Fiction

My novel has been dead for a while now. Probably even longer than I admitted to myself. Oh well.

I have a couple new ideas that I'm starting to play with but not sure whether they should be short stories or a novel.

I was getting ready to safely archive my story off into some place where I'd probably never find it again when I remembered two or three scenes that I really liked from what I had written. I've decided that I'll spend a little time turning them into short stories.

I've heard of short stories evolving into novels before, but never the other way around. Maybe I'll start a new trend.

Sometime in the near future....

"Ding. Robert Scoble new entry."

Crap. I forgot to turn it off before I left the house. "Title."

"Track your comments no matter where you make them."

"Save as unread. Notes. Update Technorati Live Notifier to let me audibly change prefences when remote. Save."

At least Technorati has their indexing and updating problems fixed. I still need to tweak some of the settings on the new implant.

"Ding. Zoli Erdos trackback."

"Delay audio."

"Ding. Ray Chow trackback."

Delay....

"Ding. Stowe Boyd trackback."

My head ached by the time I reached the Cingular store. I waited five trackback dings while the clerk rang up an order for the only other customer in the store.

When asked what kind of phone I wanted, my mind went blank. I am a mess without my tablet PC. I just can't get used to the new network implant. It is just plain strange to navigate the internet without being able to see it.

"Ding. Robert Scoble new entry."

"Can I have a second to look them over?" I asked the clerk. He nodded and walked a few steps away.

"Play title."

"Title. How to use new Cingular phone as a modem."

"Sweet timing. Play full text."

Seconds later, I confidently purchase my new cell phone and returned to my car hardly capabale of understanding how unconnected we had all lived just a few years earlier.

"My Blog. New entry. Trackback...."

This is a made up story. I like to call it fiction. No old people were hurt during the making of this story.

Kalbzayn's Race Day (Chapter 2)

Kalbzayn liked to race. He had been training hard for the last couple months and was ready to showcase his improvement. He elbowed to the front of the pack at the starting line. A lion among deer, he looked down at the tops of the heads of the diminutive front packers trying to determine which scalps he would collect today.

This is a made up story. I like to call it fiction. No animals were hurt during the making of this story.

Kalbzayn Runs

Kalbzayn liked to run, preferably in the calm of night. The cool breeze and rustling leaves eased the tension of the day. The left, right, left numbed the worries of tomorrow.

"Run, Forrest, run," shouted a teenager from a passing pickup truck that sounded short one muffler.

Kalbzayn waved and raised a finger to let them know he thought they were number one. Oops. Wrong finger. Better get moving.

Sorry. I'm pulling this for a while so that I can clean it up and submit it somewhere.

Wish me luck.

Here's a short story.

If you spellcheck/grammar check better than I do, feel free to send me corrections and I'll try to make the changes.

So I was working on writing a short story, and doing just fine getting through it. It's a story that I've had in my head since last summer and have tried several different ways of writing it or incorporating it into larger story ideas. I finally decided just to sit down and write it and see what I end up with. With the arrangements for the kids birthday party and odd chores, I haven't had a chance to continue with it for a few days, but I'm plugging away at it and happy with it.

Then while driving home a couple of days, an image popped into my head.

John rubbed his hand across his stomach. He had weighed in at a record 206 pounds that morning, fifty pounds more than he had weighed four years ago. “October 22, 2006.” “Can't do it, John. I'll be running Chicago.” Steve said without taking his eyes from the contents of the fridge. “I know. I'm going to run it, too.”

I'm planning to write a serialized story about four friends training for the 2006 LaSalle Bank Chicago Marathon. The working title is going to be More Than 26.2. I will post the intro chapter in a few minutes.

Update:
The first Chapter is here: Intro, or How They Got Into This Mess

Technorati tags: marathon, fiction

Silly paranoid fools. I left the town and walked dramatically to the center of the village. The silence throbbed. And I had only been in the area for several hours. These people had lived with the noise for their entire lives. Everyone followed me in silence as I swept away branches and vines. I kept expecting people to try and touch me hoping to heal their broken arm or cure their fever. I paused realizing that I had not ever thought about what I would tell the villagers.