Edits on my main book. I’ve sheered it down to 79K last I checked from 120K. Admittedly, I became a bit… enthusiastic in the cutting process. However, I did move character introductions to earlier chapters–one as early as chapter one. It reads a much better. But, by moving these characters around, meant a slew of rewrites to fit them into the chapters organically, ripping out scenes entirely or reimplementing scenes in a new way. I bloated–or rather expanded a major chapter that deals with the echoes of the villain. In the original I was sending to agents–how the characters destroy the monsters’ nest made by the villain is a bit underwhelming. So, I’ve expanded on it a bit. Reads better. But, this all takes time and much thinking. Hope to finish it soon.
I did feel a bit resistant to this in the beginning–given I’ve sent my query letters out multiple times. But it was a much needed rework.
Yun Thompson was an ordinary computer technician aboard a corporate owned space-station. He did his tasks that was asked of him, and always sought a life void of much conflict. He wanted to coast through things until he solved his quandary: what he wanted out of his life. Alas, at the age of 39, he had seen quite a lot, done, quite not so much, and yarned for something more. He often bemoaned, I’m too old to not know what I want. However, part of him knew, it was not true, and should he seek that something out, he would not be able to keep his quiet simple life as a computer technician, but would know who he is clearly.
Aboard the Lambda space-station he thought he might find his answers. Perhaps, it was the waning fatigue of the cryogenic stasis that transported him thousands of light-years away from home, that left him unsure if this was indeed the right step. While, it was true that he was intrigued by Olympus, an exo-planet full of alien life, he too was up in a cold sterile facility, monitoring computers for unusual celestial activities. Despite they themselves being interstellar beings, he did not find anything else. No other communication. Even errant asteroids and other debris was scarce. The life on the planet below were not close to human technology.
On a night much like any other night, there was a power outage. Not enough to put anyone in danger, but enough to cripple security systems. Yun found himself making his way toward the restricted Archival and Peculiar Artifact and Minerals room. All along his brain crying No, what the hell are you doing you idiot? and his body merely becoming more eager to find something new. Something from the world below. In that glimmer of intrigue he knew that this is what he had been seeking. Truly. An alien world. Something more than mere humanity and the dullery of a workhorse existence where he is easily forgotten, easily replaceable.
Yun peaked through the various shelves of varying liquids, plants, and dirt. Admittedly, he had little of an idea for what he was looking. He found a cannister gilded in a gold and etched with an unknown elegant runic language. He twisted the device, curious as to what it was, and a burst of a putrid gas knocked him over. He gagged, collapsing to the floor, his brain mocked him, see, idiot!? you should just stay where you belong! When he managed to get to his feet, find the door, and reenter his world, the power returned. He sighed a sigh that he usually sighed when finally he knew he was was safer than he thought. Must have been some military grenade and I just got a full blast of it. I’m really not cut out for anything but code-work. Yun returned to his room, and fell into a heavy hard slumber.
Yun woke late. As he brushed his teeth he noticed his eyes were an unusual color. He, had nearly black eyes, yet, perhaps it was the light catching them in a peculiar way, but he could swear that they had a red tint to them. He shrugged it off and dressed himself, ate some oatmeal and went to work. He had to make progress on the Navitron system update that had been crashing. He was nearly there, if only he could find the right line of code. As he got his coffee and settled into his seat, a coworker caught his eye. She nodded at him, “You okay, Thompson? Looking pale.”
“Pale? Ah, must have caught something.” Am I pale? On his break he went to the lavatory and checked his bearded face. His skin indeed was a bit paler than normal. He rubbed his cheeks, My skin looks a bit… colorless. He rubbed his beard and felt his heart thud. Some of his beard had fallen out. He rubbed his hair, worried, perhaps he is indeed getting sick. None of his head hair came out. He pulled a medical mask from a dispenser to hide his thinning beard. What… was in that cannister? Ah, alien weapons, who knows how it’d react to a human?
He returned to his work, at last finding the code and fixing the errors in the update. He didn’t feel pride. Nor relief his work he’d been trying to finish over a week long had been done. He was worried his beard was continuing to fall out. He whispered to his coworker, “Hey, how are my eyes?”
She cocked her head studying him, “If I’m honest, they look pretty normal. Did they always have that red tint to them?”
“Oh–yeah, no they did.” An intercom message echoed,
“Yun Thompson to Chief Director Cole’s office.”
He stood in a panic. His coworker laughed, “Chill out. You got the update running right? Cole prolly just wants to thank you.”
Right that’s it. Right? The security systems were offline. I can’t lose this job.
Inside Cole’s office was a stark contrast to the rest of the cold grey station. Cole’s office was lined with wood panel flooring, rich dark browns and black walls. He stood from his mahogany desk and greeted Yun, “Good job, Thompson. You got the update running–Navitrons’ little bug of assaulting people if they don’t follow the directions exactly was a real bugger.”
“H-happy to help.”
“I have to say, too, you did so well today save clearly being distracted.”
“Distracted, sir?”
“All right, let me cut to the chase. I saw you sneak into the APMA room. Now, I wouldn’t really care too much, you know? Curiosity after all is what made Lambda join the space-race–and win out of all the other companies. But,” Cole removed Yun’s mask, his beard filling it. “Look at you, man. Your beard has fallen out. Your skin is grey and your eyes. I don’t know if you like looking in a mirror but damn are they red. and not the I had fun with my mates red either. Your irises are literally as red as a stop sign.” Cole sighed leaning on his desk, “Damn, I really–really hate to do this, Thompson. See–it’s not you really. But, we have a policy. Our employees–our family, cannot be infected.”
“I’m… infected? What was in that cannister?”
“We have no idea–and you opened it! We recovered a mess of things from some old ruin–we had restricted plastered all over the walls for a reason! We don’t know a lot about Olympus yet! Don’t know if you’ll die–and if you do we will of course compensate whomever you wrote in your application with us–But. We can’t have employees potentially infecting others on our slice of heaven, now can we?”
“Look, I’m really sorry–I really need this job. Please, don’t–what will you do with me?” Not kill me, right?
“Policy is, you infected, and not by our fault, you go down to Olympus. It’s hostile down there. Pretty dangerous. But, we give you a severance package. Complete with enough of the local currency for you to try and survive.”
“I won’t survive!”
“Look, you’re not a tough man–but you are a smart man.” A pair of security officers grabbed Yun. “You’ll figure it out, Yun.”
Yun was forced into an escape pod. He pounded on the door, “Hey! No wait! I’m valuable right? A Guinee pig!”
The security officers ignored him, pressing a button, and sending him to the alien world below.
Decided to finally spend some time and work on a short-story or novella. Not sure how long this will be but certainly shorter than my main book.
A fantasy sci-fi tale of an employee who works at a space-station, but due to him becoming infected, is exiled from the station down to an alien world below.
I’ve already made a first draft for chapter one and two. Hopefully, I’ll be able to get through some more soon. Perhaps I’ll post my WIPs here.
Done more edits—haven’t looked into the font of agents’ contact details, who are just waiting to be unimpressed. pretty happy with the edits though—character saved from death earlier on is killed. Then, the character is revived to show the protagonist’s power and the revived character is changed because of the revival. But now I need to write up an altered battle sequence. So. Hm. That energy drink…
Ah, digging through the lists of agents whose lists have long since been covered in silt. Broken links, retired agents and some phantoms. I remember why again I felt so exhausted lifting clues to find where the prospective agent may have gone to often find dead-ends. Still, I’ll continue trying to search. I’ve found authors have stated to relent only after one has queried eighty to a hundred agents. I have queried about 16. Not exactly scratching the surface yet it seems as though the prospective agents have grown increasingly scarce. Still. The advice I’ll receive, and the advice I’d advocate is to soldier on through the mire and wastelands. It only takes a single strike of lightning. Or maybe two. Depending on the agent and the author.
Other note 他のノート
On another note, I’ve finished my first game. Releasing it to personal friends. My public game is nearing completion. I hope to also make a Japanese translated version. Wider audience is a better method, and I both fear and assume my writings may appeal to such an audience.
Time grows slippery as I descend into a locking microcosm of invented faces and tragedies. I stare down at the abyss. I’m uncertain if it will transform me, or, through my failure, suffocate me. After all, dreams ever so often drown whilst screaming for help from an uncaring world.
Soon I’ll be crushed under school-work. It’s slowly getting heavier. I’m currently redrafting a section of my book to have a character live instead of dying. Doing so I think I can develop ideas of how they’ll cope with what happened. It gives me more connection between book 1 and 2, it also makes me feel less like they are seen as a ‘disposable character’.
I wish I’d have sent out more query letters, but since I’m redrafting elements I’ll have to wait until I smooth out my manuscript’s latter sections. I hope to send it out soon. I’ve done some edits to give the protagonist a more overtly ‘obvious’ goal. I think because of how I originally envisioned the tale it muddied the ‘call to action’ element that’s pressured to be there. He is a passive character and slowly becomes active, but I feel making it more obvious may make it more attractive to agents. One can hope, as long as I don’t tarnish his character. I’ll have to be careful.
Writers are transmitters of an endless array of knowledge. Narrative generates mythic keys; unlocking psychic doors. A wordsmith can reshape entire societies, forge dimensions, and unlock secrets held within others and themselves. They craft illusions, build lighthouses, and the readers glimmer in transformed states.
So glad to see you my constant friend. You’ve tempered my spirit through isolation and abandonment. My constant companion, with promise of perpetual peace, incapable of decay, and an apparatus of introspection. No relationships to corrupt, and no dereliction concoctable. If I fall it will be through my own and none else. I know how it will end, facing my death alone while others in bliss is my truest doom; and I know that is where I can find my home.
thirteen clovers 
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