So I've started a post about creativity and originality, but in the interest of time, I'm going to cheat a little bit, and post a couple of photos I took when my family went to Williamsburg recently, and an excerpt from said short story, in an effort to prove that even though I've been neglecting to write bloggy things, I have been writing.
Ok here we go:
|It's a little known fact that the early colonists were very into energy conservation|
|It's a cherry. On the ground. Move along.|
|I chased this dude around for a while.|
|A fence and some stuff|
The story is titled "It Doesn't Know How," which I decided on after no small about of deliberation. It's about half-written, and I have the rest of the plot laid out in my head, but the rest needs to get written fast (by me) because I have to turn in a first draft on Wednesday. So, without further ado:
I pressed my shoulder against the heavy door and leaned into it. It gave a bit too easily, like it hadn’t gone quite long enough without someone forcing it to turn on its rusty hinges. Beside me, Watson bobbed up and down anxiously. I looked at him. Nervous, he said.
“Worry-wart,” I teased. But when I turned around I saw that Watson’s instincts were dead-on, as usual. The room had been torn apart. The computers were utterly destroyed. Bits and pieces of memory and processors were strewn across the room. One of the old towers had been gutted; red and blue wires stuck morbidly from its corpse. The entrails of the largest monitor had been strung from the knobs of the kitchen cabinets like party decorations.
The dirty refrigerator leaned to one side. Its door hung open, which didn’t actually matter because its contents had been picked clean. I sighed heavily and shrugged off my bag. It hit the floor with a soft thud, sending up a cloud of dust that caught the light of the old florescent beam outside the door. I closed the fridge. I methodically removed the wires from the cabinets, discovering with a modicum of relief that they were mostly intact. The Luddites were a destructive bunch, but you wouldn’t catch me complaining about their lack of technical know-how. I’d reassembled the computers a dozen times, and I was prepared to do it a dozen more. It was a labor of love.
I was more upset about the food. I couldn’t program another fresh ham into existence, and the next food shipment wouldn’t come through here for a week.Watson pipped three times, the tone he made when he was digesting new data. He was probably trying to figure out why I wasn’t more bothered by the mess. I patted him absentmindedly as I crossed the room and dropped the wires on the shell of the old computer, wincing as I saw the inside. The memory chips were smashed. I’d lost everything.
I looked back at the hovering metal sphere with renewed fondness and amended my observation. I’d lost everything except Watson.