Way back when...

The sixth write to Megan's ongoing year-long writing project, I'm just gonna jump into it, and you can view the rules for this one here:

Back in 1938, before the steam-zeppelins and sky-trawlers started mining space, there lived the aeronauts. These pioneers shared a dream all of mankind has shared since the beginning of time--to sail the skies. Only, after 1921, when media-mogul Sir Reginald West IV incorporated the world's first zeppelin-based company, Aeronautica, were these dreams fully attainable. Within two years, the company employed over 120 pilots around the world, and ran three major factories that manufactured the parts required for the new airships. By the third year, there was at least one factory on every continent--an experimental, extreme-condition factory was set up in Antarctica, but was closed in 1926 due to a series of unfortunate, weather-related events.

Aeronauts became a new tier in society, soaring far above even movie stars, literally. They were global superstars, and the more insightful advertisers began ask for their clever and witty mottos and slogans to be plastered upon the sides of these high-flying ships. Of course, only a few aeronauts allowed advertisements to be displayed on their ships--not only was it seen as a way to sell out one's dreams, it was also very impractical, as the ships were out of view of the public for a majority of the time. The aeronauts that did go for the money raced in the very showboat-y tournaments within a city anyway; it's not like they were doing anything spectacularly original with their ships.

Over time, the materials and construction of these airships became more manageable and cost effective, and the ability to soar among the clouds was affordable by more and more civilians (although still somewhat wealthy) every year. Although civilians were able to fly their new-found ships, very few actually sailed them on their own. Most of the time they'd hire a private aeronaut to fly for them, or ferry around tour groups around a city or county. 

On April 24, 1932, Sir Reginald West IV passed away, leaving his fledgling empire to his young, two-something son, Reginal "Regalo" West V. The world-renowned "Regalo" was competing in the Worlds Races, a test of man and machine against time and nature. On April 26, during a refueling stop over Bolivia, Regalo heard news of his father's death, and immediately steered toward London to attend the funeral and talk with Aeronautica's advisors--his father's closest friends. In 1933 and '34, while working on a major, yet secret project for Aeronautica, Regalo attempted the Worlds' Races, but was thwarted twice by storms over the Pacific. It wasn't until 1935 that he won the Worlds Race, and in a record time--so fast in fact that the race was renamed the Worlds' West Races, in honor of Regalo's father.

In another commemoration of his father, Regalo and Aeronautica unveiled their secret project to the world, on April 24, 1836--the Space Sailer. These new versions of conventional airships allowed aeronauts to reach the furthest reaches of the sky; bordering on space flight. By that fall, the designs had been reintegrated and upgraded for continuous flight outside of the atmosphere.

A new world awaited the aeronauts, and they were ready.

Full Steam Ahead

Here is another post (#5) for Megan Writes 365!

Look up an image of a boat (or "ship" if you're fancy), and then write something starting with "The ship's sails..."

Even though I gave all the rules, you can still go to the page and see Megan's video, etc.

[This wonderfully steampunk ship is not my work, but found it on this blog--and found it's from fellow DeviantArtist, CreepyBlueStorm, so go check out the art!]

And now, the story:

The ship's sails had been ripped apart by the harsh, vengeful winds the previous night. It had been a bitter battle against the fierce side of Nature. Captain Antoni scanned the calm seas, in total awe at how quickly his Mistress could change. But that's why we all love Her, he thought. You can never tame the Sea, but merely define yourself within her shadow. You can fight and oppose her all you want, but eventually she holds all of us within her beautiful, cold grip. We all belong to the Sea.

He hobbled his way back inside his Captain's Quarters, and brushed off a pile of spilled books and journals off his desk, revealing the ship's com-system. Flipping on a switch and adjusting a few dials, the ancient device crackled and hummed to life. Reading the various gauges to determine it was back to full power, he spoke to his crew. His orders and and plans to keep heading North would be somewhat discouraging to his crew, but he knew these men. His most loyal sailors and life-long friends, they would follow him to the very Gates of Hades, and they knew that would most likely be this venture's destination, even if their mission was completed.

The com-system crackled and then remained silent as Antoni dialed it off. We must conserve as much power as we can, he thought. As he heard the ship's massive engines humming and then chugging back to life he flipped off all of the cabin's lights. For a moment in the darkness he imagined Shadows closing in all around him, but the images burned away as he flung open the heavy-canvas curtains to the giant, wrap-around window at the back of his quarters. The water around the ship started to circulate and bubble, as the mighty screws beneath the waves churned and rotated, slowly pushing the ship ever Northward.

After scrawling quick notes and calculations in a log, Antoni went back on deck, into the brisk morning air. Using his personal pair of binoculars, he spotted the Cornelius and Olympus IV just before the horizon to his East. The night hadn't been fair to anyone, no matter how experienced or prestigious. Antoni slightly smirked at the thought of Prince Andrew's precious steamer Olympus IV, beset by the prevailing winds and rough seas. Not even Royalty can match Nature.

We are all Hers, Antoni announced to the wind.

Here I am, stuck in my crib...

And no one is paying attention to me. Yes me, Charlie Angus "Baby" Treeflinger, the first brown-haired, green-eyed Treeflinger in the last two generations, and one day the world's mightiest Treeflinger!

But for now, I must stay in this crib, slowly biding my time when I can crawl among the grass and fling as many trees as I can. Why are you looking at me funny? You know, trees! Those little, thin brown things in the grass that fall from those huge brown things covered in green outside--Yeah, those giant things that whisper when the clouds blow on the grass. Anyway, I love flinging trees all over, and I laugh so loud when I do it. Sometimes I laugh so hard my parents sniff the air and look at me with funny faces.

Then after that I'm whisked away and put on a table somewhere, and daddy always makes funny faces while dressing my legs. He looks like he ate something slimy, like a slug. Side note, don't ever eat those. Ech. I don't like them that much, but I like "peamut-budder and shelly" a lot a lot--but only cut in triangles. Never squares.

My older sisters ask me to play with them, even though they're in first grade. (What does that mean?) Other girls they know come see me, and dress me up in colorful clothes, like mommy sometimes wears. Then they take a pen and press it to my lips and laugh and giggle. I just smile and laugh at them. They're so funny, and they all have long hair, like Belle from "Beety and the Best". I like her. She sings and has a funny daddy.

I'm so tired of this crib! I'm gonna play with my t-rex toy. He can growl, but has teeny-tiny arms that can't throw trees like I can! I member in a movie he says "IAVEABIGEDANDLILARMS" I laugh so hard I snort like Ms. Piggy!

You're boring, I'm gonna not play with you!

------

If you haven't figured out by this point, this was another write for Megan Writes 365; Day 4!

Now, time for me to go, because you're boring. Or maybe I meant asleep, like I should be??

Mid-Quarter Resolutions

This post isn't really related to mid-quarters or even college in general. Just another prompt write for my friend Megan's project Megan Writes 365. Just to help her out, and spread around the joys of Nerdfighteria, I created a dft.ba link just for her blog. Enjoy, Megan! You can take the following link and post it anywhere online to spread it around!

http://dft.ba/-MW365

And now, today's prompt:

New Year's Resolutions;

every year we think and

we say we're gonna do it;

yes, finally treat our goals like Pokemon and

e-raticate them in the next 364 days.

As usual, our strong minds

renounce the old ways, but only for

so long, and then we're the same as last year:

running back to the computers and couches,

entreating ourselves to the joys of not changing, but

surrendering to what we hold familiar.

Outraged after 342 days, we jump up in arms, and swear an oath against

laziness and procrastination.

Usually, this means that once again, we write a resolution

that we will actually follow next year.

I on the other hand have come up with a solution,

obtain a time machine and convince yourself you'll

never actually finish a resolution for a year, so try one just for the

summer.

Early-morning Write

Gonna follow the second day's prompt as part of Megan Writes 365. If you don't already know, my friend Megan is trying to write as often as she can, and posting prompts for her and other people to do to help make their writing better.

For today's prompt, you can click here.

And now, my piece:

The post card arrived from the Christian camp in the middle of the state yesterday. The card was of a sunset over a hill with a pair of birds silhouetted against the colorful clouds. One of the birds had been crossed out by a dull pen, so there was a scratchy white X violently etched into photopaper. The writing on the back of the card was written so heavily I could read the reverse through the once-pristine image of the sunset: "!OUY KCUF"

I chuckled to myself as I browsed through the rest of the day's mail. Just more political ads and coupons for coffee places I'll never go to. These I tossed in the recycling bin upon leaving the Post Office, but I kept the post card. I drove home and push-pinned it onto the corkboard above my desk at home. Yeah, the one I place all my little accomplishments on--like the clippings of articles that are awarded, the rejection letters from prestigious publishing companies, and the young fans that write just to say how much they love what I write.

I woke up this morning, poured coffee into my body, and sat in front of my computer. As it hummed to life I smiled at the not-so-innocent post card, and then went to work. All the while, I could just picture the woman that wrote the words, and how she was doing at the camp. Of course, going there she didn't know it was a Christian camp, she had merely taken the offer to drive out there and relax for the week, all for free. She had heard what I said, "It's a consolation gift." A consolation for what, I can only imagine what her mind twisted and fabricated to suit her own feelings, her view of our history, and how I somehow still owed her something. She had failed to decode the meaning of my words as I handed her the tickets and gas money. It was a consolation for me, even if it was just a weekend. Just knowing she would be with a group of people that wouldn't take her prissiness and dramatizing everything was enough to get me smiling. The fact she took time to buy the over-priced post card and send it to me was the icing on this deliciously cold cake.

I had gotten over what she did (a few times) about a year after we broke up. We never talked, and that was perfect for me. It was only about two weeks ago when she got in touch with me after the success of my second book. Figures. I admit I might've been half-blinded by the thought of getting a jab at her, but the adolescent side of me that wanted at least a little taste of vengeance, despite the immaturity. I just gave in to it.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard, anxious to start typing and start moving the clock's hands, sentence by sentence:

"Today, I received word from my ex. Ex of a few years, I should add. She absolutely loves the gift and tickets I bought for her, and sent me the nicest card. I'm expecting a call from her in a few hours once she's on the road and headed back to civilization."

Alex Writes One

I've decided to follow along with my friend Megan's newest project, Megan Writes 365. Basically, she's following the prompts in a book for roughly the next year, as time/school/life allows. You can view her introduction on her blog.

Because I've got some time on my hands and am a bit behind, I'm gonna follow the first prompt today. The title links to the "rules" so you can see what the challenge is.

-Enjoy.

Prompt One:

Sometimes, I feel just like a gerbil, running around and around on his wheel.

It all started when I decided to follow the telephone number on the ad asking "Would you like to meet a real-life Exorcist??!" The line below listed a telephone number (not 555, believe it or not) and specified: "Not for the faint of heart." I think it was at this time I was hooked.

I called the number about a week later. The voice on the other end on the line asked if I knew what I was getting into, and if I was ready. When I said I could take it, I was given directions to a parking garage near the middle of town, and a time and date to meet this so-called exorcist.

The following Monday (the given time), I took my friend Nate with me in case things got sketchy. The garage was full of cars and there was plenty of foot-traffic outside to (hopefully) deter any homicidal tendencies of both the human and supernatural persuasions. Ten minutes after we arrived, a beat-up black car pulled into an empty space and flashed its lights.

Nate and I walked over to the car, where we were greeted by a tall man in a brightly-colored trenchcoat. There were enough peace signs and flowers stitched into the coat's fabric to induce flashbacks to anyone alive in the 60s. The man shook our hands with firm grips, and introduced himself as "Kembar, the Paranormal Exterminator Extraordinaire." With a flourish, he opened the trunk of his car, and Nate and I stared in disbelief.

At the bottom of the trunk was a large, black bowl, polished enough to distort and reflect our facial expressions as we peered deep into the trunk. "Kembar" produced a large flask from within his psychedelic trench coat and filled the bowl to the brim with what looked and smelled like vodka.

Before we could ask, he explained, "The alcohol attracts the spirits, draws them into the deepness of the Void of the bowl. Silence!" Nate and I jumped, and our gazes locked on the surface of the vodka, turned smoke-black from the bowl's depth. Some thing was inside the bowl, lazily moving and stirring the dark liquid.

"And there is spirit!" Kembar announced. His strong hands darted out of the folds of his coat and clutches the bowl. With a groan, he hefted the bowl up and around Nate and I as we yelled as the bowl was chucked onto the pavement. The bowl shattered, and the vodka splashed in a wave. For a brief moment, there was a small, black mass on the pavement, violently twisting and sputtering before it vanished with a splash.

Before Nate or I could recover from what we saw, Kembar slapped our backs and jumped into the car. He rolled down the window and as he backed out to leave shouted, "Now the spirit is your problem, boys! Think of it as a keepsake!" And he was gone in a flash.

Thoroughly shaken and officially weirded out, Nate and I drove back home. It wasn't a day later until things started happening. Little things at first, like a book falling off the shelf or the toilet lid suddenly slamming closed, but the events quickly escalated into phantom voices and things gliding, floating, and smashing around the house.

Ever since then, Nate and I have been looking for the psychotic, drug-driven, Hippie-exorcist extraordinaire, so we could kick his ass for pawning his haunting onto us!