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Monthly Archives: May 2014

It’s not writers block, that’s for sure. Because I am still writing. I’m just not focusing on the big project instead doing little ones, and starting brand new ones. I’ve really gotten into the characters not yet seen in the Killer Queen story, and now all I want to do is write about them, and not write about the characters from my book I trying to write.

Have I fallen out of love with Marcus and Euridy and now want to indulge in Elija and Svetlana? It seems strange to me that I can be so fickle with my characters when I had such a great passion for them before. I blame it on getting to a dull part that I know I will more than likely cut, but yet still feel the need to write it just because it’s in my novel plan. But what is it?

When I sit down to write my mind doesn’t go blank, but rather I get engulfed by fatigue and just want to go to sleep and daydream instead. It could be the meds. It could just be my chronic depression. Hell. I could even blame the weather.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that even at the best of times, even without writers block, or even when you are motivated, shit still can get in the way.

Hardly a positive thought. But it’s true. And please don’t tell me to suck it up, or just force myself to do it. I’ve heard it all before. I’ve said it all to myself too.

Depression is a horrible thing. And sometimes you just have to wait for the dark cloud to let up a little.


I think this story needs a few more tweaks, but other than that I am very happy with it.


The Busdriver and Carma

The busdriver came barreling down the dirt road; he leaned as close to the big clockwork steering wheel as he could possibly get. His scrawny fingers wrapped around the cool black metal so tightly his knuckles were threatening to break free. There was no hiding his foul mood. Not that anyone would care to notice, he thought miserably to himself.

Such was his lot in life, he fumed. It didn’t matter how hard he worked, how many hours he clocked in or how many years he put in with this sell out corporate bus company one little mistake was enough to send him on the graveyard shift like a newbie. No, he corrects himself, he didn’t make a mistake. The busdriver still thought himself in the right. He always was, you know, people were just too stupid to see it. His superior, a retired busdriver who now thought the world revolved around what came out of his ass – sorry, mouth, was just one of those sorts. So PC that he probably wiped his backside with brown paper just so he could claim to be “multicultural”. He was the one who took the complaint from that tramp seriously. What has the world come to when the word of someone like her was worth more than someone like him? Everyone was just annoyed because he still had the balls to stand up for good, honest values.

Suddenly, unregulated rain starts to pelt the panoramic windshield. The busdriver’s face beats vermillion red. If he was on his normal route the weather would be nice and controlled, coordinated with city regulations and business needs. Out here in the sticks no one cared about proper order so the rain fell where and when it liked! Turning the dirt into mud that would splash up against the lovely chrome sheen on his bus, covering the ungrateful passengers with mud and unregulated water that they would stomp and trek through his lovely pristine bus. Didn’t they know hard he worked to keep the stench that these people dragged in out? Didn’t they appreciate that he had to clean the floors and scrape their leftovers from the bottom of the seats!? The more the busdriver thought about it the angrier he got, and the more he stomped his foot down on the accelerator. The dashboard was beeping its red warnings at him, and finally the computer overrode the mute button that he had activated:

“Comrade,” the computer said in the nonsense drone of a woman, “your speed has now maintained excess beyond government regulations. Please reduce speed or company policy will have to intervene to maintain the standard of regulation.”

The bus driver grumbled, it didn’t matter where he went; somewhere there was always a woman nagging him to do things another way. Nevertheless, he took his foot off and turned on the auto drive, just to placate the computer. He took in a few deep breaths to try and use the calming techniques that the company counselor had taught him. He imagined the colours he was breathing in, and how they would change when he breathed them out. At first he laughed out right at the idiocy of this, but then the counselor – who was thankfully a man – told him that the colours changed because he was filtering the bad out, or something to that affect. Since the busdriver always thought that he was right, this made a lot more sense to him,

He was just starting to reach a sense of calm when the computer flashed the warm tones of cyan blue on the dashboard, and said in her honeyed voice: “Approaching passenger.”

The busdriver’s eyes popped open, seeing the rain was still flowing down his windshield his eyes narrowed to angry slits as he scowled at the dashboard.

“Computer,” he said, “the unregulated weather is not optimised for passenger boarding.”

“Comrade, Detroitstate Incorporated Company Policy section 10 paragraph 9 citations state that-”

“Yeah, yeah,” the busdriver grumbled, as he pressed mute, cutting the computer off. He had been lectured on this so many times he knew what she would say. Her words still haunted his nightmares.

The bus came to a leisurely stop; the busdriver took a calming breath and then touched the dashboard command and the glass doors opened with a well-oiled woosh. And just as he suspected the passenger was wet and dirty. And a woman! He looked up to the sky where he imagined corporate headquarters floated around and gave them a silent “I told you so” lecture.

Just as she was about to put one of her muddy feet on the metal steps the busdriver barked: “Halt!” and the woman obediently retracted herself back.

“State your destination and stand still for your ID scan,” the busdriver mentally winced as he realised that he forgot to be polite and say please.

“Sir,” the woman began in a soft voice, the busdriver did not like this. Women were only demure and polite when they wanted something, “I desire to go somewhere sheltered. I don’t know where I am to state a destination beyond this.”

The bus driver said nothing; he just scowled at the woman. After a period of uncomfortable silence he asked, “How much money do you have?”

He had quickly looked at the ID read the computer got from this sorry looking figure, Carma-Something her name was and she had no registered job. Figures. Why would an employed person be out here anyways?

“Excuse me, sir, but I haven’t any.”

“Then why did you hail my bus down!” the busdriver screeched.

Instead of being cowed, the woman took her first step on to the bus and out of the rain. Finally sheltered, she shacks off her meek persona and looked him directly in the eye. The busdriver straightened, how dare she look at him like an equal!?

“I can pay with other means,” she said suggestively.

When the busdriver didn’t respond she thought maybe he was simple, and began to undo the buttons of her coat so he understood.

“You will desist, madam!”

The woman pressed her lips together in a thin line and looked the busdriver up and down. Carma had no doubt as to what sort of man he would be. Everything in his life would be well ordered and controlled; if someone were stupid enough to try and stick around he would surely beat them into submission. His hair was perfectly greased back, face shaved down to the pinky flesh that never spent a day outside of the city. She wondered if he actually ironed and cleaned his own clothes, not a button was out of place. John’s like him were a dying breed, that’s how she knew them all so well. Her like were the only leg over they could ever get these days.

“If you have no fare you will alight yourself from Detroitstate Incorporated company immediately! ”

The woman sneered, no one was gonna miss his flaring nostrils, that’s for sure. She quickly undid the strap around her waist to finish opening her coat and pulled out the Regulation 5 pistol she had alighted from a foolishly trusting police officer.

She really enjoyed how the busdriver’s eyes nearly popped out of his pasty head when he saw it. But most of all she loved how his mouth dropped to his chest, and jerked back when she shot him. She liked the R5guns better than the last R3 she had, these new ones made no sound as the bullet was liberated from its metal cadge which meant she didn’t jump back in shock missing the target.

The busdriver slumped down, his arms limp and dangling over the seat. Satisfied that he was dead, the woman reached into his pockets to see if he had anything useful.

There was a set of what she assumed where house keys on a spiral ring, an appointment card to see a quack down in the city-proper and a battered, brown leather wallet. The woman sighed; it was completely empty.

She dragged the busdriver off his seat, down the metal steps. His polished boots went clunk clunk down the metal grids. And then thud as he hit the dirt road. She tossed his empty wallet after him and hit the door-close on the dashboard.

“Computer, state location please.”

The computer obliged with a map location on the screen grid. Excellent. Unfamiliar with this bus module she let the computer issue auto-drive and sat back.

It felt good to be out of the rain.