Angry Man Without Pants

I had a problem.

The tale I was working on for Scary Stories night was getting too long. Sadly, many of my stories suffer from this kind of creeping featuritis. I get a good, simple idea, start working on it, and then somewhere along the way I realize my treatment of it is going to consume far more space that I originally expected. A few examples: “Maeve” – originally projected to be ~8000 words, now at ~15000 and climbing; probably at least another 10k still to go. “Camera Obscura”, my first scary story, originally intended to be ~3500 words, now sitting at ~4000 words with at least that much left to go.

Usually I’m not too unhappy about this, as I think the longer treatments benefit the tale, but this time I have a problem. Scary stories night is a “once-round-the-campfire” kind of thing, so the stories have to be short or people will fall asleep in their Hallowe’en nog before you finish. Not to mention that there is a limited amount of time in the evening and everyone who brings a story needs to be allowed their 15 minutes of fame. You see my problem, yes?

Enter “Double Vision”. I had a great little idea for another scary story (while in the shower, if you must know), and wonder of wonders, the whole thing is only ~2500 words from start to finish. Yay! So, that is the story I’ll be reading for Hallowe’en. I’ll post the first half of Camera Obscura on wordmasons for those who weren’t at the last reading night, and hopefully have the rest of it done for the November reading night. Where it concerns reading nights, having become so used to feeling like a man constantly late for an appointment, this new sensation of being done early is strange, yet pleasant.

Quite addictive, in fact.

It’s a quarter to pi, and the streetlights are out; glowing dreams and burning desires are the only light. Follow me, through the crack in the floorboards, behind the walls, into that land beyond the back of the cupboard. We’ll slide down midnight ways, into deep hidden realms, diamond dust prints through the mushroom forest to the shore of a sundered sea. Take my hand and we’ll dance up a ship of crystal and chimes, adamant sails to caress the night and draw us onward, onward, to forgotten empires, ghostly shoals, and the burgeoning, beckoning endless surf.

Then up, up, up the winding stair, now stone, now wood, now sparkling air, treading the path of a hundred billion souls who never were. A sacred sign beneath your feet, a lighted way in darkness deep, and fearsome death to left and right. Fear not. Hold tight. A synergy of power preserves, protects, propels, and soon all is light, and stardust, moondust, the dust of dreams and the cold pressed oil of wonders beyond our ken. A hundred singing towers upon the blue sands of distant everlen, a shivering symphony of alien tones, isolate one, then another, yet more, until the song is yours, and the door to the next mystery opens, beckons, a bright and shining gate, and we’re through, red giant eyes and comet tail hair and hand in hand and a kiss longer than the milky way and deeper than the sky.

Then down, down, through moon rings and sun beams and clouds, a rain of laughter, tears, iridescent motes of finely cut longings and the essence of desire, a powdered mortar of a million timeless moments, drifting, drifting, drifting, to this tiny space, this sliver of time, and the pi is only apple now, and the streetlights are back.

Well, maybe not, but the resemblance is uncanny. And look what he’s writing with, dude!

Yes, I’m still alive. No, I’m not posting anything today. I’ve been busy with work, home and writing. I hope to have two short stories finished by 30th October, a novelette finished by 30th November, and another short story finished before Christmas. I’ll post here when I have the time, energy and inclination.