitched squeal wailing into the air, his arms and legs were thrusting out uncontrollably, with energetic pulses spreading all over, causing bulges all over his limbs.

It was over an hour until the attack stopped. By then the army had turned up and dragged the Gargoyle into a guarded ambulance, where he remained unconscious.

“Take him back to base, put him somewhere private but spacious. This man is not our prisoner, treat him with all due respect,” an anonymous-looking suited figure said, before walking away.

Gargoyle moaned, starting to come to, and then awoke with a start. He looked around bleary-eyed.

“So you’re awake,” the anonymous-looking man stated.

“Where am I?” the Gargoyle asked hoarsely.

“Porton Down,” the man said, “We brought you here after the fight.”

The Gargoyle sat up and lowered his legs over the bed, and looked at his now thick arms, still in their grey costume. “There wasn’t much of a fight on my part,” the Gargoyle said looking over his body, at his thickened legs, he turned his attention back to his arms and then his hands flexing and then making a fist.

“I have a few questions,” the man said, “Four to be precise.”

“Can this wait?” Gargoyle asked, “I need to work out what she did to me.”

“Well that’s question one right there,” the man pointed out, “Who is she? In one night she fought nearly a dozen supes, and didn’t just win, she slaughtered them all. We didn’t even know Starman could die, she ripped him into eight bits with her bare hands. Fifty police officers all dead. Who was she?”

“I don’t know,” Gargoyle said, he was playing with his throat. “You kept my costume on?”

“You survived, that seemed relevant, figured you’d want to keep your anonymity. Mister Bramley, we know who you are though. We don’t know who she is. We can’t match her to any watchlist.”

“So Big Brother can’t help. I remember when all your super technology, and databases, were meant to be superheroes redundant, never quite came off,” Gargoyle noted, “But I’ve no idea who she is either. I got a message, I ignored it. I got another message, I ignored it, then I saw what was happening in the news and paid attention.”

“You ignored her email so she wiped out most of the superhero community in Europe?” the anonymous man asked.

“A few enterprising people over the years have worked out my identity, mostly nerds,” Gargoyle said, “Thought it was another of them. They come expecting stories,  maybe even see the power, some come looking for power.”

“Okay,” the man said, “So, the second question, you retired sixty years ago. How do you look so young?”

“I didn’t before. I was fifty when I retired,” Gargoyle said, “My powers apparently slowed my ageing, but I was still old and tired when I went to the plaza tonight.”

“Last night,” the man said, “You’ve been unconscious all night, it’s late afternoon. You still didn’t answer the question, how do you look so young?”

“She did something to me,” Gargoyle said looking at his clenched fist, “Hit me with some kind of ray. It was incredibly painful, I could feel my body changing rapidly.”

“So there’s some kind of technology,” the man noted, “That helps narrow it down. If her powers are technology-based we can search through the universities, labs, and such.”

“Third question?” Gargoyle asked, “We don’t have long. She said I had to face her tonight, or she would destroy Europe.”

The man went to speak, then held himself for a moment, “Okay, so what do you intend?”

“Well somehow she’s made me younger, hopefully, my powers are there too,”  Gargoyle said jumping off the bed and doing a quick squat, “I guess I’ll have to face her.”

“Or you could let us handle it,” the man said, “We have facilities and tools to deal with criminal supes.”

“If you want a pop at her, go right ahead,” Gargoyle said, “But I’m going to be there. I can’t let her kill any more people.”

“Do you think she could destroy Europe?”

“I don’t know,” Gargoyle said, “I fought a god once, it was back in the late fifties. He had enough power to destroy the world, nearly did.”

“He was still beaten though,” the anonymous-looking man stated.

“Yeah, but it took everything I had to contain him, keep him occupied, and in the end, it was a magical talisman that took trapped him. The talisman with Wolfenden is being kept safe, isn’t it?”

“It’s locked in a vault, the location of which we don’t share, it’s secure,” he paused, “Do you think that’s what she is? Gods tend to be quite archaic, she used some kind of ray technology you said.”

“That’s your fourth question?” Gargoyle asked, surprised, “I’m fairly sure I know who you are. There are rules.”

“I wondered,” the man said, “But couldn’t waste a question on it. And yes, you’ve caught me, I’ve wasted a question, you may as well answer.”

“We met in the in nineteen forty-nine,” Gargoyle noted, “Think you were dressed in the same clothes. Anyway no, I don’t think she’s a deity.  She didn’t have that ageless quality you or Wolfenden have.”

“You need to test your powers,” the enigmatic figure said, “If you’re going to face her, you need to be at your best.”

“Listen, you did me a favour maintaining my anonymity,” Gargoyle said, “So here’s the answer to a question I suspect you wanted to ask. The answer’s no, well probably not.”

“Then we may as well make our peace with the universe,” the man said, “Because in your prime, I’m fairly sure you could have beaten me, and I grew up on Olympus.”

“Just get me back to the plaza,” Gargoyle said, “Just get me back there in time for tonight, I’ll do my best. You might also want to consider bringing supes from outside of Europe.”

“So you showed up, nice new look there Gargoyle, or should I say old look?” the woman said floating down softly to land on the cobblestoned plaza. The area was still carnage, though the previous night’s bodies had been removed, and little yellow flags had sprouted up all over.

“I can’t let you hurt anyone else,” Gargoyle said, his voice deep and intense.

“Well you’ll have to beat me then if you can,” the woman said laughing.

“I appreciate this young body, it feels a little weird,” Gargoyle said, backing off, “Besides there are apparently processes for these situations.”

“Oh?” the woman asked.

Just then, streams of blue rushed from atop buildings and high windows striking the woman, encasing in her in a blue field. Two figures in body armour came running in carrying large devices and threw them at the woman, the devices rushed towards the woman from the front and rear and grappled together encasing the woman in steel.

The woman collapsed to the ground as the blue sphere faded away.

“Hahahahaha,” she laughed maniacally.

“What’s so funny?” Gargoyle asked approaching, an army of body-armoured figures emerging from all around, weapons raised behind him.

“Oh these human games,” the woman said, and seemingly with a flex of her arms, the trap cracked, then she spread her arms wide and the metal device fell away sparks and smoke flying from it.

The collective body-armoured figures all opened fire, spraying the woman with more of the blue light. She continued to laugh maniacally.

Then suddenly she stopped, her attention snapped to the armed men all around, and then she flickered, and within the blink of an eye all the figures were suddenly collapsing to the ground, and black-clad figures were falling from rooftops and high up windows.

Gargoyle and the woman were the only ones left standing.

“Is all that you know death?” Gargoyle asked disgustedly.

“Yes,” the woman said, “But I didn’t kill the little mortals.” Her words were immediately belied by bodies falling from the roofs hitting the ground. She looked around, bemused, “Well mostly didn’t kill them. They’re so delicate.”

“So you’re a god then?” Gargoyle asked.

“Nope, not exactly. You ready?” she asked, “I’m getting bored of waiting, would hate to have to wipe a whole continent to get you in the mood.”

Gargoyle got into a read stance, “I’m ready,” he said, the skin visible from his costume visibly went grey and stone-like, his eyes burned amber, and his whole body seemed to grow filling out the costume even further.

The woman flickered, but suddenly she appears grabbed by the next by Gargoyle.

“Seen that trick enough,” he said.

“Hah”, she lashed out with her elbow into the side of his head sending him flying through the air several feet and crashing into the side of a building.

Gargoyle picked himself up, and shuck glass from himself, stepping out of the building he faced the woman.

“You don’t disappoint,” the woman said.

“Talk or fight,” Gargoyle said, charging forward with unbelievable speed, his right fist swing out, it’s arc passing through where the woman had been the briefest moment earlier until she flickered away.

Gargoyle flew from his feet, rolled in midair and then carried the roll through back onto the ground and letting the moment spring him back to his feet. He searched around for his opponent.

“Face me!” he yelled, fury filling his voice.

From out of nowhere the woman appeared flying through the air, she grabbed for his neck and using the momentum of her flight to spin around as if to break his neck.

Gargoyle braced himself, and the woman lost her grip and fell away, he followed her momentum, kicking her while she was prone, sending her body skittering across the ground into a pillar from the front of a skyscraper.

The woman got back to her feet, “Well that…” she started to say, but Gargoyle was already on her, with a double-fisted pump to her midsection, immediately followed by an uppercut that sent her flying back into another pillar.

The woman kicked herself from the rubble, propelling her self forward into a crunching spear into the Gargoyle’s midsection, paying him back. She went in for a punch, but Gargoyle blocked it with his left, arm, and then followed immediately with a headbutt to her face.

The woman staggered back, shaking her head, then her eyes flashed red.

Gargoyle charged, but with perfect timing, she shoved the Gargoyle to the side, letting his momentum beat him leaving him sprawling on the floor. The woman flickered, and suddenly appeared a hundred meters up, she orientated herself on the downed figure of Gargoyle, and started falling towards him picking up speed, then she flickered out.

Gargoyle was just picking himself up, when suddenly she flickered back into view mere inches from him, her fist slamming into him with such speed and force that he was driven into the ground, and the cobbles beneath exploded into shards and dust as the Gargoyle’s rock form sunk nine inches into the ground.

“Oof!” he exclaimed, as the woman bounced away, rolled and landed on her feet.

“Excellent,” she said, “You are most excellent.”

“Talk or fight,” Gargoyle said extricating himself from the hole he was in, raising himself painfully to his knees.

“You said that already,” she said.

“You talk too much,” he suddenly lurched forward, his momentum from rising pushing him into a sprint, powerful leg muscles straining as they propelled him forward with every ounce of his speed, turning him into a massive fast-moving juggernaut.

The woman flickered appearing just to left again and reaching out to push him aside again.

Gargoyle speeding towards where the woman had been, was already spreading his arms out ahead of him, and as he reached where she was pushing, he grabbed her rest, and then purposefully missing his step, sending his hulking form crashing down into the ground with tremendous force, and wrenching the woman from her feet, and round with him as he rolled.

He maintained his grip and followed through the momentum bringing her smashing into the ground with force enough to shatter the cobbles again.

From launch to smash took the mere briefest of moments.

Gargoyle wasted no time, he pressed home his advantage by rolling onto her, grabbing her by the thick strong hair and smashing her head into the ground repeatedly.

Amidst the pressure of his brutal attack, she bucked for all her worth, eventually dislodging him, then she shoved him back.

“Wait!” she shouted, as Gargoyle got into a ready stance, “I choose talk”.

The Gargoyle held in his stance, but didn’t make to move forward, “What’s there to talk about?”

The woman raked mud and stone from his face, then pulling a cloth from a hidden pocket, she wiped her face to clear it. Then she looked back at the Gargoyle, “Okay, I yield.”

“What?” he asked dumbfounded.

“I yield. It’s the only rational choice. You’re as strong, fast and smart as promised, you can’t beat me, but I don’t think I can beat you, so I yield,” the woman said, looking visibly relaxed.

“I don’t understand,” the Gargoyle said, “Why would you go through all this death and destruction just to yield?”

“I needed to find the strongest mortal this planet had to offer,” she said, “Now I have, and I can’t beat you. Well unless we go super extreme, I imagine even with your powers after a day or two, you’d be too exhausted to go on, and then I’d finish you. And if that didn’t work, I could fight you for a few decades, until your old again. Wouldn’t be a real victory though, daddy wouldn’t accept it as a fete of strength.”

“Daddy? Fete of strength? You’re a child of Ares?” Gargoyle asked.

“Ares? No, I guess I can see why you might think that, but no. Poseidon is my father,” the woman said.

“So you’re a demi-god? You said you weren’t,” Gargoyle said, “And why would Poseidon want you to slaughter all the heroes? And so many people in this city?” His face was twisted with anger, confusion and disgust.

“It’s complicated,” the woman said, “I’m less demi-god and more mortal plus.”

“Well I don’t care,” Gargoyle said after a few moments thoughts, “You should leave her and never come back. If you come back, I will find you, hunt you down and fight you as long as it takes to find a winner between us, or I find something to contain you indefinitely.”

“I can agree to that,” the woman said.

“Just like that?” Gargoyle asked.

“Yes,” she said, “The power of the gods has been tested against the power of man, that was my mission.”

“What is your name?” Gargoyle asked, returning to his human form.

“Kora Euryale,” the woman said. “I will take my leave.”

Gargoyle went to speak but thought better of it. The woman, Kora, flickered out of sight and didn’t return this time.

A cadre of armed black body-armoured troops came marching in, with the anonymous-looking man at their lead.

“Is it over?” he asked.

“Yes, she’s gone,” Gargoyle said, “It was a stalemate.”

The man looked around at the carnage, “This was a stalemate?”

“Yes,” Gargoyle said, suddenly feeling tired, “It’s not good though.”

“Oh?” the anonymous-looking man asked.

“The god’s are planning on returning,” Gargoyle said, “The Olympian ones. They wanted to see what strength mankind had.”

“There are contingencies for that,” the man said.

“Sure. Hope they work better than your contingencies for a rogue supe,” Gargoyle stated.

“What now, for you I mean?” the man asked, “We could use your help.”

“Call me if you need me,” Gargoyle said, “I’m going to enjoy being young as long as it lasts, forgot to ask about that bit.”

The end.

NaNoWriMo 2018 Prep : Perspective

I tend not to like stories that are told from a single view point. It’s not universal by any means, there are great stories out there that solely follow a protagonist, and I’ve probably enjoyed many of them, but generally I don’t like it.

I hunger to see things from other points of view, including the villains and antagonists. You get more character depth, plans and plots are grander and more intriguing when you can see what goes into them, and the stakes are a little higher because the story doesn’t have to be reliant on one person to tell it, which means characters can die, no one is safe.

This is entirely a personal thing, it’s an authors choice, and audience considerations, etc…

And it can go wrong too, in A Song Of Ice and Fire, clearly the multiple perspectives gets out of control when you have to read the same scene three or four times from different characters perspectives across a couple of books. Yeah that becomes difficult for the reader.

It also leads to things like “There’s not enough Aardvark-man in this Aardvark-man story”, because you spend too long away from your protagonist setting up an exciting their act. Though in fairness, that could just be a sign of weak or stupid villains or plans, because maybe if Aardvark-man stepped in act at two, he should be able to sniff out the plan and fix it before it escalates, so you just had to keep him away.

Anyway, so going through the major events of my NaNoWriMo novel for this November, I’ve marked on what perspective each one will be from.

Not only that I’ve decided any that my protagonist will be in, it will always be from their perspective, almost like they’re powerful enough to take control whether they’re around. Other perspectives in the story will come from the companions of the perspective, the Hero, (not the protagonist, but the one they must find to save the day and all that jazz), the antagonists, (big bad and henchmen), and because I want my story to have impact and stakes I’d like a few scenes from ancillary character’s perspectives – you know voice of the local people, common soldiers – people who pay the price for grand big important people’s ambitions.

Not worked out where or what the ancillary characters scenes will be, but I can’t help feeling they’ll be important to the aesthetic I want. I also don’t want them taking over the story, they should still drive the plot, or provide very specific context, rather than being there for the sake of it.

Block Breaker #4

Block breakers are short stories, random ditties for which the only real purpose is to write something, anything when Writer’s Block strikes. Quality, verbosity, fidelity, consistency – none of these words apply. Just write or die.

So I’m procrastinating from prepping for writing, by writing… here we go again!

P.s. (before the actual script… go figure), this one went a little weird – and it goes in a very different direction for what it initially looks like. I enjoyed writing it anyway, but it’s not my normal thing.


Gone Awry

Sasha threw her cup across the room, she threw off her jacket, placed her gun in it’s holster in the top draw of her desk and locked it.

“Damn it!” she shouted, when she was done, “How the hell did he get past us?”

Her assistant stood, mortified like a dear in the headlights.

“Don’t just stand there you dosey git,” Sasha said, “I want answers, and I want answers now. You were meant to put people on the doors.”

“They were…” her assistant, a normally confident twenty-five year old, named Susan Claire, short with scarlet hair and a trim figure, dressed practically but with touches of flair. In the face of her boss’s anger, her confidence was melting.

“They weren’t covering the main entrance, the main bloody entrance. That areshole just walked out,” her boss said, calming down. “Tell me what happened? How was it we were made to look like amateurs by a two bit conman.”

“One of the silent alarms went off,” Susan said, “A couple of the guys on the front went to reinforce the internal team.”

“Damn it,” Sasha said, “How did he slip past the remaining two?”

“I don’t know,” Susan said.

“Get me the names of the two on the front entrance,” Sasha said.

Continue reading “Block Breaker #4”