Time Corps 15
We head to the coffee house for a Council of War. Heidi leads off, "bet everyone here wishes they could trade topics with Indira. I'd start with 'it happened in a dome on a faraway planet' and adjourn straight to the orgy, all 50,000 words of it."
Everyone roars with laughter.
Various low percentage strategies are mooted. Would Col Khan buy a swap? Highly unlikely, each topic is tailor-made to jab one person's phobias.
I remark, "take 50,000 words, everyone here has achieved the standard typing speed of 55 words per minute, many up around 100. Even at 55 wpm, say 900 minutes, or 15 hours spread over a whole month. So the problem isn't typing time or Repetitive Strain Injury, but straight out a problem of creativity."
Heidi replies, "Indira's right, a first draft, don't worry about spelling, grammar, lousy sentence construction. Only go back if you entered a wrong word. Aim to keep free flow of thought."
Betty Lou,"looking at the topics, no one is a competitor with anyone else. No need to keep ideas secret. I suggest we hold a daily chat right here. Anyone with writers block, soon be blown away by the exchange of ideas."
Heidi, "excellent idea, a vote girls."
Unanimous, meet daily in the coffee house.
Heidi grins, "listen up y'all, everyone tell Indira your favorite perversion, give her ideas."
As I stare out the window, I feel my resolve stiffening. Ok Col, you want porn, I'll bury you in it. Why stop at 7,000 words? Go for 10,000. The good citizens of the boring little burg of Domesville have an S&M circle to pass the time. In fantasy, I'll be Chief Whip Wielder. Let's open with the Mayor, strung up upside down, and a cat-of-nine-tails. On deck, the Fire Chief. Should be fun, I turn on my laptop and shift into gear.
Gradually I become aware of being stiff and sore, the sun rising, so I've been at it all night. Between foot fetish, caning, punishment horse, collar, leash, nipple clamps, pillory, stocks, sling, St Andrew's Cross, chains, handcuffs, gagball, riding crop, whip, paddle, candlewax, blindfolds, golden showers, clothespins, icecubes, popsicles, cattle prods, buttplugs, cockrings, oral, anal, rimming, shaving, humiliation, Japanese bondage, rubber and leather outfits, role-switches and excessive delay of orgasm, I've racked up over 9,000 words in my lead-off orgy. Just your typical Friday evening in Domesville. Catch a couple hours sleep, then to the coffee house.
As I arise, dress, I realize I've spit in the demon's eye. Now just gotta dream up some pseudo-economic basis for Domesville - maybe a research station.
Heidi says, "look tired Indira, been writing all night?"
"Computer says 9,350 words, Friday night S&M orgy in Domesville."
"Wo-ow, so tell me, gonna do it again? Something else perverted?"
"Nah, gave the Col what she wants, here on in, just do the story."
"You're right, don't wanna end up repeating sex scenes or it gets boring."
"So even sex gets boring?"
"You got it friend, take it from an expert, boring more often than not."
"That's sad."
"Ain't it though?"
Too tired to talk, I just absorb conversation. Gradually I become aware of a mega-problem: I still have to overcome my disdain of fiction and dream up 40,000 words of something for plot. Then it hits me, I know beans about science, simply do not have time to research sufficiently to write credibly on the station's research. So, make it a murder mystery. Chief Scientist is brutally murdered. One of his assistants, the long-standing hatred? Ticked secretary? Maybe his wife, jealous of his fling with the Dominatrix. The Dom herself, for reasons murky? So, I'll run them all in merry circles, then it's the cook, a grudge against this chronic complainer. All right!
After coffee, I sit over my outline. Eight possible suspects, I sort out the logical order in which they will be suspected, and prepare my clues. Say 5,000 words chronicling each.
Then I crash in bed, utterly wiped.
Next day at coffee I'm relaxed, my job underway. I'm able to be a good listener, help interject the occasional idea when a friend seems to be struggling.
I soon see the real problem. I assaulted the demon head-on; everyone else, opting for rather a lot of gradualism.
Everyone roars with laughter.
Various low percentage strategies are mooted. Would Col Khan buy a swap? Highly unlikely, each topic is tailor-made to jab one person's phobias.
I remark, "take 50,000 words, everyone here has achieved the standard typing speed of 55 words per minute, many up around 100. Even at 55 wpm, say 900 minutes, or 15 hours spread over a whole month. So the problem isn't typing time or Repetitive Strain Injury, but straight out a problem of creativity."
Heidi replies, "Indira's right, a first draft, don't worry about spelling, grammar, lousy sentence construction. Only go back if you entered a wrong word. Aim to keep free flow of thought."
Betty Lou,"looking at the topics, no one is a competitor with anyone else. No need to keep ideas secret. I suggest we hold a daily chat right here. Anyone with writers block, soon be blown away by the exchange of ideas."
Heidi, "excellent idea, a vote girls."
Unanimous, meet daily in the coffee house.
Heidi grins, "listen up y'all, everyone tell Indira your favorite perversion, give her ideas."
As I stare out the window, I feel my resolve stiffening. Ok Col, you want porn, I'll bury you in it. Why stop at 7,000 words? Go for 10,000. The good citizens of the boring little burg of Domesville have an S&M circle to pass the time. In fantasy, I'll be Chief Whip Wielder. Let's open with the Mayor, strung up upside down, and a cat-of-nine-tails. On deck, the Fire Chief. Should be fun, I turn on my laptop and shift into gear.
Gradually I become aware of being stiff and sore, the sun rising, so I've been at it all night. Between foot fetish, caning, punishment horse, collar, leash, nipple clamps, pillory, stocks, sling, St Andrew's Cross, chains, handcuffs, gagball, riding crop, whip, paddle, candlewax, blindfolds, golden showers, clothespins, icecubes, popsicles, cattle prods, buttplugs, cockrings, oral, anal, rimming, shaving, humiliation, Japanese bondage, rubber and leather outfits, role-switches and excessive delay of orgasm, I've racked up over 9,000 words in my lead-off orgy. Just your typical Friday evening in Domesville. Catch a couple hours sleep, then to the coffee house.
As I arise, dress, I realize I've spit in the demon's eye. Now just gotta dream up some pseudo-economic basis for Domesville - maybe a research station.
Heidi says, "look tired Indira, been writing all night?"
"Computer says 9,350 words, Friday night S&M orgy in Domesville."
"Wo-ow, so tell me, gonna do it again? Something else perverted?"
"Nah, gave the Col what she wants, here on in, just do the story."
"You're right, don't wanna end up repeating sex scenes or it gets boring."
"So even sex gets boring?"
"You got it friend, take it from an expert, boring more often than not."
"That's sad."
"Ain't it though?"
Too tired to talk, I just absorb conversation. Gradually I become aware of a mega-problem: I still have to overcome my disdain of fiction and dream up 40,000 words of something for plot. Then it hits me, I know beans about science, simply do not have time to research sufficiently to write credibly on the station's research. So, make it a murder mystery. Chief Scientist is brutally murdered. One of his assistants, the long-standing hatred? Ticked secretary? Maybe his wife, jealous of his fling with the Dominatrix. The Dom herself, for reasons murky? So, I'll run them all in merry circles, then it's the cook, a grudge against this chronic complainer. All right!
After coffee, I sit over my outline. Eight possible suspects, I sort out the logical order in which they will be suspected, and prepare my clues. Say 5,000 words chronicling each.
Then I crash in bed, utterly wiped.
Next day at coffee I'm relaxed, my job underway. I'm able to be a good listener, help interject the occasional idea when a friend seems to be struggling.
I soon see the real problem. I assaulted the demon head-on; everyone else, opting for rather a lot of gradualism.
posted by afghangirlscifi @ 8:04 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home