Puddles and Whiskers, WDB The Present

Welcome to my continuing series and evolution on writing. Puddles and Whiskers began as a rough draft, which was turned into a draft, then I continued their story with more rough drafts. Now, I resume the editing process. WDB stands for Wash and Dry Brush, two phases in painting where details are added, mistakes are corrected, expansions are made, all to set up the end run the “final” edit. I also uses WDBs to ensure the story flows and if necessary make course corrections. Enjoy watching the evolution of Puddles and Whiskers.

For comparison, see here.

The Present…

BONG!

At the sound of a well-loved and used frying pan bouncing off a skull, everyone in the ramshackle room stopped fighting, for a brief second. Pouncing back from her fallen foe, golden furred Puddles tufted ears flat against her skull, tail stiff, and teeth bared brandished her frying pan above her head, drawing her Maxwell Arms Manstopper pistol from a shoulder holster at the same time and shooting a charging black and red clad mook.

“Give up will ya!” Puddles shouted at the room full of mooks.

Spotted gray and white furred Whiskers knee-slid underneath the sloppy punch of a mook, gutting the mook with his katana. Popping up from the slide, Whiskers flicked his katana clean of blood, and sought another challenger. Whiskers did not have to wait long; knocking smaller mooks aside with swings of a large pipe, a towering over-muscled mook lumbered straight towards Whiskers. Adjusting his grip to a low-position, Whiskers waited for the moment to strike the perfect blow.

BLAM!

BLAM! BLAM!

Three large bloody holes appeared on the over-muscled mook’s chest. For a brief second, the mook looked surprised before falling over. Curved knives drawn, three more mooks lept over his body to take his place.

“You’re welcome!” Puddles shouted at Whiskers.

Whiskers quickly shot Puddles an irritated glare before returning his attention to the mooks. The perfect moment gone, Whiskers charged the mooks. Sidestepping to the right at the last second, Whiskers swung his katana upwards, a blue holo-etching the length of the blade flared casting a blue light trail upwards, gutting the mook on the right as they passed each other. A half step forward, a downward stroke, followed by a quick slice to the right and the other two mooks fell clutching their wounds as the blue trail faded.

Silence

…other than their labored breathing, the room was silent. Puddles strolled over trash and dead mooks to Whiskers. Wiping his blade clean on a dead mook, Whiskers faced Puddles, his short pointed ears back while his tail slashed thru the air giving extra body English to his irritation with his longtime partner.

Pointing at the over-muscled mook’s body, “What was that about?”

Puddles shrugged. Her spotted tail waving lazily in an S-pattern that Whisker’s knew so well; her “Oops, did I do that,” when she knew what she had done shrug.

“I couldn’t let you have all the fun,” Puddles said over her shoulder, holstering her pistol while stepping over dead mooks on her way to the doorway, tail swishing away as if she did not have a care in the world.

Tail lashing, Whiskers stood for a moment, gripping his katana tightly holo-etching flaring bright, before sheathing in one smooth motion. He gave the over-muscled mook one last look before following Puddles out of the room into a refuse and graffiti covered hallway. The hallway floor cocked downward, ceiling tiles hung ready to fall at any moment. Halfway down the hallway, alarms began to sound and the few working hallway lights went from white to emergency red.

Ears upright, alert, Puddles looked at the ceiling, “Seems like an odd security system for a gang.”

“Took them long enough,” Whiskers mused.

“I thought we made more than enough noise,” Puddles replied.

“We?”

“Yes you,” Puddles made her infamous “Who me” gesture; ears forward, eyes wide, and arms held out.

“If you weren’t such a push over we wouldn’t be here,” Puddles said while peeking around a corner.

Menagerie, On Automatic

Previously.

Watching her ship break slowly break apart, the brief flare of fire and electricity, the smaller pieces flaking off and floating away, before the larger pieces cracked and finally snapped separating from the remains was frustratingly beautiful. As she drifted farther away, beauty became simply frustrating.

An hour earlier, another day on patrol over Ison VII. Her job, ensure traffic flowed smoothly, any distress calls were answered quickly, and keep an eye out for raiders. Not that traffic did not flow smoothly due to the automatic navigation controls. Not that anyone ever found themselves in distress on the way in or out of Ison VII. Not that raiders had attacked in over three years. Nothing ever happened and Amiri was fine with that.

Everyday, wedge herself into the cockpit built for a bov, not a rhino, push a key for the same old patrol route she was always assigned and sit back for her shift. Boring. Boring was predictable. If the cockpit had room for anything other than her she would have brought something to occupy herself. She knew most of her fellow pilots took hobbies on patrol with them. Just thinking of WhiteTip reading her books on her back in her spacious cockpit made Amiri jealous.

Reaching into a cargo pocket she pulled out her latest attempt to counter the long boredom, a portable hologame console. Gingerly setting the unit on the top of the dash, Amiri gently pushed the power button with a large toe. Immediately the cockpit lit up as the company logo accompanied by the three note jingle filled the cabin. Amiri smiled as the console successfully connected with the datastream her home screen appearing in front of her.

Amiri laughed when her favorite game character, a little monkey appeared on the tip of her horn. She pulled the menu of games down and spent a few minutes deciding which to play. Off to her right, a large pachyderm tender floated by on automatic navigation; she paid the tender no mind, the automatic routes ensured near misses, but no collisions. Inspired by the “near miss,” Amiri touched the icon for her favorite platform game, Simon Simian.

Totally engaged, Amiri guided Simon the Simian with some success through various levels for the forty-five minutes. Nothing broke her concentration, not the blinking commlight. Not the insistent tone of an urgent call. Not the more insistent tone of non-standard traffic.

The bright flower of an explosion outside her window, caught her attention a second after Simon disappeared without warning when her console lost connection.

“What the hell,” Amiri shouted.

A knife edged ship flew through the explosion, blasters firing, impacts seconds later. Her patrol ship shook and rattled. Warning lights flashed. Her beloved console crashed to the floor. Confused and panicked comms from all over the system filled her cockpit along with the warning tones and emergency tones.

Stabbing manual, Amiri engaged the engines in time to accidentally maneuver out of another attack pass by the knife edged ship, unfortunately not fast or well enough to avoid the follow-up attack. Her ship, automatically ejected the cockpit lifepod, shooting her away from the impending destruction and combat.

On automatic, the cockpit lifepod rolled over obscuring her view of the remains of her ship and accelerated for Ison VII below.

 

Another Bookstore Bites The Dust…Sad Days Indeed

I’ve been out in the world today and…

the ONLY bookstore in Big Rapids is closing. As in gone. I know a bookstore closing isn’t that big of a deal, but IT IS! Big Rapids likes to bill itself as a college town, what is a college town without a bookstore? A place where in addition to nothing happening already, now really nothing is happening.

There are so few reasons to go to town in the first place, sure the closest destination for any fast food craving I might have and if I want to see what human forms live under a rock I can always visit Walmart, but true reasons to go into town are few and far between. The bookstore was one of those reasons.

Was it the best bookstore, no even close. But and I shit you not, I always found a book to purchase every single stinking visit. Even when the cashier took a serious disliking to me for a while (not my fault or problem that she had such a problem with sex books. I rescued plenty from there.) . Yes, I could, can, and probably will order books from Amazon, but I would rather give a local small business my money. I have a soft spot for the small business.

Now the nearest bookstore is a car trip away and while I enjoy a good used bookstore could use the following things:

  • A wash
  • Regular hours
  • A system of organization that is more advanced than “over there or check one of the piles near there.”

I do love visiting, but I only visit once every six months because the mold count is high enough to cause my son’s asthma to kick into over drive and I do not like having to check my purchase for mold. And if you are a regular reader you know my annual summer crusade to save sex books involves many used bookstores, but even I have my limits.

The next nearest bookstore is…oh wait that one with the cat closed too.

That makes the next nearest bookstore in Grand Rapids, an hour trip to a mall, and a name brand bookstore. Where the sales staff is more than happy to tell me I am in the wrong section and isn’t it lovely that our over-priced books are on sale for…that’s right list price and we will gladly order you those books you want, if we could only figure out how to use our computer…thanks, if I am going to give money to the big guy I’ll give it to Amazon they let me surf, don’t tell me I am in the wrong section, and prices unfortunately for everyone in the real world are cheap.

I don’t blame Amazon. I blame our society that has devalued books and devalued reading in favor of NOW! Don’t read the book, watch the movie. Don’t read a book, watch this six-second video it will tell you the same thing. Don’t read a book, pick up your tablet, book reader, and read on the go, BULLSHIT!

I am so glad I grew up when books and bookstores were destinations for families and the mind. I am a writer and I hate now, because “everyone” can type, everyone can “write,” and because “everyone” can type and “write” online everyone is published. Writers used to be admired because writing is hard, takes time, dedication, a willingness to part with part of you, now everyone writes. Not to many people read. Why do I say this, because if more people read less “everyone” would be “writing.”

Is there a silver lining? Not for the bookstore. Around here the boy wants to learn to mow and use the weedwhacker…that is my silver lining.

Mother’s Day Rant

I guess I should start with Happy Mother’s Day.

I am not a fan of holiday’s like Mother’s Day, not because in theory I am a Father and have to wait for Father’s Day, but it seems hollow to me to have to have one day to remind people to do something nice for their Mother. Then, again I am not really one to speak. Shrug.

The kids are watching My Little Pony, some sort of marathon before something. What that something is I have no clue and I don’t think they do either. If the sun was behind clouds, rain, thunder and lightning, or any of one hundred other reasons why they couldn’t go outside I would be fine with them spending the day in front of the TV. I want them to go outside and play. However, after taking a Frisbee to the mouth yesterday, I can understand why our girl wants to My Little Pony and chill.

Barb is at work. I think that is my issue with holiday’s like Mother’s Day, if the day really is to celebrate/honor/acknowledge (although acknowledge is pretty low on the list of honorifics; “Hey, you’re a mother”) then why not have the day off? Make holidays like Mother’s Day a specific Sunday in a month, make sure to have tons of commercials (not that we watch TV anymore, I assume there are commercials) of people visiting their mother for a family dinner. Shitcan the cards, flowers, and stupid shit, go full bore holiday, like Thanksgiving. Images of families gathered around generations of mothers celebrating that they took the time to give birth to them and raise them to the best of their abilities given their circumstances.

That right there! The difference between platitude and honest celebration. Mother’s Day and holidays like them are platitudes a literal “Oh shit we should say something nice to our mom’s” by some politician somewhere. Maybe there was an honest intention behind the idea, but now…what do we have? Cards, flowers, chocolates, and kids making gifts at school. Maybe if the mother is lucky, dinner with immediate family.

WHAT THE FUCK!

Keep in mind that I am not close to my family. I’m not. I admit it. But I can acknowledge this situation because I can see it from a different perspective than I had before, as a parent.

Let me put it this way, if Mother’s Day was the holiday it SHOULD be I would not have had to force my children to do nice things for Barb. Now the nice things were cleaning related (thus the resistance), but still if Mother’s Day was promoted the way I envision the children would be properly indoctrinated via school, TV, and society that one this one day a year they do for their mother without question without hesitation and with all of the love I know they have for her. We as a family spend the day doing for her in the same way we do for Thanksgiving…I’m not talking stuff, cook, carve, and eat her (although…there is some innuendo in that)…but…take for example Thanksgiving; for weeks before Thanksgiving the message is

FAMILY

FOOD

BLACK FRIDAY SALES

SHOPPING

MORE SHOPPING

BE THANKFUL

SHOP SOME MORE BECAUSE THE NATION’S RETAILERS NEED YOUR MONEY

In spite of the nauseating plea by retailers, the message of family gathering to give thanks to a reasonably stupid bird has maintained both in practice and imagery. So with that in mind why can’t the same thing be done for Mother’s Day and holidays like that?

Two weeks before the day, get the commercials rolling of family gathered around mom over a home cooked meal, not a turkey or ham because they are spoken for holiday wise. Jack up the emotional appeal with images of soldiers returning home in time to celebrate time with mom and a home cooked meal (NOT cooked by mom unless everyone else in the house is unable to cook and that is another post altogether-someone other than mom learn to cook!). Food TV could do endless specials about cooking special meals for mom. Retailers could go NUTS with more than cards and flowers, full on Mother’s Day specials nationwide. Barb would rather have yarn or a power tool than a card for damn sure.

Black and Decker is proud to announce our 4th annual Mother’s Day Tool Time Special. Buy the woman who gave you birth and raised you the best in powered tools. (images of chainsaws ripping cards apart, arc welders melting chocolate, and a final image of a gigantic metallic flower arrangement made with…you guessed it Black and Decker power tools. I’m feeling the love are you?)

And to top it all off, because we are a money grubbing retail sale oriented society have an AFTER Mother’s Day (insert some color associated with moms or assign one) SALE!

This is the kind of stuff I’d do if I was President…I mean in addition to ruling the world. 🙂

Happy Mother’s Day.

On A Map We Are Here

Well hello there,

Think of this as an update and coming attractions post. Which if neither of those things interest you then you may want to come back tomorrow, me I like those kinds of things, especially movie trailers and when companies let people in on their potential…I was about to use the p-word, but I didn’t.

Update

My arm injury is now on the mend, I say this with enough confidence that if things backslide it is because I was an idiot and reinjured the arm. As of today, I can write for longer than a few minutes at a time, cook more than a single part of a dish, clean more than lifting up a tissue, and paint for longer than three brushstrokes.

Coming Attractions

Okay this is less of a coming attractions and more of me keeping you up to date. I like feeling like I have an inside track, this is your inside track.

Starting next weekend for two weeks, there will be a shift in the blog. I won’t say why or what, because you will see. I feel a warning is due because some people really do come here just to read the weekend posts.

Puddles and Whiskers after one or two more posts is going back to wash and drybrush or W&DB AKA editing. The last editing pass was on roughly 20 pages of text, 40 pages have gone by and I want to keep everything edited and make sure the story hasn’t gone off track…too much.

Menagerie will be making a come back. Puddles and Whiskers took over and I am fine with that, but as they enter editing Menagerie will take over as the new weekly serial story for a while. I’m not sure where the story will pick up or if there will be a story as Menagerie really does seem to be a menagerie of stories.

Nail Clippers…seems to have disappeared into the background of this writer’s mind. Stories do that. If they come back, you will be the second to know; always think your are the second person to read a post, makes you feel better to know you read it right after the author. 🙂

Worldship Horizon has gone off to where stories go. I am sure that it will return in one form or another.

Freedom and Commando keeps bumping into my present, I envision you will be seeing or not seeing more of them soon.

Which brings me around to erotica, there will be more, now I can’t say what form the erotica will appear, after all Nail Clippers and Freedom and Commando were odd forms, but I have been working and reading some different erotica to break that mold of “they did this and then that happened cue orgasm”

And finally food. I used to write a lot about food. I don’t know what happened, but food keeps taking a descending position of importance in writing to me. I still cook, and I still read about cooks and cooking, but my interest in writing about cooking has waned. Maybe one day it will return.

So there you have it an update (yay arm) and a warning of sort and some coming attractions.

Puddle and Whiskers, Dinner For Five

Previously.

Dinner For Five

“Nothing better than a bowl of noodles after a job,” Puddles said while running her tongue over her teeth.

“Eth, John join us,” Chuck greeted the new arrivals.

Smoothing his memware suit Eth strutted across NiHo’s to their table. John took off his wrap around smart glasses, put them into an interior pocket of his black jacket, and scanned the restaurant as he stalked towards the table. Eth sat down and immediately pulled the menu up. John sat down with a thud and a sigh.

“What’s wrong with him?” Puddles asked Eth.

“Long night,” John replied with a grunt.

“Him, he was hoping to take Red Twist down tonight,” Eth replied at the same time.

Facing the table, John pulled up the menu and placed his order before slumping back in his chair. Whiskers leaned with both elbows on the table, intent on the tablet in front of him. Eth flipped through a few holo-screens before settling on dinner.

“What’s so interesting?” John asked pointing at the tablet.

“Tracking information,” Whiskers replied without looking up.

“I wanted to ask how you fooled their signal tracker,” Eth said.

Chuck set his drink down, leaning towards Eth, “That was easy.”

“Easy?”

“Yes, easy. I told them what they wanted to hear.”

“And what was that,” John interjected, picking up his drink.

“I told them that each chip was collecting data, part of collecting data is sending out bits of data,” Chuck explained with a smile, “thus when they used their signal tracker it told them what they expected that some signal was broadcasting.”

Smiling with understanding, Eth slammed his drink down. A serv-O droid rushed over to refill his drink and top off the rest. John’s brow furrowed, he steepled his fingers in front of his mouth.

“You hope Red Twist believes that,” he said flat toned, “because if he doesn’t he will find you three.”

Whiskers looked up from the tablet, “That is assuming you do not fulfill your contract and arrest him,” Whiskers held up his right paw stalling John’s retort, “Of course if you cannot before the follow up meeting we can coordinate together to arrest him then.”

“I’ll get the job done,” John replied testitly.

“Okay Eth, we took care of our part, now you do yours,” Puddles shot at Eth.

John shot Eth a glare. Eth held up his hands in mock protest.

“Two gangers is all we need and the sooner the better,” Puddles pushed on.

“I’ll find you two,” Eth answered. “Won’t be hard at all.”

Whiskers pushed the tablet over to John who picked up the tablet studying the information intensely. Two serv-O droids rolled out to the table and served hot bowls of noodles.

“This is accurate?” John asked pointing at the tablet.

“Within a few feet,” Whiskers replied.

John sat back, eating and studying the tablet.

“When do you want the gangers?” Eth asked.

“A day or two,” Puddles replied.

Freedom and Commando

Pardon the interruption. I know you were expecting Puddles and Whiskers and so was I, however I woke up at 5 am with a dream/story demanding to be written. Warning, this is rough and odd, yet I think there may be something there to explore later. Here is a detail or two not obvious, Commando is invisible-always-and there is a third character missing, a dwarf or baby (remember it was a dream) wearing a shirt “I went to Cabo and all I got was this T-shirt” carrying a large shotgun or a grenade launcher…oh yeah and this took place in the future. Dreams.

****

Freedom watched five troopers on patrol through her scope, playing the crosshairs over each one, setting up the perfect shot before moving onto the next one. She let the crosshair linger over a commander, picturing the shot in her mind when she felt a familiar pair of hands wrap around her waist and pop her quick-release belt.

“Not now Commando I’m working.”

“And I know your work excites you,” he said huskily into her ear as her fatigues dropped to her knees. “Oh you dirty girl, your commando too.”

Freedom adjusted her stance, legs apart a bit more allowing Commando access between her legs. His warm hands gliding up and down her legs before diving between them.

“Green light,” their commander announced through their earbuds.

Commando slide a thick finger between her wet lips playing with her clit. She squeezed the trigger and watched a trooper’s head explode into a fine mist just as Commando slide two fingers inside her. Freedom let out a sigh of pleasure.

None of the troopers reacted, yet. The crosshair caressed another trooper’s head, Commando thrust hard with his fingers; she squeezed the trigger a second time, moaning aloud as the trooper’s head disintegrated.

Two of the troopers dove for cover behind a wall. With a flip of a switch, she watched them crouch behind the wall, no hiding today. Commando stroked her engorged clit while pushing against her; she felt his cock against her ass before he pushed down. As his cock slid into her, she squeezed the trigger; a puff against the wall, behind the wall a trooper slid down, headless. Commando second thrust, deeper, harder, Freedom caressed the trigger a fourth time, moaning in pleasure while she watched the fourth trooper fall over.

Commando grabbed her hips, pulling her back onto him with each thrust. She was lost in pleasure, not seeing as much as knowing. The final trooper ran; smart, until he too dropped headless. Freedom moaning with pleasure, gripping Commando’s cock with her pussy, milking as much pleasure as she could from him. Loving his hands on her hips, him pounding her from behind.

The commander got to his vehicle, he must have thought he was safe, Freedom loved the “I survived” look on targets faces. Another flip of a switch. Another hard thrust. Another moan. A final shot. The commander’s headless body slumped into the steering wheel. Freedom came hard, her pussy clutching Commando’s cock several times rapidly. She pushed back with a hand; he slid out of her.

“I got mine,” she said with a wink.

She pulled her fatigues up, buckled them, and started for the door.