castirongoldfish

Come home and voila. New stuff....

Well, fair be fair....Mark stuff...some of it's on hold since the original notes for the TV series are in one of my notebooks....I need to scan that one at some point. Been saying that a few years now.

Beyond that i have some stuff based on the cast below, the Nemesis tales (Wierd West). I'll share (gDocs).

Tomorrow the report would say that he wasn't that drunk when his car dodged something (what we don't know, he missed) and attempted to uproot the sapling which had wintered successfully in its cement embrasure. The embrasure had won, but he had, even not being that drunk, forgotten to put on his seatbelt, and skidded some thirty, fifty feet until wrapping around a park bench.

“You know, I was even thinking pasta for dinner. Now,” noted Sasha, slowly surveying the distended carnage, “not so much”.

There was the motley collection you might expect four am on a Tuesday to bring out. A patrol car, not the first to show, rather the junior, remained, parked close to Mark's ambulance. Lights from the two vehicles continued to roil the shadows to dancing, this predawn rave circling, neither closing or widening their noose.

“Mark.” Sasha bellowed this time. “What you think we get, you know, after this?”

Mark shook his head and turned around to the small party orbiting the meat smear. He squinted, then, resigned, lit a cigarette. A heavy drag down, “What's this, dinner? Somehow you haven't eaten enough”

“You know,” Sasha smiled his hacksaw smile, “we got time.” With this he gestured at the two remaining policemen, one tied to his radio as the other finished cleaning wiping off his surprise from his boots and mouth.

“Why?” The cigarette dwindled quickly. “this isn't our job. Let them call a meat wagon. We're supposed to be here for the living.”

Sasha scratched aimlessly at the mass of his cheek and jowl, turfed as it was with thick, jagged black and gray scruff. “Look, Mark. These militsiya, they're young. All shit slides down the years and they, they got none. They're the bucket.” He shrugged. “How can we win? It's this, or maybe the coffee and cigarettes the rest tonight. At least this way we're busy. Then there is still time for coffee, but at least with breakfast. Now give me one of those.”

Mark lit a pair of smokes at once and passed Sasha his. The cop, damn,

He choked down the last of the cigarette. “We got it,” he said, blowing by the cop and leaving him stammering behind.

Collected Notes from the Susan Heany speech 19 Mar 09

We have a dead body from the car accident.

Though dead, he's dead before his time

There's two things to look at.

Write to feel the characters

Writing for dense, powerful writing

We'll write big right now, then cut to the right size

Mark and Sasha drinking coffee, talking,

mark's trying to listen, but distracted.

By college students

Freaking out

high pitched

deal with issues by email and writing on facebook walls

look around, “always feel weird about talking about people”...but it doesn't slow them

Mark started school but he dropped out

Trying to relax but dealing with the shrill laughter.

“Yes, and relax instead to the sounds of that garbage truck. It's like a baby song” -Sasha

Watching an errant falcon hunting in the city

crappy motor cycle for sasha, mark has his beater pick up, and usually gives sasha a ride back

Mark sticks his head out in the sunlight at the end of his drive like a dog. Almost gets into an accident in the process

Falls asleep with his feet in the kiddy pool.

Does sasha wake him burned?

[diagram: Mark arrow (pays his rent) landlord arrow (sold to) the cat eyed lady many arrow (sold out)]

she's only willing to part with the list of the sellers for a deal

This though is the background....

This story is not our primary story, not our story today.

This is a snapshot

it answers the question if this is fun to write.

It has

Action

Anti-hero

Something that happened to the victim

a little bit of WWolf gothic

The victim wasn't supposed to die.

It's that thing mentioned that he dodged

That thing was once a hunter in the darkness

But over time it's fade, it is dying, fading from its hunger

Now it feeds on old sick streetdwellers with little sustistance

Tired, Half Blind, it didn't see the car

But a young, healthy soul died in the process.

It intends to be there when the soul leaves, the following sunset

And it wants that soul bad

This lien on the soul prevents it from moving on.

And the soul itself is scared, at least as much as it can be

So this Hounded at Twilight (?) (Horrible Title)

This story is going to be 5,000-10,000 words (well, don't really have too much of a upper limit, but at 300 wpp in the old paperback format, we're looking at roughly 20-40 pages. Nothing really.

This is a framework, not a lifestyle choice.

What does the Hunter look like?

4 dimensional, folding out

blind in one eye

ragged, edges fraying out of existence with no colors, faded black at the edges

Some symbol to its spiritual roots, whatever that will be

voices numerous as legion, loud, strong, mostly male as strong, more to child and screetchy when scared

Face fading from hawk to cougar to bear to wolf, fast forward to slomo, blurring

sense of fur, matted and bloody/dirty, but fur none the less

limping

trail of self left behind that slowly, indistinctly, ceased to be

Ancient, smell of barrows, wet earth, rust blood

Mark is supposed to use the supernatural to get back at the supernatural

Start with

the accident-paranoia

the travel-stopping through a drive through/mark sneaks back to check on the body and leave a protection/record

Dropping off the remains

Heads home, falls asleep, dreams the hunter

Wakes and sees the seething shadow

gets to ambulance,early, drops shrooms into a miller light, and sits by the body, now unmarked.

He breaks the bottle and cuts his hand to loop the body and cut the body and claim a mark

after he drinks the beer he can see clearly

The two clash, mostly verbal, but the blood serves as a sympathetic barrier

Why does he choose to do all this.

He fears the dreams that come when he fails

He fears the punishment from failure to act

What does the soul look like

It doesn't, it's a sensation, not a sense

Its not heard, smelt, felt, etc.

Walking one can feel the unease, and when it leave, at the sunset, he feels the vaccuum

Sunset vs. 24 hours

First Dream

The dream, as he starts to sleep outside, is the vision of the accident in the drivers seat

The speed

The form-not right, not natural

the turn

the blur

Awakening, and seeing a siloluette in the shadows

Cursing, quick to rise to a drink

Going to a corner then occupied by notebooks and staying there until he either leaves or sasha shows and comments on his sunburn

The battle

Pulling the bag out

Ringing with mixed blood and putting blood on finger

Pulled over a battered folding chair

It slinks into the room

Mark needs to gird self, fake it

Demands why it's here, this is mark's marked meal

shows blood on hand

Hunter tells how killed

did you touch

no

then mine

-and-

bound by law, did you hunt it

no

then not yours, by the lords of ravens, my carion

Pushes mark, the barrier holds, which causes mark to get light headed by the strain

Then negotiation

Then begging/pleading

and then an end around in the last effort

but the soul leaves first

Then the hunter tries to leave

mark chases, but not for not that long

realizes it no longer has the ability to hunt any longer.

Soon the last of it will fade

goes to ambulance then,

light trails and light headed

comes to senses at coffee shop?