For the next
four weeks two weeks holy shit five days, I’ll be participating in NaNoWriMo, National Novel Writing Month. The following is an excerpt from my project, The Thrilling Adventures of Clara Delaney; or, the Misfortunes of Isaac Rowe.
An unexpected roadblock in the world of novel-writing: my first draft is fairly skeletal, consisting mostly of “tell-don’t-show” scenes and sketches of the things I actually want to write. This means my characters are running into a lot of situational drama, just to stretch out the word count.
Fek spent a lot of late nights on the bridge. Most of them didn’t have a lot of work during the months to and from their sites. For example, you didn’t usually have a lot of demolitions to do in space, but the work Zilp did on their planets was vital. Fek and Zork were the exceptions to that rule: Zork was the pilot and took the controls manually whenever they hit something tricky, and Fek was the one who looking out for the somethings tricky.
He sat at his chair. His chair was surrounded by a small space: his computers and his desk space. The whole thing was somewhat facetiously called his “office”. None of them had ever been office men. He was pretty sure they’d have exploded stuck behind a desk somewhere. Nevertheless, Fek had an office. It was vitally important.
It was as much his space as his own room. The computer was linked to Fek’s personal screen in his little suite if the instruments picked up something really weird. Woe be to anyone who messed with his chair’s height or the little back support cushion. The color balance of the screens were tinted so as not to hurt his eyes, and every program and file was in a certain everything-in-its-place order. There were a series of stickers on the sides of the monitors and a picture of his husband laminated to the desk. He loved it. And he made it clear: nobody touched his stuff. Someone touched his stuff, people might die: the consequences of Fek losing something somewhere were pretty dire.
Anyway, he saw something weird.