Novel Excerpt: Joining Red Squad

  • Written by Cecily Jane
  • Saturday, December 5, 2009

My Dear Reader,


Sorry that this is a bit late. I had a hard time trying to find something to show you, but I ended up choosing this because it will give you a real taste of what this story is about. The main speaker in this excerpt is one Admiral Alexander Chapman. He, along with his brother, Professor Angus Chapman, is trying to resurrect a special cadet training group (Red Squad) that had previously been banned because of scandal. In this scene, Admiral Chapman is addressing a number of advanced students whom he has hand-picked to try out for the team.



“We stand here today in full view of the Golden Gate Bridge for a reason. This structure, as many of you are aware, is more than a way for people to get across the bay: it's a symbol of Starfleet's heritage. Starfleet, as an organization that has been around longer even than the mighty Federation of Planets, was built by our intellectual and cultural ancestors, and their ancestors built this bridge. A marvel of its time, it has withstood the test of time better than its designers dreamed. The Golden Gate Bridge, an icon of an age, was all but destroyed in our conflict with the Dominion. Slowly, it will have to be rebuilt, piece by piece, until it is restored to its former glory. Starfleet has a similar fate. Starfleet will also have to be rebuilt with young people like yourselves. You are each here because Professor Chapman and I have reviewed your Academy applications and believe that you could be an integral part of this rebirth. Together, we will form a team that will train the best the Academy has to offer so that they, in turn, will have the skills to serve in Starfleet to the best of their ability. This team, this agent of renewal, will be called 'Red Squad.'”



Red Squad? That was why she was there? A chill ran down Carlotta's spine at the thought. There was a lot to learn when you were waiting tables so close to Starfleet Headquarters—she had heard all the rumors, and she knew most of them were true. She had a sudden urge to just turn and run away, but she decided instead to stay and listen. The bridge that Admiral Chapman had talked about had belonged to her, in the way it belonged to everyone in the Bay. The admiral had talked about intellectual ancestors, but she was the direct descendant of some of the original workers. The blood that built that bridge was now in her veins, and it seemed to speak to her as if carrying the voices of the dead. Her ancestors had built this city, and some had even had a hand in building Starfleet. It was her inherited responsibility to keep their legacy in tact. So, even though her instincts told her to flee, she decided to stay. She would listen to this man, and if he told the truth, she would give him a chance.



“Now, I know what some of you are thinking. This idea is not new, nor is the name. In fact, I'm sure that most of you have heard the sad tales of what happened to Red Squad in the past. I assure you, though, that this will not happen again. Red Squad, in hindsight, wasn't a mistake, but it was dangerous. The idea behind it was to take the red cadets—the command-oriented students—and put them in a position where they would get more opportunities to lead. It worked on paper, and for a couple of years, it worked in the field. Once the war started, everything changed. Students from other concentrations were added with the rationale that they would compliment the command students, but this was twisted into the idea that they were a crew unto themselves. Red Squad went rogue—used by a radical for his own ends, the cadets stuffed with enough hubris to make them believe they could act alone. They were put on a ship, made a crew to fight the war on their own, and all but one died. Red Squad was created to breathe new life into the next generation of officers, to give the exceptional students the chance to excel. Instead, their lives were wasted in an ultimately meaningless pursuit. But we need that breath now more than ever. It's not just San Francisco that's being rebuilt—it's the Federation itself. It's the fleet. Each of you has a chance at becoming part of that process.”


The admiral stopped to take a drink of water and give his brother a glance before he continued.


“It's true that we're still going to call it 'Red Squad.' The name hasn't changed, but the meaning has. Those of you who wish to try out for this project will need to understand this new meaning before you apply. Red means much more than command, more than just the true color of this bridge . . . it has a deeper, more primal meaning. It means courage, passion, and for many species,” he nodded at Saraal* as if to admit that she was about to be an exception, “red also is a symbol for the blood of those lost. The cadets that died trying to fight the wrong war—they deserve redemption. All of those who died in the war do. So when you think about joining Red Squad, know that we will be a team stained with the blood of our betters, of those nobler and abler, and that our true mission is to do whatever we can to to honor the lives lost. Many of you knew one of those lives.”


He looked out over the crowd, and saw heads bowed reverently as he invoked memories of the dead, some out of respect, some out of agony. The noticed that the Esposito girl looked especially grim, almost pale.


“As you go through the application process, I want you to think of those who you've lost. I want you to think of what you need to be in order to truly honor them. That drive is what you will need to join Red Squad.”


The admiral finished his speech and sat down, with Professor Chapman seamlessly taking his place.


“Thank you, Admiral,” he nodded to his brother, “Now, for the practical portion of this meeting. In order to be a candidate for Red Squad, you must enroll in my Survival Skills class. You may be aware that this course is normally reserved for second-semester students, so you will need to have special permission in order to enroll. There are thirty spots in the class, given to the most worthy applicants. Out of those thirty, only nine will be chosen for Red Squad. There will be no changes in the number of students allowed in the class, or to the number allowed in Red Squad. In order to request a seat in my class, please fill out this PADD and turn it in to either Admiral Chapman or myself by the end of the day. Dismissed.”



Regards, best wishes, and honor!,


-Cecily Jane


*Saraal is Vulcan. Vulcans have green blood.


 

NaNoWriMo Redemption! Huzzah!

  • Written by Cecily Jane
  • Tuesday, December 1, 2009

My Dear Reader,


The results are in: I won NaNoWriMo this year! For yay!

It wasn't easy; I slacked off for the first few weeks, so I did the last half of the challenge (25,000 words) in one week. That's what I call intense! So, I hope you will excuse me if this post is a little on the short side. My fingers are a little drained.

Those of you who have been following Plain Vanilla for a while know that this was my third attempt at the 50,000-word challenge. The first year, I nailed it, and I felt like I could do anything. The second year, I failed miserably, and I wondered if the first time I simply had something like beginner's luck. But after proving to myself that I can repeat my success, I've come up with some ideas as to how to win NaNoWriMo next year:
  • Pick a story that you can care about and characters you can fall in love with. If it's not fun, it gets a lot harder.
  • The more pre-writing you do before November 1st, the better. It's easier if you know what's you're going to write before you write it.
  • If your novel requires research, do the research well ahead of time. If you get stuck on the minor details, you can easily get side tracked from your word count.
  • Don't be afraid to just take an inspiration and run with it. If you get an idea for something that's ahead of where you are in the story chronologically, write it down while it's in your head and worry about piecing it together later.
  • If you're having problems writing from the beginning to the end, do snippets at a time. No one says it has to be a single, coherent story.
  • No matter how much planning you've done, allow yourself to explore as you write. One of the most rewarding parts of NaNoWriMo is when, in a frenzy of writing, you discover moreof your characters and story than you had previously imagined.
Well, that's all I've got for today; any more and my keyboard may charge me with abuse. Please excuse me as I bask in the glory of my accomplishment.

Regards, best wishes, and redemption,

-Cecily Jane

P. S. Excerpts of this year's novel are here, here, and here. There may be more to come on Friday!

 

Novel Excerpt: Carlotta's Speech on Equality

  • Written by Cecily Jane
  • Friday, November 27, 2009

My Dear Reader,


Here is another chunk of what I've been writing for NaNoWriMo. You may have noticed that I write about Carlotta a lot, but let's just say that I can identify with her. And sometimes, she says things that I wish I could have said to a bully or two, back in the day. Enjoy!


Carlotta's Speech on Equality

By Cecily Jane


Carlotta tried to smile sweetly at Abigail, but the corners of her mouth twisted into a look of contempt. She couldn't help it. How long had she been trying to be patient to this girl? There were times you were supposed to turn the other cheek, and no one could deny that she'd been doing plenty of that, but there were also times when you had to go to the moneychangers and overturn a couple of tables. There were times when being meek was the wrong thing to do, and now was one of those times. Now was the time to act with boldness in order to stop something and make it right.


You know the feudal system is over and done with, right?”


Excuse me?” Abigail showed Carlotta a face writhing in disgust.


The feudal system, you know—knights, princesses, and serfs? We don't do that anymore. It went out of style, oh, about a few hundred years ago.”


You are an idiot. Why don't you just go back to your kitchen?”


"Funny thing: first of all,” Carlotta wagged a finger at Abigail, “it's my father's kitchen, and it's a noble family history that has preserved and enriched the history of our culture. Second, you may have heard of something called the American Revolution? And maybe, you've heard of the Constitution of the United States of America?” Her voice was ironic and playful, making a great distinction from Abigail's poisonous, vicious tone. “It was seven hundred years ago, but you may have missed it, seeing as you're just the daughter of an admiral. Maybe he couldn't send you to the right schools.”


Abigail's anger was boiling over, and she pounded the table when her rage seeped over the edge. Carlotta wondered if Abigail was being violent in an attempt to intimidate her, but even if it was, the admiral's daughter should have known that it wouldn't work.


"If you were smart enough, and if you had paid attention in school, you would have been able to figure out for yourself that for the better part of a millennium, the rest of us humans have been intelligent enough to understand that all human beings are created equal. Should I look that word up for you?”


Abigail responded with a cold, hard stare that tried desperately to mask the fiery emotions within.


"And because all of us are equal, things like occupations, place of birth, and trivial things like that don't matter. You know why? Because we're not a feudal community anymore. We don't need to have a small, wealthy minority stand on the backs of the weak and emaciated. We no longer have to push others down in an attempt to catapult ourselves upward. Instead, we have a society of equals, where we each have an equal opportunity to be judged based on the factors we can control. Not the things we were born with.” She leaned over until she was only a few centimeters from Abigail's nose. “And it seems to me that only a person who was afraid of being deficient would resort to an attempt at weeding out the competitors based on characteristics that have absolutely nothing to do with the prize. So, Princess, it doesn't matter that my dad is a chef and yours is an admiral. What matters is what we've made of ourselves since we came out of the birth canal, and from a purely objective standpoint, I have managed, through my own hard work, to get higher test scores than you have. That, my dear, is a fact.”


By this point, Abigail's face had turned bright red in a heated rage, and it looked like she should have had steam coming from her ears. Carlotta saw it plain as day, but she didn't let it shake her resolve. She aimed to be heard, and she wasn't going to let Abigail stop her from reaching her goal—not now, not ever.


"Now, maybe you're right about the whole kitchen thing after all. Maybe, because I grew up in an environment where I had to work hard, and where I didn't expect to just be handed things out of status, I was better suited to do my own work when I got here. But what's absolutely clear is that I am proud of who I am and where I came from, and I'm proud of who my friends are. You may feel threatened by my success, but you can't stop it. You won't intimidate me, you won't humiliate me, and if you continue to try to destroy me, you'll find that you've merely wasted valuable time and energy on a pursuit destined for failure. Instead, you'll realize that you could have taken at that time you threw away trying to tear me down and spent that time working hard to improve yourself enough to actually compete with me. And if you take too long to notice that, you may find yourself old and alone, without any skills outside of intimidation and manipulation, which you will then realize are useless. You will have made a life for yourself that will be empty and worthless, with the blame squarely on your shoulders. Then, people won't look to you with the worship you crave, but they will see you as a harbinger of destruction by ego, and take you as an example of how not to live. The only true tragedy will be in the fact that you will see this for yourself only after it is too late to change it, but the cold, hard facts of the matter are that sooner or later, the piper must be paid, Your Highness. So I would think a bit about your future payment options before you run up too much debt in the present.”


And with that, Carlotta shrugged, and left Abigail alone to think about what she had said.



Regards, best wishes, and 11,741 words to go,


-Cecily Jane

 

Why-come Thanksgiving Is Awesome.

  • Written by Cecily Jane
  • Tuesday, November 17, 2009

My Dear Reader,


I hate it when people refer to Thanksgiving as "Turkey Day."

Yes, there is turkey. Yes, there is also a parade, and football. No one is denying that. Thanksgiving, however, is so much more. In fact, I think it's one of the most overlooked holidays of the year, sometimes not even seen as a holiday as much as a hurdle on the way to the Christmas season.

Don't get me wrong--I love Christmas. What's not to love? Oh, yes: that whole holy war we have to get through every year. Arguments about whether or not Christianity is appropriate saturate the season (that's right: it's not a holiday in the crosshairs; it's a religion) and I really get tired of that. I think a lot of you out there, no matter which side you're on, can identify with that one way or another.

That's why I think Thanksgiving is so important to our culture. Right before the holiday that, despite its message (or, because of it), manages to divide people, we have a holiday all about unity. A holiday that reminds us that even though we're each different, we're all Americans. That's why we eat a meal consisting of foods entirely indigenous to the land we love. That's why we share that meal with people we love. Thanksgiving is there to remind us that before the problems that we have today, before The United States of America even existed, this piece of the Earth we live on has had a knack for getting people to get along. People who were different ideologically, ethnically, religiously, and etc. That's why the greatest nation on Earth was created on that land. That's why The Book of Mormon calls it the Promised Land. There's just something magical about it that creates peace where there should be none.

It's true that a lot of people in history have disrespected what Thanksgiving is all about. Our history is stained with their black marks, of men and women too selfish to see what they were doing to others, and to us. Still, out of that horror, there still came peace. A nation that is so diverse and yet gets along so well is supposed to be impossible, but Thanksgiving gives us a chance to sit around and wonder at the fact that this impossibility has come to pass. It gives us an opportunity to be thankful for all of the things that this land and nation has given us.

I think that if each of us really took that to heart, and celebrated the unity of Americans on Thanksgiving as we watch our football and eat our turkey, that act of reverence could put is in a position to appreciate Christmas properly. If we remember how much we love our diversity and individuality, knowing that it doesn't have to get in the way of our unity, we can make each day until Christmas just that much sweeter.

Just a thought. Because Thanksgiving is that awesome.

Regards, best wishes, and thanks for being here,

-Cecily Jane

BTW: 20,484 words! Only a few days behind on NaNoWriMo!

 

Novel Excerpt: Carlotta's Flashback

  • Written by Cecily Jane
  • Friday, November 13, 2009

My Dear Reader,


The following is a snippet of what I've been working on for NaNoWriMo. (I'm writing a Star Trek-thing, in case you forgot. This story takes place in that universe.) It's a flashback that takes place about seven months before the main story. The main character's name is Carlotta Esposito, whose family runs an Italian restaurant called The Stradivarius, which has been in San Francisco since the 1950s. In this excerpt, her brother, Mike, has just left her in charge of the restaurant (against the rules) so he can get an engagement ring for Eva, his girlfriend who is with Carlotta in the restaurant. Earth is at war with the Breen, and she was carrying bags of flour into the kitchen when an announcement of an impending Breen attack threw her to the floor. Later, the story shifts to the point of view of Peter, Carlotta's friend who comes to rescue her. Feel free to ignore any Trek references you don't get. And please, please tell me if it just sounds silly.



Carlotta's Flashback
By Cecily Jane

Carlotta stayed on the ground after she fell, after the announcement had told her that there was an attack on Earth. The voice had said that the Breen were coming for Starfleet Headquarters, and if that was true, the entire restaurant could be flattened along with it. Where was Mike, now that she needed him most? How could he leave her in charge when the world was coming to an end? Crippled with fear and covered in the flour she had been carrying, Carlotta thanked God that her brothers and sisters were out of the city and pleaded with Him for the strength to do what only she could. Then, she forced herself to jump up and take command.

“Everybody, quiet!” Living in a large family had required Carlotta to learn how to be loud. The patrons and employees turned to look at her, a small teenaged girl standing on top of a counter, shouting orders at them.

“There is an emergency shelter underground, if everyone will follow me . . .” the crowd, scared for their lives and hungry for relief, started running at the back of the restaurant in chaos. Carlotta took a deep breath. “I'm the only one who can open it!” she boomed, her voice ringing against the pots and pans and stopping the stampede in its tracks. She got down and she led them to the shelter, giving each person she met as threatening a glance as she could muster. It was a look that had been forged by countless hours of babysitting, a face that told people to behave or else. She tried to hide her surprise when it worked on adults as well as it had on children.

She led them all to the door of the vault, quickly and with order, and put in the code to open the doors and let the others in. She would be the last. It was something she had always imagined doing but never thought would actually happen—opening the door to the bomb shelter her great-great Espositos had built back when the Earth was split into nation-states and every day was filled with fear. They had built it with their bare hands, and through the centuries, other Espositos had kept it stocked with food and supplies, just in case. This would be the first time since the Bell Riots that it would be used.

The crowd, about fifty in all, took no time getting inside. As they started pouring in, she remembered the protocol her father had taught her in a family meeting, when she was bored and complained about the uselessness of learning such procedures. With the door closed and everyone inside, she was now to check the restaurant and make sure that no one was left behind. As the only Esposito in The Stradivarius, it was her duty to make sure everyone was safe. The kitchen was empty, but when she went out to the front entrance, she found Eva sitting at a table, staring hopelessly out of the large windows.

“Eva, come on! We have to go now!” Carlotta grabbed her hand and pulled her up, noticing the tears that were in Eva's eyes.

“Mike, he's out there.” Eva's desperate words made Carlotta pause. He was out there. How far could he have gotten? Was he in a safe place? What would Mike do if he was in her position? She didn't have much time to think.

“I know, Eva. But he'll come back. He knows the code to the door, he can get in even if we close it up behind us. We'll all be safe there, and there's enough food for us to survive on for years. We'll wait for him, and when he comes, we'll wait out the attack.” Carlotta took hold of Eva's hand a second time and pulled her away from the windows. Eva struggled to stay where she was.

“No, Carly, we can't leave him behind. I won't!” Photon torpedoes might explode on them at any moment, and there they were, playing a desperate tug of war. Carlotta looked at the woman who was soon going to be her sister and already was in spirit, the woman who knew her well enough to have to privilege to call her by her favorite name. Carlotta had learned to love her like her own sisters after Eva and Mike started dating seriously—he had seen to that. She had to save Eva now; Mike would want her to. She would force Eva in the door, and go looking for Mike herself. She just had to get her in there.

It must have looked strange to a passerby—both women were thin, but Carlotta was small, and Eva was almost a foot taller. If it weren't for the hours she spent training for soccer, Carlotta probably wouldn't have had a chance, but as it was, she was making progress. Eva was wearing heels, and she was too frantic to focus on her freedom from Carlotta's grasp, but she had managed to dig her heel into a groove in the floor, and Carlotta was pulling on Eva's sweaty, slippery hand harder than she had ever pulled anything before.

They were almost to the hallway when the first volley of attacks came, shaking the earth harder than an earthquake and breaking the beams that supported the ceiling. Three seconds later, and Carlotta would have had the two of them safe in the hallway. Thirty seconds later, they would be safe inside the shelter. But when the first strike came, the crumbling beams started to collapse, one of them less than a meter from the two women. Out of the corner of her eye, Carlotta saw the beam coming at her, like a tumbling column from the Parthenon, and she put all of her strength into one last tug.

It wasn't enough. The momentum that Carlotta achieved in her last push to safety had gotten her out of the way, but the beam had crushed into Eva head on. Carlotta was thrown to the floor and hit her head, but she got right back up again, and turned to face the sight that would haunt her the rest of her life.

Eva was lying underneath a beam so heavy that countless bones had been crushed. Was this what Martirio Esposito had looked like after the car crash? Carlotta had never seen so much blood, didn't know there could be so much, and she felt her self shut down at the sight of it all. Eva's broken body, her legs and arms in an unnatural position, the life spilling from her . . . Carlotta heard a thump! in her brain, and she felt her knees become numb and buckle, taking her to the floor. Her strength was draining out of her faster than Eva's blood, and soon, she would be in oblivion. She was slumped on the ground, her eyes only centimeters away from Eva's, which looked at her as her lips formed the smile of the dead.

“You have to find him, Carly. You have to bring him back,” Eva said with her last breath, her hand stroking Carlotta's soft hair before the darkness overcame the young Esposito.


Eva's dead body was the first thing Carlotta saw when she came to, and she screamed so hard she thought her throat was bleeding, but was filled so deeply with horror that she couldn't stop. Peter was there, burying her in his chest, stroking her hair as Eva had, when Carlotta heard her final words. Peter shielded her eyes and dusted off the debris, hoping the relief he felt at seeing her alive would be enough to soothe her fear.

She had looked dead when they got there, lying in a pool of blood next to Eva. Both women were still and pale, and Peter couldn't help weeping uncontrollably when he saw them. His father had run with him all the way, though the streets where shrapnel was flying from every direction. By the time they got the The Stradivarius, the attack was over, and the city was quiet and cold. It took the two of them to force the doors open, and to create a path through the destruction to where Carlotta and Eva were. Now, he was cradling his friend in his lap, and wailing like he never thought he could. Howling like an animal. His dad was standing over him, eyes full of sympathy, and he leaned down to close the eyes of the deceased Eva and comfort his son with a warm squeeze. Peter saw him, distorted by tears, as he gently picked up Carlotta's arm and started to examine her.

“Peter wait, a pulse! She has a pulse!” He looked at his dad in disbelief, and feeling for himself that it was true, felt himself fill up with joy that dispelled the anguish. He wiped the tears away.

“What? A pulse? But the blood . . .”

“The blood is Eva's. Carlotta must have passed out. I'll try to get us some help.”

The medical team seemed to take forever, but they came. They found Peter still holding Carlotta as if she were a child, singing her a song she had sung to him whenever he was very sick. He tried to sing it as sweetly as she had, but there was too much emotion going through him for him to keep his voice steady. How many times had she picked him up when he had fallen? How many time had she hugged him when he was sad? Memories of finger paint and finding worms after the rain were filling him when she woke up, when she started wailing with the same force he had at first, except with a violence that only true suffering could bring. He pulled her closer. He'd teased her a thousand times about blood, but he knew that her fear was real. He'd never seen such agony on a face before. He would protect her from that, since he couldn't protect her from the Breen. Since he had already failed her once that day. He wasn't sure how long they had sat there, holding each other while his body muffled her screams, when the medical team pulled her away from him. She reached for his hand, and he didn't let go. He would follow her as long as she needed him.

“Mike! Mike, come back!” Somehow, Carlotta had escaped from the people who were trying to examine her and was tearing out into the street, calling for her brother. It shocked Peter, but he recovered quickly and went after her. She was standing in the street, surrounded by crumbling building and covered in blood, looking as lost as a women starved in the desert. Once again, Peter pulled her in and wrapped his arms around her, and for the second time he could remember, she was soaking his chest with hot tears.

“I saw, him. I saw Mike,” she said.

“Where?” Peter looked all around, but saw no one. “Are you sure you saw him?”

“He hates me for what I've done. I killed her. I killed my sister!” She had lost all her control, all of her strength, and Peter didn't know what else to do but stand there are give what strength he could to the sobbing girl who was, in all intents and purposes, his sister.


Regards, best wishes, and 15,201 words,

-Cecily Jane

 

You Say "Nano," I Say "WriMo!"

  • Written by Cecily Jane
  • Tuesday, November 3, 2009

My Dear Reader,


I'm on to you.

I know what you've been thinking, as you refresh the main page of my blog over and over again, waiting for the next post to appear. This post. You've been up to it all day, haven't you? Yes, I know you have. Don't worry; I understand. I won't judge you.

But back to the thinking you've been doing, and how I know what it is. Yes. Well, it's obvious, isn't it? I mean, Halloween is over, and it's that time of the year again. I know it just as well as you do. And I know that you know that during this time of the year, something special happens. And you're waiting for it, aren't you? Wondering if it's going to happen, praying that it will, thinking to yourself, "When is Cecily going to start talking about NaNoWriMo? WHEN????"

I know you so well.

Okay, so maybe I'm being a bit overdramatic. Life is much more fun that way. But it's true, Gentle Reader: NaNoWriMo (or, National Novel Writing Month) has come upon us once again, Or at least, it's come upon me. I'd like for it to come upon you, but that's a personal choice.

As you may recall, this is the first year I've done it, tried to write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. The first year, I nailed it. The second, I failed miserably. And then I tried a second time, and failed even more miserably. I think I got to 16,000 or something: pathetic. This year, however, I'm planning on making up for that. Serious. I even did pre-writing this time. That is historic.

So, what is my novel about, you ask? Okay, this is the part where I'm not so awesome. This part is the part where I turn into a total nerd: I'm writing a Star Trek fan fiction-thing.

"WHAT?" you say! "Didn't you have an entire rant against that, like, forever ago?" (Just try to pretend that you haven't read every single word I've written so many times that you've committed them all to memory. I know you have.)

Yes. YES. I'm so ashamed. Well, half of me is. The other half is like, "But the story is so dang awesome! I've been thinking it up for years. Years, I say!"

Okay, so here's the deal. I'll tell it to you straight: when I was a freshman in college, like three million years ago, I had the most ingenious idea for a Star Trek series EVER. I promise, this isn't just the Halloween candy talking. It's pretty cool. Remember, this was when Star Trek was still on the air, so it's not quite as pathetic and lame as you're thinking. I still know what you're thinking. Anyway, I went to two of my friends and together, we were going to write this thing. It was going to be a stand-alone series, set in the Star Trek universe, but with completely new characters and stuff. And we all took turns creating the characters and figuring out what the plot was going to be, but truth be told, it was my baby. I planned out a whole seven seasons. So when one of us got married (Not me; don't worry. I'm not hiding some secret husband somewhere.), and decided she couldn't do it anymore, the whole thing kind of fell apart. It happens. People move on. Well, except me. I'm not very good at that.

So since then, these characters have been floating around in my head, haunting me like ghosts who want vengeance, except instead they just want me to write their story. And I have been. Actually, a lot of the fiction I've posted here actually uses characters from my series that I've tweaked to make them work in another setting. Yup. I swear, they just won't leave me alone. So, I'm going to write their series, if only to satisfy them. You don't have to read it. I'll even put a synopsis here* so you don't have to read that.

So, that's my plan for NaNoWriMo. I'm actually 6,340 words in already. If all goes as planned, I'll surpass last year's word count by next week. So I'll keep you updated, as usual. And if you're doing it too, and you want to be my writing buddy on the official NaNoWriMo site, my name is theotherone. We'll keep tabs on each other, like people with substance abuse issues.

Here it goes!

Regards, best wishes, and I heard that,

-Cecily Jane

*Okay, so it's called Star Trek: Academy. It takes place right after Deep Space Nine, overlapping with Voyager. The idea is that after the Dominion War, the Federation has taken such a beating that they're in the process of rebuilding the fleet, starting with the new class of cadets. The series follows a special group of these cadets, from their first day through graduation and their first assignments. Yup, I'm a geek. And a nerd. And a dork. I'm a nerdgeekdork.

 

Quote: "Busy," Unquote

  • Written by Cecily Jane
  • Tuesday, October 27, 2009

My Dear Reader,

Sorry about October.

I mean it. I feel awful about the whole thing. I'm the worst person ever.

I could say I was too busy, which would kind of be the truth. Of course, it would also be a lie.

The truth of the matter is that, except for moms, people are rarely too busy for the small things. Especially something they've done on a regular basis for over two years. I hate it when people tell me that they're too busy, when I can tell that what they mean is, "I could have done it, but I didn't value it enough to take the time, slash I forgot." So I won't do that to you, Gentle Reader. You deserve better than that.

You see, if I'm going to be truly honest about the whole thing, I should really say that I had a lot of stuff to take care of and that sucked up a lot of time that I normally reserve for blogging. Of course, it's not like I spent every second of my time as wisely as I could have, and I definitely could have taken the timeout of other things I did, but I was honestly so stressed out about work and other things that when I took personal time, I did other things that, for me, acted as a better stress reliever than writing.* And then I'd get home after midnight and say to myself, "Oh man, it was Tuesday today! How could I possibly forget that it was Tuesday?" And then I feel horribly stupid for forgetting what day it was, afterwards feeling guilty because you probably got on my blog and were disappointed that nothing was new. And then I feel like an egotistical jerk for thinking that anybody actually cared that much about my writing, but then I remind myself that there are lots of people who care about my writing, but I the person I really let down was myself, and that I'm even more stressed than I was before. So I do something that I do to relieve stress, such as bake cupcakes and/or watch TV online. Yes, at midnight. You have no idea the number of times someone has woken up at two in the morning to get a drink and found me baking in the kitchen. The looks they give are priceless, though.

Then I go to bed utterly confused.

Anyway, I hope that I have provided an explanation which was honest and entertaining enough to satisfy you, Gentle Reader. I'm still sorry. You didn't see it, but I literally just made a puppy dog face at my computer screen as I typed that last sentence to prove my sincerity. I'll be back next weeks, or maybe before that, even though next weeks is November, and I am once again participating in NaNoWriMo.

I promise.

Regards, best wishes, and successful time management,

-Cecily Jane

*Writing, for me, is only a stress reliever if I'm angry and I'm writing it out. I wasn't angry these past few weeks, just stressed and worried. Don't get me wrong; I love writing, but it's hard for me to be the way I am here when I'm worried about stuff.

 

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