Taking Classes: New Book

Brandon Sanderson, a best-selling author, also the author of my favorite books such as Elantris, Warbreaker, and the Stormlight Archive, teaches Creative Writing at Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah. I had been considering possibly taking his class, but soon learned how difficult it can be to find an opening as the available spots for students fills up immediately. Fortunately for me, I discovered that the school allowed him to record his classes for two different years.

I am now watching the classes on his website, http://www.writeaboutdragons.com/brandon_w2012/. I am going through the 2013 collection and completing assignments as if I were a student. The class calls for a new story to be written through the duration, with thirty thousand words as the goal, and so I am beginning something new.

I'll post my progress:

     Runes again - on the Vice President's face this time. Tom stared at the billboard, then glanced at other people on the streets. Most seemed to be focused on avoiding looking at the spray paint graffiti. That sort of vandalism was becoming more and more prevalent recently. A lot of people were blaming the refugees from Nemund. Tom didn't know what t think of it, but he knew his parents didn't mention it much.
     Tom forced himself to pay attention to his current task. He had a letter for the mechanic. Tom studied the envelope while he walked briskly. The paper it was made from was light blue, the color of business correspondence. The address was printed on the top end and he noted the silver ink it was printed in. He grinned. That meant it was important, probably a bill of some sort. The way the sunlight reflected off the words when he turned it about in his hands made it look very official. It made Tom feel official, especially since this was only his twenty second delivery. Not even three days had passed on his new job and he was already delivering vital messages.
     He spun the envelope in his fingers. It wasn't much bigger than any of the normal black ink letters he delivered, no wider than his hand, and only twice as long, but that was to be expected. His father had mentioned last month that they should be expecting to see a few changes with imported goods. Many of their allied countries were under siege by the Nemundian armies. Paper was one of those goods. Rotane didn't have much in the way of trees, other than shrubbery. His father had been right. The price of paper had doubled. People quickly adapted by printing on smaller sheets with finer print.
     Tom hurried down the sidewalk, staring ahead as far as he could see. Street signs were too small to read from so far away, but he wasn't looking for those. He was searching for uniquely shaped buildings and statues, anything big enough to be recognized from a distance. He'd learned after his first day on the job that the more experienced messengers only talked about towers and distinctive businesses, basing their knowledge of the city's layout on a map of landmarks. Street names weren't very helpful when the city you were traversing was always changing its layout.
     That was something Tom had always found fascinating about mod cities. The different districts could be reorganized during the day in order to make public transportation more efficient. Nobody needed a vehicle if you knew the city's shifting schedules. All you had to do was wait at the proper edge of your current district and your destination would eventually come to you. If you were in a hurry, you could simply find one or two more districts to step onto and catch your destination ahead of schedule. It was very convenient for shipments. It wasn't, however, helpful for more urgent concerns, such as emergency medical attention and sending correspondence. The former had been resolved by posting a medical facility in each district. The latter involved hiring young men to run all over the city, switching off between moving districts at perfect timing. The best messengers could travel from the hub to any other district during the busiest of times in under eight minutes. Tom was averaging about forty five minutes.
     Tom was lucky today. He'd stepped up to the delivery counter at the hub just as the silver ink letter had dropped through the slot in the back wall. The attendant at the counter passed it over to Tom with a smile and a nod, jotting down his name and marking down the stub code. Each envelope had a small strip that could be torn away. It had a number printed on it, along with space for a signature. That was how the messengers were paid. At the end of the day, they turned in their stubs for payment. A black ink letter was worth one par. According to the chart, some boys were getting thirty stubs a day. That was decent for a day's wage at his age, but Tom wanted to do better. He was at about seven stubs on average. It was pathetic. He wanted to reach fifty.
     Today, though, he had a silver ink letter. That stub was worth ten pars. As he walked down the hallway, awestruck, other messengers passing him cast glares. Newcomers never got anything more than black inks unless they were the only one around when a letter came in. It was their own fault for showing up too late.

Prism

I feel like I'm missing something. I get all hyped into starting new projects, but then begin to worry about where to go from there.

Outlines seem like the logical choice, but whenever I outline, it feels like I now know the direction the story is going and there is no room for creativity and the adventure of blazing new trails.

This cyclical mindset is not helping. How do I overcome one end or the other? How do I outline without taking away the sense of discovery? When I write, it's not planned out at all. I am meeting these characters and experiencing the world just like I do when I read other stories. Things make sense so I fill it in.

I don't mean to post this and make a disheartened mood. This is a serious question I have. I know part of writing involves pushing through until creativity flows again, but not having an outline is seriously setting me back.

I'm going to need to think about this and study around online for anyone who has had the same problem and gotten past it.

For now, here's some new writing:

     Have you ever seen a prism turning a ray of white light into a rainbow of light? This is what happens to me when I run through glass.
     It hurts.
     Green. That's me right now. I am green. That means I am basically normal, except that I am not normal at all. I am balanced, but I am extreme. Confused? Not me. I know exactly what is going on around me and inside me. I know so much more than I could ever dream to know because I am free of things like emotions and delusions. It's simple, but I realize you won't understand that because you aren't free. I'll leave that to Orange to worry about.
     My first assessment of my immediate environment includes matters of location, objective and resources. Location: I am in my high school complex, standing at the third floor balcony with my back turned to the large window. It is still sunny. The last class of school ended an hour ago. The only people in this building are the three janitors and possibly Mr. Rogers, a student counselor. Something tells me Yellow would be taking opportunity to elaborate on any humor behind his surname and his career.
     Objective: My mission is to break into a particular desktop computer on the second floor in the school's library. A file is stored in its hard drive that can compromise me.
     Resources: I have my mind. I also have a key to the library.
     Obstacles: I entered the school building one window too high. I must make my way to the second floor without being seen. Cameras are placed near the lockers, which are located on every floor in the center hallways that cross from one side of the building to the other, uninterrupted. Cameras are also mounted in every elevator and stair well.

An End to Lazy! A Beginning for... um... Laser?

I see people are still checking back here for articles.

SWEET!

I guess I'll resume posting then. No more laziness, at least not as much. This time I'm going to do things how I originally planned to do them and focus on smaller stories, for the mean time at least. Say good night to the strange world of magical brothers. Time for some fun!

I guess I better share a story then, eh? Here goes:

     George stared at thousands of stars in the sky. It wasn't night. Not even dark out. He scratched the stubble on his chin and said, "Huh."

-----

 
     On the other side of the world,five miles below the surface, Somi fell to her hands and knees. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. The sea of glass, not fifty feet from her, was pocked with countless lights from below.

     "Radrus!" She yelled, not looking away from the spectacle. She slowly approached the edge of stone that ended ten feet above the ocean.

     "What is going on?" Radrus said breathlessly, joining her at the ledge.

     "Something new." She answered, turning to face her brother. Her eyes lit up as she grinned. "Something that hasn't been written."

-----

     George sat behind his desk and stared at his computer screen. He ignored beeps coming from his networking application and scanned the database in his labs remotely. Nobody had seen this coming. There were no records of speculation of stars growing bright enough to decorate the clear blue atmosphere at lunch time.

     Something like this was unheard of, unimaginable. He didn't believe it at first, even though he could see it with his own eyes and through telescopes, which turned out to be a very bad idea. He let the computers take pictures for him instead. His eyes still ached, and he hadn't even turned up the magnification.

     He leaned rolled his chair closer to the window while remaining seated and leaned on the window sill. He looked up at the impossibility. From Earth's perspective, it covered approximately twenty four percent of the sky. From his little section of the world, it looked more like ninety percent. There was a little wedge to the East where the sky was just blue and clear. Normal.

-----

     Somi drove ahead of Radrus. Both were on track bikes. The dual tread belts in front had studs that would help grip the uneven surfaces that were so prevalent in the caverns and tunnels. A single wheel in the back rolled free and only served as a brake.

     Somi checked the guage for energy. It was half full. She would have enough to reach her destination and make the return trip twice over if need be. She looked over her shoulder and saw her brother not far behind. He nodded to the left.

Free Day Today

I'm in the mood for some free writing again. I'll resume editing tomorrow.

     Sometimes I wonder about strange things when I die.
     What? Don't tell me you haven't ever had some completely unrelated thought cross your mind in the middle of an embarrassing conversation. Don't tell me you haven't laugh-snorted just as the culmination of stress from the past six months begins to tear your sanity apart piece by piece.
     I know you have. Everyone who's died at least five times faces a period of psychological breakdown. Or two. Or much more. It really all depends on how many times you've perished, and how often. At least, that's my observation.
     My odd thought on the top of the tallest tier of the Rain Palace was about my youth. Just as the molecule-thin blade of silvery light swept through the base of my neck, I recalled a memory.
     I had spoken before gravity slid my head free, breaking pertinent electrical impulses in my spinal cord. "Why are they called Otter Pops?"
     "What?" The tear-stained face of the Empress took on a frown of confusion. She still looked beautiful, I realized, regardless that it was her bejeweled fingers that held the blade-emitter.
     "Otter Pops." I said again. "Those plastic tubes filled with colorful, frozen..." The rest of my words slurred when my head slid off my shoulders. Lucky for me, the fall knocked me unconscious before I could register any pain.

--------------

     I woke up suspended in the same bland pocket in reality, hearing the same sequential tones that somehow reminded me of elevator music. My neck felt a little sore, but I rubbed the phantom pain away. There would be no trace of the cut. As far as my body was concerned, it had never been cut, or damaged in any way.
     I absentmindedly hummed along while I waited for the reset.

Editing and Inventory

I am taking the opportunity now to go over everything I have written in the story about Danos and Makos, reviewing details, editing, and taking account of where the plot is going along with character development status. This may take a few days.

Well, I have over twelve thousands words built into the story so far. That's pretty cool. That may become smaller or larger by the time I am done fixing things.



This first bit includes only changes of phrase to make things flow easier, along with general formatting:


    The night was dark, like most nights, really.  Nobody ever threatened the Highwhistle property, certainly not after most people had gone to bed.  That is exactly what happened this night.
    Makos listened to the conversation beyond his bedroom wall.  The walls weren't especially thick, and his bed was right alongside the wall that separated the room from the entryway of their humble house.  He held his head a few inches above the nightstand and angled his ear just right.  He could understand most of it.  He had to use his imagination for the quieter parts.
    "You shouldn't eavesdrop."  His brother said, startling him.
    Makos looked up at his brother who was peeking down from the top bunk, and hissed a reply,  "Don't scare me like that!"
    Danos scowled back.  "If you weren't eavesdropping, it wouldn't have been scary."
    Makos stuck out his tongue.  "You're no fun.  I'm not eavesdropping, anyway.  I'm listening to what father is saying to the grumpy man."  He turned his ear back to the wall and resumed his listening.
    "That's the definition of eavesdropping."
    Makos ignored his brother mostly, muttering something like 'I'll defnishun you.'
    He focused on the voices again. It sounded like an argument about payments and time.  Danos interrupted him again.  "Father won't like you eavesdropping.  You weren't invited."
    Makos spun around and stuck his tongue out even farther this time, making sure to flare his nostrils.  It was the ultimate tongue-face.  He had invented it himself last week.
    The tongue-face was wasted on empty air.  Makos glared up at the bed above him.  "Aren't you curious about payments and time?"  He asked, huffing.
    Danos' eyebrows rose, then he frowned.  "No."
    "Suuure you aren't."  Makos agreed.  He quickly moved his ear back to the wall.
    The mumbling had stopped while he was distracted.  He identified a creaking sound as the front door opening.  Some short, unrecognizable words rose in volume until he could make out 'free days!'  The door slammed shut and Makos listened just a moment longer.  A shuffling of feet and squeaking of floorboards trailed around the wall and up the stairs behind the wall at the end of Makos' bed.
    The steps groaned as his father climbed them one at a time.  Makos had learned that his father always paused partway up the staircase.  He'd noticed that if the pause came before the sixth step, his father would try to hide feelings of disappointment or sadness that next morning.  The sooner the pause, the worse he would be able to hide it.
    One, two.  Pause.
    'Oh no.'  Makos thought.  'It's a bad one.'
    Three, four.  Pause.
    'A second pause?'  Makos worried.  'He must be feeling really horrible.'
    Five.  Pause.
    Makos' jaw dropped.
    Six, seven, eight.  A moment longer of hesitation before the door to the upstairs bedroom creaked open and then closed softly.
    Makos sighed loudly.  He hated seeing his father sad.  His father, Denan Highwhistle, was a very hard worker.  He raised horses for the royal family.  His skill was sufficient to tame even wild horses from the distant plains of the Feuli Empire.  This made other nobility envious of the king's horses.  The king, loving the attention, would offer Denan's services to all of his friends.  This meant more work for Makos' father.
    Unfortunately, it was unheard of to pay a horse tender more than any other servant, regardless of increased workload.  Makos couldn't always make sense of why adults thought the way they did. He figured they should worry less and try to have more fun.
    Letting out another sigh for his father's depression, he looked up at Danos' bed and whispered loudly,  "What does 'free days' mean?"
    Danos mumbled back,  "'Three days,' not 'free days.'"
    "Oh."  Makos said. A second alter, his eyes opened wide.  "You were eavesdropping, too!"
    "I wasn't eavesdropping."  Danos responded.  "There's a little hole in the wall up here.  It's not eavesdropping if I can't help hearing it."
    "You mean you heard it all?"  Makos scrambled up to look over the edge of his brother's bed.
    Danos was sitting up, but slumped forward.  He looked depressed, like how Makos figured their father must look right then.  Danos answered slowly.  "It... It sounds like... well."  He turned his head to look at Makos out of the corner of his eye.  "Do you promise you won't cry?"
    Makos nodded quickly.
    "Well..."  Danos' voice had that edge to it that made him sound like he was regretting bringing anything up.
    "I promise."  Makos said in his most reassuring way.  His small hands gripped the bed frame tightly and he started at his brother's eyes intently.  Danos didn't share secrets very often, and Makos wasn't about to let him back down now.
     Danos gave in.  "That was the banker.  Father has to pay off his entire debt all at once now."
    "What does that mean?"  Makos prodded.
    Danos sighed.  "I think it means if he can't pay him soon, the bank will take away our home."
    "They can't do that!"  Makos spat.
    Danos shook his head.  "I heard father.  He didn't argue against it.  He only asked for more time."
    "What did the banker say?"  Makos asked.
    "Three days."  Danos' words sounded hollow, like people did when offering condolences to their family at their mother's funeral.
    Makos furrowed his brow and stood up straighter on the edge of his own bed.  "Then he just needs to pay him back."
    "He can't."  Danos said.  "Not now."
    Why not?"
    Danos sighed.  "Because he spends all of his money taking care of us.  I think the bankers gave him years to pay it off at first, but now it sounds like they changed their mind all of a sudden."  Danos shook himself out of his mood suddenly.  His eyes widened and stared into Makos'.  "Don't go feeling lousy because of it.  Father would feel terrible if he thought you felt like you were a burden.  He loves us and wants us to be happy, so don't get all mopey about it and spoil his sacrifice."
    Makos rested his chin on his folded arms and replied.  "I already said I wouldn't cry."
    After a moment of silence, Makos asked,  "What are we gonna do?"
    Before his brother could answer, a very loud banging shook the front door.  Both brothers jumped and stared at the wall separating them from the entryway.
    The banging continued, louder this time.  Makos was sure the hinges would snap if someone didn't answer it soon.  He wondered if a hungry bear had found their house.  'The bear will be disappointed.'  He thought, glumly.  'All we have left is oatmeal.'
    Both boys turned their heads in unison toward the sound of the upstairs door squeaking open, then along the wall as footsteps thudded down the stairs and reached the door.
    Makos and Danos stared at each other, wide-eyed.  Makos clambered up onto the top bunk and both pushed their ears close to the tiny hole in the wall.
    The door whined as it opened, and their father's voice greeted someone.  "Hello?  How can I help you?"
    A mirthful, old voice, as creaky as the door hinges, answered.  "I heard you were in a bit of a.. predicament, Mr. Whistle."  The voice sounded like whoever owned it was trying very hard to sound consoling, but couldn't keep the chuckle out of his throat.  "I do not come for help, but to help you."
    "Help me?"  Mr. Highwhistle asked.
    "Help you!"  The voice replied.  "You do need help, don't you, Mr. Whistle?"
    "Ah..."  Mr. Highwhistle began.  "It's actually Highwhistle."
    "Of course you need help."  The voice elaborated.  "We all need help sometimes."
    "I-"
    "A lost dog found."
    "Well-"
    "A broken heart mended."
    "Actually-"
    Makos could hear his father trying to get a word in, but we was interrupted each time by the mysterious stranger.   "But you!" The man shouted, startling the brothers, who bonked their heads together.  "You.  You don't need frivolous things. You need money."
    Mr. Highwhistle let out his held breath, then asked,  "Who, exactly, are you?"
    Makos could almost hear the stranger's smile in his voice.  "I! I am the clockmaker."  Makos could imagine him standing tall, chest puffed out, thumbs hooked behind suspenders and head pivoted at just the right angle for admiration.  His scraggly-bearded, crooked-spined concept for the man made the image hilarious.
    "You... make clocks?"  Denan asked.
    "No no!"  The clockmaker replied.  "I make deals.  The clocks make themselves."
    Makos looked at Danos, who looked back with an 'I don't have a clue. He must be crazy.' kind of face.
    The man continued.  "I have a deal for you, Mr. Whistle."
    "Highwhistle." Mr. Highwhistle corrected.
    "Yes, right.  I have a deal that will solve your problem."  The clockmaker said smoothly.
    "What kind of deal?"
    The clockmaker answered through traces of a chuckle.  "I will see to it your debt is resolved.  In exchange, you do me a favor."
    "What kind of favor?"  Mr. Highwhistle asked more seriously.
    "Nothing much."  The clockmaker explained.  "I have a collection I'd like you to look at.  I love to show off my collection, and it would be worth paying off a measly loan to have your opinion."
    A moment of silence later, Mr. Highwhistle remarked,  "I don't know how you found out about my loan, but do you even realize how much it is?  Did the banker send you?  Is this some kind of joke?"
    "No joke."  The voice said darkly.  "This is an opportunity you will only receive once.  Take it now or say goodbye to your only chance of avoiding prison.  And trust me, I can afford it."
    Makos could hear his father pacing for a moment before responding.  "Fine.  I'll look at your collection, then."  He didn't sound entusiastic.
    "Great!  But first, I must uphold my end of the deal."  Makos heard a loud clunk hit the floor.  "Three thousand silver pieces, exactly your debt."
    The boys gasped in unison with their father. Makos wanted so badly to peek out the door and see this strange man and his bag of money, but he worried what Danos would say if he tried.
    "I can't believe it..."  Mr. Highwhistle's voice trailed off.
    "Believe it."  The clockmaker said.  "I always keep my part in a deal.  Now, for your end of the bargain."  Makos heard the front door swing open.  "This way, if you would."
    Footsteps thudded on the front porch.  The boys glanced at each other, then both of them climbed off the bed and peered out the window.  The sun had gone down completely, leaving no trace of daylight, but the moon was out.  It shone brightly enough for Makos to make out several shapes spread out across the front yard.
    "What are those?"  Makos asked.
    "I don't know.  It looks like they all have glass on one side, though."  Danos answered.  "I guess it would be best if we made certain."  He hesitated a moment, then moved to the door and whispered.  "Come on. It wouldn't hurt if we took a closer look, right?"
    "Yeah."  Makos agreed.
    They left their room and Makos began to head for the front door.  Danos stopped him, whispering,  "The side door."
    He led the way back around the stairs.  He slowly opened the door and stopped it just before it creaked, then motioned Makos through.  Once both were outside and the door was closed again, the boys slowly walked around to the front yard, making sure to crouch down.
    Makos had to suppress several laughs as the long grass ran between his toes.  Eventually Danos slowed to a stop and held out his arm in front of Makos, then pointed at the open field in front of their house.
    Makos couldn't see his father, or anyone else, but there were several tall shapes looming in the darkness.  He shivered, blaming it on the cold night air, then followed his brother who moved closer to one of the objects.
    A faint ticking sound grew stronger as they reached the object.  Danos moved around the side of it and stared up toward the top.  Makos followed, wondering what the noise was about.  When he reached his brother's side, he could clearly see the glass front of a grandfather clock in the moonlight.
    It was similar to the one at the train station. It had a pendulum that swung back and forth to a tick-tocking rhythm.  He saw the clock face had all twelve hours marked, like any clock.  Golden fish designs in the clock face were unique, however.  Several metal fish were spread about the face like it was a pool in which they swam.  A fish near the number three was frozen mid-jump.  A few drops of the white backing material looked like they had splashed onto numbers four and five.
    Danos tugged Makos' sleeve.  When Makos turned and looked where his brother pointed, his eyes opened wide.  The entire yard was full of grandfather clocks, none farther than ten feet from another. Each was steadily ticking and tocking away in the moonlight.
    From the faces he could see, Makos realized each was unique.  Where one had a round face, another had a square face.  Where one had number-engraved coins for hours, another had strange symbols that reminded him of the shopfronts of traveling merchants from the southern countries.
    As he glanced about, Makos caught sight of two figures that were not clocks, nearer to the road that ran along the front of their property.  They were standing in the midst of a few closely gathered clocks and a large wooden container.  He pointed it out to Danos and both snuck closer, making sure to stay behind clocks on the way.
    They came to hide behind one that had a kitten-shaped handle.  The kitten had an outstretched paw with a bit of actual red yard dangling down from it.  The yarn ended in a coiled ball.  Makos stopped and tapped Danos when he heard voices from just beyond the next set of clocks.
    "As you can see, I collect clocks."  It was the voice of the stranger.  Neither boy dared to look around the side of their cover for fear of being caught.  "It is not an unusual hobby, but I have taken it a step further than others.  You see, these clocks are all very special.  Each one has memories and a story of its own, yet all of the stories share the same ending."
    "Very interesting."  Their father's voice sounded bored, but polite.  "There is something I am more curious about, however.  How did you manage to get these clocks all here so quickly.  Our last visitor left not more than five minutes before your arrival, and he didn't seem to have noticed."
    The stranger ignored the question.  "Yes.  The same ending.  Each story is portrayed by the markings on their faces, and engraved in their woodworking.  For example, this one.  How interesting it is that the life of a farmer cultivates into a clock adorned with a glorious image of the moon marked with owls and loons.
    "Most spectacular is its pendulum."  He went on.  "See how it is shaped like a mysterious woman?  There is nothing to indicate crops or herds or anything farm-related of any sort.  Obviously, the farmer wished for another life."
    "It is a nice clock, very masterfully made, but I'm afraid I fail to see your point."  Mr. Highwhistle admitted.  "What are you getting at, sir? Why show me all of these clocks?"
    There was a moment of silence, then the stranger responded.  "Not all of these clocks. Only... one." The way the stranger spoke made Makos nervous.
    "Very well. Which is it?"
    Makos heard walking followed by what sounded like a cabinet door opening.  "Look."  The stranger ordered.
    Makos heard feet shuffling in the grass followed by a gasp.  His father's voice whispered.  "It's beautiful..."
    "I'm sure."  The stranger said in an discomforting way, then continued with hints of eagerness.  "Tell me, what about it do you find so intriguing?"
    "So many kinds of horses."  Mr. Highwhistle spoke slowly and thoughtfully as though the effort was a distraction, then there was a sudden burst of excitement in his voice.  "Is that a hlambrin?  I've heard so much about them.  By word of mouth I can tell right off, though it does little justice!  What a marvelous beast..."
    "I thought so."  The old voice said with a low chuckle.  "All of your dreams and hopes and what you value dearly. Are they not all displayed?"
    There was no response except for the sounds of muffled crying.
    "Ah,"  the old man continued,  "and now we come to the dearest."
    Makos wanted to see what had made his father cry.  He slowly edged his way to sneak just one eye beyond the edge of the clock.  Danos pulled him back, shaking his head with a look that said 'You're going to get us in trouble!'
    Before Makos could pantomime back an argument, he heard feet shuffling through grass and the sound of a cabinet door closing.
    "By now,"  The clockmaker said,  "You will have certainly noticed an odd feeling.  Am I right?  Can't quite move as well as you once could, hmm?"
    "What are you-"  Mr. Highwhistle began to ask, but what cut short as a loud noise like wood planks groaning under stress interrupted him.
    "Filnewood!"  The stranger breathed.  "Very nice.  You are off to a great start, Mr. Whistle."
    "What is this magic?  Stop this!"
    The stranger chuckled in harmony with the sound of cracking glass.  "You assume much.  Why should it stop?  Have I not kept my part of the bargain?  Now, you are keeping yours."
    "I didn't agree to this! Please, just-"  More cracking cut him short.
    Makos was about to dash out, turning back to make sure his brother wasn't watching, but realized Danos was just disappearing around the clock himself.  Makos ran after him.
    Both boys stopped in their tracks.  Before them stood the stranger dressed in an ornate, purple and black cape with black pants, dark leather shoes, a fancy dress shirt that flared rather far at the collar, and a red hat that was crowned with a circle of feathers from various kinds of birds.  He held a red coat beneath one arm, and the other hand was holding a large pocket watch, which was chained to his brown leather belt.
    The man stood beside a grandfather clock, which was facing him.  From that angle, Makos could easily see the front of it.  It was made of a blonde wood with decorations carved up and down it.  They looked like horses of many different kinds all posed as if galloping outward from the glass pane in the center of the door.
    Makos couldn't see through the glass door very well, nor could he see through the moonlight glaring on the face of the clock, but he could make out a crack down the center of the face.
    To his amazement, Makos heard his father's voice yell as if from inside a closed room.  "Run!"  A loud sound of breaking glass pealed out as the crack in the clock face uncracked, sealing itself up so as to make it impossible to know it had ever been there.
    "What did you do?"  Danos yelled.  "How did you-"  He seemed to not believe he was asking the question, and instead asked another.  "Where is my father?"
    The stranger turned his gaze to the older boy and smiled.  He spoke up in a cheerful mood.  "Ah yes!  I was just showing these fine clocks to Mr. Whistle when all of a sudden we came across one he particularly liked.  He must have decided that he would like to buy it.  Perhaps he has gone off to the bank to collect some funds so that he might make the purchase."
    "Wha-?" Danos said breathlessly. "At nine-o-clock?!"
    The man nodded at the blonde wood clock.  "Nine-o-nine, actually, it seems."
    "You're a liar!"  Makos screamed.   "I heard it!  You turned him into a clock!"
    "I do not lie."  The man spoke angrily, then continued in a softer tone.  "I simply report what anyone will see, and I say your father is no longer here.  As for turning someone into a clock."  He sniffed.  "What nonsense.  I can't do that.  What are you trying to say?  That you believe in wizardry?"  He clicked his tongue.  "Unbecoming of a young man if he is to grow up to become a fine horse trainer like his father."
    Danos stepped forward, staring up at the clockmaker intensely before stating,  "I don't know what you did, but our father is gone, and you are behind it."  Makos eyed his brother carefully.  He had never seen Danos act so serious or talk so angrily before.
    "I'd like to see you produce evidence of that."  The man snickered.
    "What's in the wardrobe?"  Danos asked, nodding to the large container nearby.
    "Ah."  The man said.  "Please, why don't you have a look?"
    "No thanks."  Danos said, stepping back slowly.  "Whatever's inside it is what turned him into a clock, isn't it?"
    "Oh, I insist you see it.  Here, let me just open this door and you can find out for yourself."  The old man grabbed the brass handle and began to pull it open.
    Makos' heart began to thump wildly.  For all he knew, something inside that tall cupboard was about to turn his brother into a dusty, old, grandfather clock, too.  As the door began to squeak open, Makos acted on instinct, flinging his hand in front of the old man as he let out a cry of frustration.

Break

I'm taking a breather from the current story. Today I'm just going to write whatever flows.

Ejira was floating in a blue world. As far as she could see, indigo walls curved away in all directions, overlapping. They were like enormous shells enveloping her. She realized her vision was blurred, so she squinted her eyes.

Clarity threatened to overwhelm her. The smooth walls sharpened, fine details bursting across every square inch. She saw a grid of lines unfurl. Branches subdivided. Squares broke into clusters of smaller squares. Rooftops came into focus, thousands of them. The city lay before her and she realized that she was looking down at it, though it didn't feel that way. To her, it seemed that the sprawling metropolis was laying at a ninety degree angle. It was all blue.

Another massive wall bearing a blue city floated from the right, passing just behind the first. Ejira wondered what the people living in those houses though when they looked up and saw another mass of land flying over them. Her eyes followed the larger roads of one of the cities. She traced it all of the way to a very large building. The building in the center of the city. It was round, and had a domed roof. She squinted her eyes again and saw many blue vehicles moving in both directions along the streets around the large building.

Watching one particular vehicle, her eyes trailed it past the building and around several turns. It pulled into a parking lot outside a blue house near the bottom left corner of the city. She focused harder and could see the vehicle's door open. A person stepped out.

Something was familiar about that person. She couldn't figure out why. The figure moved toward the house's front door, then paused, one hand on the door knob. The woman turned her head to look up. Their eyes met.

Ejira was staring up at the stars, holding the door knob in her right hand. After a moment, she returned her gaze to the door, turned the knob, and opened it. She stepped inside the house, very vision blurring, and closed the door.

--------------------------------

Ejira woke up slowly. Her mind felt like it was in fog, but she shook her head and rubbed her face with her hands. She yawned, then twisted her body to step down from the bed. She pushed her green sheets off of her legs and stood up, resting one hand on the white wall beside her.

She felt odd, like she was supposed to remember something.

Another Post

"OK." Danos breathed. He stepped into the narrow alley. The open street behind him glowed brightly in the sun when compared to the shadows he had entered. He turned and looked back at it, then forced himself to continue forward. He wondered why the building in this part of town had to be so tall.

"It's the sixth door on the right." The tiny man said. Danos noticed that the governor's voice was more subdued, and when he glanced down at his pocket, he saw how Weldun was gripping edge of his pocket tightly with both hands, staring straight forward.

Danos passed by one door. It was painted green, or at least it had once been green. Most of the flakes of paint had peeled off long ago, revealing wood grain coated in a thin layer of fine dust. It didn't have a window, only a single wood step beneath it. He didn't know what business was through that door, but he figured they didn't often use it.

"That's right." Weldun encouranged distractedly. "Only a little further." Danos wondered if the words were meant for him.

He stepped forward, realizing his shoulders were slouched and his back bent forward. That wasn't sending the right message. Danos needed to be brave, not a weak child. He stoop up straight and pulled his shoulders back. He marched into the darker shadows and looked up. There was a stream of light far above him, which shone across the alley and painted shadows on the patch of light where it landed. He thought he could make out the silhouette of a flower in a vase.