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Archive for November, 2011

Progress Report, in which a turkey eats my homework

Thanksgiving has come and gone, along with the attendant disruptions to the regular schedule.  Predictably, productivity took a hit:  I only managed 2K on Apocalypse Pictures Presents.

That’s not so bad, given the holiday, is it?  I mean, seriously–what was I supposed to do?  The turkey ate my homework.  Really.

Not buying it?  Yeah, me neither.  <sigh>

It didn’t help matters that I went through a small crisis of confidence last week.  I think I have it worked out now.  I think.  And if not, it’ll have to wait until the rewrite.

Your snippet awaits:

He rummaged in his backpack, pulled out a small flashlight, and shone it into the hole–a calculated risk.

Eddie stood five feet in, looked around in surprise at the sudden illumination.  Gil ignored him and swept the beam around the space.

The hole was wide enough to fit four or five abreast, and tall enough to accommodate them all without stooping.  The way ahead extended as far as the flashlight’s beam would show, and was clear of obstacles.

Gil stepped full inside the hole.  The others followed quickly behind.  Without being told, Santiago set the car hood back in place.  Gil hardly noticed.  He was busy inspecting the bracing that kept the hole from falling in–most of it made from chunks of I-beams, spaced every couple of meters.

Weak spot.  Right.  This was a damned tunnel.  Someone had built it, apparently in secret–like a scene from The Shawshank Redemption, but on a larger scale.  Under other circumstances, he would have found it an amazing, even wondrous piece of work.  But he could not imagine that the Rattlesnakes would be stupid enough to deliberately breach their first and best line of defense–which left him to wonder who had done all this work, and how.  And why.  He had a few ideas, none of which he liked.

No updates for Write Club.

Excelsior.  And stuff.

Progress Report, in which my muse changes it up

Another week, another 5K for Apocalypse Pictures Presents–or as Magic Meter puts it,

My muse paid me a visit, which is always a pleasant surprise.  But instead of revealing a bit of the future, as is her usual wont, she illuminated the past–a little change-up to keep me on my toes.  Specifically, she explained to me why Chapter Two happened.  Which, you know, is good information.  I’d been kinda wondering.  A little retconning will be needed, but what first draft doesn’t need a good retcon?

The next chapter will conclude Act I–in a thrilling and captivating manner, one hopes.

And now, some snippety goodness, prepared especially for you:

Santiago peered over Gil’s shoulder.  “What is that?”

“It’s a keycard,” Gil said in a wondering voice.  He squatted so he could hold it before the prisoner’s eyes.  “Where did you get this?”

The man shook his head.  “That?  I dunno, I just found it this morning.  I was scavenging in Santa Monica.  That was just lying around.  I thought it looked kind of cool, so I picked it up.”

Gil leaned in.  “All right, you get that one for free.  You lie to me one more time, though, and Susan’s gonna shoot you in the head.  Follow?”

“I’m not–”  The man stopped when he saw the expression on Gil’s face.  He licked his lips, breathing hard.  “I wasn’t doing anything, I swear.”

“You weren’t spying on us?” Susan said.

His words came in a rush:  “I saw you coming down Sunset.  When you turned off, I followed you.  I was just curious, that’s all.  Swear to God.  You never see any vehicles out here.  I was hoping I might be able to score some water.”

Gil gave a tsk and stood.  “Well, that’s too bad.  If you’d been straight with me, I might have given you some water.  But you just signed your own death warrant.”

No updates for Write Club.

Headlong into the holiday season . . .

Progress Report, in which I quote Han Solo

Apocalypse Pictures Presents is 5,000 words fatter, and Magic Meter is on the march:

What’s that up ahead?  Why, it’s the end of the first act.  Not sure if what I have in mind is going to work, but hey, that’s what first drafts are for.

As for the second act . . . at this point, it’s kinda like what Han Solo said while he was recovering from hibernation sickness:  “Instead of a big dark blur, I see a big light blur.”

That’s progress, right?

OK, so Han was on his way to the sarlacc pit at the time.  So what?  Pipe down and enjoy your snippet:

The very notion of Animates chilled her on a level she couldn’t reach.  It did no good for her to tell herself they were just meat, no different in concept from simple puppets.  She remembered attending one of the first proof-of-concept demos, using a hand and arm the technicians had acquired from the morgue.  The motions had been fluid and lifelike–too lifelike for Catherine, as it happened.  When Ross had asked her opinion, she’d said, “I feel like we just hit the bottom of the uncanny valley.”

Ross had laughed at that, a rarity for him.  But he and the rest of the Council had been sufficiently impressed to give the go-ahead for a full body Animation.

Catherine had attended that one, too, but had spent most of her time gazing at the floor.  The whole time, she could only wonder what the pioneers of animatronics would have thought had they seen the direction their work had taken.  Most of the techs on the project, she knew, had worked for effects companies before the Fall.  They had learned their craft at the feet of visionaries who once had brought dinosaurs to life.  Even though CGI had replaced most of the need for animatronics by the time of the Red Death, the technology and the know-how remained, waiting only for someone to take the next step.

The magic of Hollywood had been replaced by the necromancy of the Hills.  To Catherine, it was an abomination.

No updates for Write Club.

Once more unto the breach, dear friends . . .