Category Archives: Creativity

Recent Reads I’d Recommend

Writers and authors tend to read a lot, I’ve been slowing down lately. But here are some of the books that I’ve read or re-read recently and would recommend.

A MEMORY CALLED EMPIRE

A Memory Called Empire by Arkady Martine

This book caught me at just the right time, and I loved it. But had I been in a different mood, I might not have finished it. The story, an ambassador sent to a powerful empire to both replace and solve the murder of her predecessor, is as much a story about culture defining character as it is a murder mystery. It’s a rich world, very thoroughly envisioned, and enjoyable, but it’s a slow read, so be ready for that. The sequel, A Desolation Called Peace, didn’t grab me as much.

A CITY ON MARS

A City on Mars by Kelly & Zach Weinersmith

First, this is non-fiction. It challenges all of our assumptions about colonizing Mars, the Moon, and near-Earth orbit. And I can’t stop thinking about it. The full title is: A City on Mars: Can We Settle Space, Should We Settle Space, and Have We Really Thought This Through? And the authors have really thought it through and their thoroughly researched answers are Maybe, Not Yet, and No.. Carl Sagan once said, “Earth is our birthplace, it need not be our home forever” and I’ve always subscribed to that idea, but this book has me re-thinking how ready we are to leave. Read it, especially if you write hard sci-fi or space opera (like I do).

FOUNDATION

Foundation by Isaac Asimov

Given the ongoing TV series, I thought I’d re-read this classic series. Now I don’t think I’ll continue beyond this book. It is an interesting work, but has not aged well. I got tired of the “you read the scene but you didn’t get all the important information in that scene until later.” It may work for murder-mysteries, but it grows tiring in a book about political machinations. The book’s episodic nature fits the time it was written in, and I believe the component parts may be have been first published in magazines. Another sign of its age: There is but one named female character and she’s in only two scenes. I much preferred some of his other works such as Caves of Steel and The Naked Sun.

THE KAIJU PRESERVATION SOCIETY

The Kaiju Preservation Society by John Scalzi

It’s light, not his most immersive work. I found it a bit too shallow and cliched. There were too many meme references and not enough character development. Scalzi says in his essay at the end that writing it was cathartic and just part of getting past the pandemic, and I can appreciate that. If you’re not a diehard Scalzi fan, you can skip this one.

THIEF OF TIME

Thief of Time by Terry Pratchett

My God, this man could write. I love the way he takes an aphorism and twists new meaning out of this. I feel like Thief of Time was written when he was at his perfect balance of wit, whimsy and social awareness. It captures the growth in his writing and the new direction he was approaching (It may be the last book that has footnotes, for example.) Susan touches on a lot of ideas that he’d explore further with Tiffany Aching. Not everything lands, Lu-Tze’s role is unfulfilling, for one. And I feel like Myria/Unity had a greater story arc waiting to be told.

EXIT STRATEGY (Murderbot Diaries #4)

Exit Strategy by Martha Wells

These novellas are light reading, and as such good for lying in bed at night. But the technique of not telling you something or glossing over something until after it is apparent is getting tiring. Especially when other in-story facts are repeated ad nauseam. I bought the first four stories. I’ll read all four, but won’t be going further. This one has some closure to it, and that’s a good place to stop.

THE GOBLIN EMPEROR

The Goblin Emperor by Katherine Addison

A satisfying and rich read, with incredible world-building. The story is more character-driven than plot-driven, which is to say not a lot happens, and much that does, happens off-page. While I enjoyed it, there were a few spots where I considered not finishing. Character names are confusing and overly burdensome to one who reads late at night in bed. I often could not recall who a character was until they were a bit into their scenes. Some plot points came out of left field without enough build up. That the young characters were wise at avoiding the pitfalls of power while the older characters were not may have been an intentional theme, but it also made the characters less relatable, making me less emotionally invested in the story.

You can comment below and tell us what you’re reading.

If you enjoyed this post, you might enjoy my short story collection The Maiden Voyage of Novyy Mir and Other Short Stories.

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Defying the Gods: A Sneak Peak

This is the first half of a scene in a story I’m developing. I know, that description sounds vague as all get-out. Sorry, I like it that way.

Image by Arek Socha from Pixabay

For your consideration:

Hofstadter

A harried physician walked up to Jakob. He didn’t stop, though, just gave a ‘follow me’ gesture and kept walking. Jakob had to trot a couple of steps to catch up to this moving affront to his stature.

“I was summoned to this hospital?” Jakob knew the call couldn’t be about Sarabeth or Sloane, yet the hospital’s director had approved the physician’s request for a consultation with Jakob.

“I need to talk to you about your patient.” It took Jakob a moment to grasp whom the doctor meant.

“He’s not mine.” Jakob said, perhaps louder than he intended. Detective Siccona, who’d been keeping a respectful distance behind Jakob, moved in to better observe.

“I understand.” The physician sounded agitated, lacking patience for semantics. He continued, unabated, down the corridor towards the isolation ward. “But maybe he is yours after all.” The doctor stopped abruptly, turned to face Jakob, forcing him to jolt into stillness. “You remember Hofstadter?”

Jakob, momentarily confused by the non-sequitur, nodded.

Everyone remembered Hofstadter. He’d tried hard to prove that humans didn’t need prayer to overcome illness. His death had been slow and painful. Jakob had been the Speaker of the Synod at the time, but Hofstadter was a Gemmite, and Jakob had no pull with Gemmer. He’d begged on the floor of the Synod for Gemmer to spare, or at least be merciful to, Hofstadter.

Right near the end of his painfully consumptive cognitive illness, Hofstadter had died in a fiery car crash, one last slap in the face to a human who dared defy the Gods.

Jakob’s faith had been shaken, not his faith in Alsun, but his faith in the benevolence of the collective Gods. He wasn’t alone in that feeling. The Anti-Thiest League forming later that year was no coincidence. Some even speculated that Hofstadter’s widow funded it.

“What does Hofstadter have to do with our nameless man?”

“He has extra elements in his blood. Originally I thought they were contaminants, possibly contagious, but they fit the profile of Hofstadter’s artificial anti-bacterial thesis. We double checked. Then checked again.” Perhaps seeing the concern on Jakob’s face that the doctor was nearing Hofstadter’s blasphemy, the doctor added, “Then we destroyed the samples, the test results and all the files, just to be safe.”

If you enjoyed this post, you might enjoy my short story collection The Maiden Voyage of Novyy Mir and Other Short Stories.

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Character Profile: Rikaine Westmoreland

As part of a writing course I was recently taking, we were asked to develop some character profiles. This is the profile I developed for one of the antagonist. While he’s not the “Big Bad,” he’s the character with whom* my protagonists have the most interaction.

Meet Rikaine Westmoreland

Rikaine Westmoreland hates his name. He was only the second person to bear it, a very short, inglorious history. The fact that Uncle Rikaine died a failure, with a blemished service record, was an ever-present weight on this young Rikaine’s shoulders. It would have been better to have a new name, a new start. But family honour demanded a success, or a sacrifice.

Rikaine must do enough for both generations, to redeem his uncle, to ensure the name will be venerated in future histories, worn proudly by future Rikaines throughout time. The alternative, failure, would ensure that no one would ever utter this cursed name again.

It’s not like Rikaine doesn’t have his advantages. He’s genetically modified to be strong, fit, handsome. His mind is enhanced by cybernetic implants include technology only rumoured to exist elsewhere. In every way, he’s superior to you. His one flaw, if he has one, is that he knows this.

Having risen quickly in the ranks of the Schevren Corporatists’ elite infiltration unit, Rikaine now walks among his enemies, befriending them, building their trust, setting them up for a glorious fall, one that will forever redeem the name Rikaine Westmoreland.

*I know that’s the correct grammar, but I really wanted to leave the dangling modifier: While he’s not the “Big Bad,” he’s the character my protagonists have the most interaction with.

If you enjoyed this post, you might enjoy my short story collection The Maiden Voyage of Novyy Mir and Other Short Stories.

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Character Profile: Deacon Carver

As part of a writing course I was recently taking, we were asked to develop some character profiles. This is the profile I developed for the protagonist. This is a character of whom I’ve written a great bit. He first appeared in the story Dee, For The Win, aged 16, as a cocky, dangerous young lad whose careless actions could kill those around him.

Image by fahid_khan19 from Pixabay

Meet Deacon Carver

Deacon Carver is a villain to some, just another an immoral criminal to others.



Deacon never had any parental figures and so lacked guidance. In competitive sports, where he played ‘for keeps,’ he couldn’t understand why his successes weren’t as celebrated as his competitors’.



His only real friend has been Char Osbaldistan, a woman a few years his senior. She is both his role model and his mentor. She helped him become a smuggler, like herself.



He craves acceptance, but defines that as wealth, stature, and reputation, not friendship, respect, or a lasting relationship. He is very transactional in his dealing with others. He is emotionally immature.



When he does acquire money, he’s not wise with it. He has gained some stature in his cover-life as a solar-sail racer, but he is perpetually broke.

His reputation as a smuggler is one of competence, brutality and self-preservation. He’s great to hire for a tricky job, as long as things go well. Should the job go wrong (they rarely do with him), he’ll save his ass, not yours.



He does have a moral code – he won’t traffic humans, he won’t kill. He’s not a thief, if he can help it. But he’s greedy, he’s spiteful, and while he may not kill, he’s not against putting others in the way of fatal danger and leaving them to rescue themselves. In his mind, their deaths aren’t his fault.

Even the woman he desires accuses him of moral corruption. She uses his transgressions against others as reasons to keep him at arm’s length. This frustrates him, leading him to bouts of malice directed at whoever is nearby (but never at her).

If you enjoyed this post, you might enjoy my short story collection The Maiden Voyage of Novyy Mir and Other Short Stories.

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Writing Assignment: The Bear Necessities

One of the interesting weeks we had in my writing course was where we had to deconstruct then rebuild a famous story, in this case, Frankenstein.

We needed to develop a three-act outline for a retelling of Frankenstein in another genre or time. This lesson included needing to submit three separate pieces: the three-act structure outline; a character sketch of the protagonist; and the scene that would close out the second act.

Image by Marius Kristensen from Pixabay

I decided early on that my version would have Elizabeth Lavenza (Victor von Frankenstein’s fiancé in the original) as the hero, and that the story would be set in the present and involve nanotechnology.

Here, for your reading pleasure, is my three parts – three-act outline, ‘hero’ sketch and the turning point of Act 2

Three-Act Outline

Act 1


Beth Lavenza is a noted nanotechnologist. Her experiments are on the verge of giving humans immortality through an ever-renewed physical body. There are many who object to her work, including fanatics who attack her while she is walking her dog, Bear. Beth survives, but Bear is near death. A heartbroken Beth injects her experimental nanobots into Bear in an attempt to save him.

Act 2


Bear recovers. Beth garners press attention for how she saved Bear, and takes Bear onto a talk show hosted by the very cute and single Victor von Stein. Beth and Victor start dating. Bear starts exhibiting some creepy, stalkerish behaviour towards Beth. Victor suggest she night need to get rid of Bear. One night, Beth wakes to voices in her bedroom. She fears that the fanatics have come back to try to kill her again. Instead, she finds Victor and Bear in an argument. Yes, Bear can speak: The nanobots were geared towards replicating human DNA and Bear is evolving. 

Act 3


Bear wants Beth for his own, so he kills Victor. Bear then bites Beth, saying, “You’ll understand. It won’t take long.” Beth falls ill with a high fever and sleeps for days. When she wakes up, she realizes that she now has the nanobots in her, along with some of Bear’s DNA. They are now psychically linked – not just Beth and Bear, but all the nanobots too. The nanobots are going to remake Beth into a mate for Bear, so that the nanobots can propagate further, eventually replacing humanity. Bear and Beth will be the new Adam and Eve.

Hero Profile

Beth Lavenza is a brilliant scientist. She spends her days and nights deeply immersed in her field of study, medical nanotechnology. She’s very close earning to a tenured position at MIT. She expects her doctoral thesis will nail it.

Beth does have a life outside of work. She likes to kayak alone along the Charles River, dodging the swans. She helps at the local foodbank around the holidays. Beth has a purebred chow, named Bear, who is her surrogate child and snuggle buddy.

It’s not that she doesn’t date, it’s just that guys who understand her research are even more socially inept than her, and all other guys she’s ever met are just too materialistic or hedonistic to waste time on. Occasionally she’ll indulge in a one night fling, but not often, because the guilt afterwards always outweighs the benefits. Her lab assistants jokingly refer to Bear as her husband.

Act 2 Turning Point

In every way, Victor’s place was better: The view was better, the restaurants were better, there was more than one room… But of course Bear wasn’t welcome. Once had been enough. Beth had offered to pay for the damage, but if she could afford to replace his wardrobe, she could afford better than the lower-end IKEA furniture that populated her studio.

Still, he was coming to stay in her cramped studio instead. Victor never complained about her place, the creaky pipes, the lack of air conditioning, which was sweet of him, but also annoying. She felt judgemental on his behalf, coming to dislike her cosy little hidey-hole. It got damp with two people, and had developed a slightly mouldy stench, a dog-ish odour she hadn’t previously noticed.

She smiled at Bear, rubbed his head as she grabbed a stack of journals off the bed, set them beside the kitchen sink, stored her laptop in the cutlery drawer. 

Bear was always a problem they pushed to another day. But as their relationship deepened, Bear’s fate permeated her sleep. In her dreams, Bear could talk. He always said, ‘I love you.’ And he often told her about a future of just the two of them, no Victor. After these dreams, she’d invariably find Bear curled against her, snoring.

When Victor arrived, he leaned in to kiss Beth, but she grabbed a damp towel and scrubbed her lips first. “Bear was licking me.”

“On your mouth? Eww, I have to kiss that mouth.”

“You don’t have to…” But he did.

That night, Beth locked Bear into the bathroom for some uninterrupted couple time with Victor. When she let him out, Bear hopped onto the bed, curled up on Victor’s side, giving a soft growl.

“He doesn’t sleep with you, does he?” Victor watched Bear’s eyes. He’d noticed that Bear seemed much more attentive to their conversations lately.

“Jealous much?”

“Quarantine protocols?” Victor asked. “He has your nanobots in his blood.”

“Yeah,” Beth waved off any concern. “He’s safe.”

Later, Beth’s sleep was interrupted by dreams of Bear talking to her. But this time there was more than one voice. As she neared wakefulness, she felt a memory, three blurry strangers grabbing her, pulling her, taking control. 

“No!” She sat bolt upright, shook off the cobwebs, and found both Bear and Victor watching her, an interrupted tension obvious between them.

“What’s going on?”

“He talks. Your damn dog talks!”

“No he doesn’t. He doesn’t have the right vocal cords.” Beth stopped as Bear made a noise. “What did he just say?”

“I heard ‘ruv ru.”

“I very clearly heard ‘I love you.’” Beth touched her ear. “I don’t think I heard it, so much as understood?”

“The nanobots. You’ve got his nanobots in you. Now you’re linked somehow.” Victor looked around widely. Could he get to the frying pan hanging on the wall by the kitchenette? Could he possibly swing it hard enough to kill Bear? “And he’s learning to talk.”

Victor took a step towards the kitchenette. Bear growled long and low. 

“He says, ‘Don’t move.’”

“Yeah, I got that.”

If you enjoyed this story, you might enjoy my short story collection The Maiden Voyage of Novyy Mir and Other Short Stories.

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Writing Assignment: Rethink the Trope

Writing is often filled with tropes – preconceived ideas that both the writer and the reader bring to the story. If I say “Fairy Godmother,” you probably come u with an image of a nice older woman, perhaps plump and Disney-esque. If I say, “Vampire,” you probably imagine a pale man with fangs and a big black cape.

Those are tropes; kind of like stereotypes, but much broader in that tropes can be about places, events, genres of writing. If I say, “Christmas,” you probably picture a lot. of the same images as I would.

For this assignment we were asked to redefine a fairy tale trope of our choice. I chose trolls.

Image by Siggy Nowak from Pixabay

Troll, Interrupted

Everyone who tried to visit the lakeside town of Midland had to pass over the troll bridge. Everyone knew the troll didn’t like people entering Midland. No one understood why.

The studious troll was pretty close to finishing his Ph.D. dissertation on the pending ecological collapse of his lake. Not being allowed to own property in Midland  – thanks to a speciesist town council – forced him to live outdoors. 

He’d discovered that the curve of the stone bridge best amplified the free wifi from the local pub. So there he lived, trying to protect his research from further contamination, from the annual influx of drunk tourists. 

First he’d tried stopping traffic and handing out pamphlets at the bridge, but the illiterate tourists just crumpled them and chucked them all along the shoreline.

Then he’d tried iconographic ‘no fishing’ signs at all the popular fishing holes. They’d been vandalized.

So, now he played to the stereotypes. Hey, if they’re gonna label you an angry troll anyway, why not be one?

If you enjoyed this story, you might enjoy my short story collection The Maiden Voyage of Novyy Mir and Other Short Stories.

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Writing Assignment: Rewrite A Scene

For a creative writing class, I was taking, we had to write a 500-word scene from The Catcher in the Rye, demonstrating a specific narrative perspective of our choice. I chose to do third person limited from D.B.’s perspective.

Image by WagnerAnne from Pixabay

The Last Weekend

“Hey, Doc, how’s Holden doing this week?” D.B. always asked the same question, even knowing that the answer would never be ‘he’s gotten better’ as they went through the usual weekend check-out procedure.

The best D.B. could hope for was that tired old pun, ‘He’s Holden his own.’

D.B. found it odd that Holden wasn’t ready for him like every other Friday evening. D.B. hadn’t missed a weekend, ever. The doctor guided D.B. into his office while they waited for Holden to arrive. The door closed gently behind D.B.

“Maybe, he’s taken a turn for the worse.” The doc didn’t want to meet D.B.’s eyes. “We tried that experimental treatment, the one you signed off on, electrode-shock therapy. It was not successful, if anything, it made him angrier.”

‘Angrier’ caught D.B.’s attention.

Holden was always at odds with his life. Even here, he complained the place was ramshackle. But it was costing D.B. a pretty penny, and other than some dust from the Santa Anna winds drifting across the orchards, the place was spotless. 

Holden had been a little too privileged in his upbringing for D.B.’s liking. Maybe if he’d had to serve in the war, if he’d known what menace really was, he’d’ve appreciated what his parents had done for him, what D.B. had stepped up to do for him, once they gave up.

“We have to file a report with the Department of Corrections next week.” The doctor spoke furtively, eyes on the closed door. “This might be your last time with him. I can’t recommend him being allowed weekend releases anymore. You’ll need to be more careful with him this weekend. Especially around women. He tried to strangle one of the nurses, again.”

The door opened and Holden walked in, less steadily than the last time D.B. had seen him, more reminiscent of how he’d looked when he first arrived, drugged, on edge. D.B. became aware of the two rather muscular medical assistants standing just behind Holden.

The doctor’s tone changed to an obviously false joviality. “What do you have planned for the weekend?”

“I thought I’d take him to the pier in Santa Monica,” D.B. nodded out the window to his pride and joy, a sporty Jaguar convertible. “All this time in the foothills, I thought the sea air might be good for his spirit.”

Without ever breaking his smile, the doctor started flipping through a directory, mumbling, ‘Santa Monica…Santa Monica…Ah, here.” He grabbed a pencil, scribbled a number on a slip of paper and handed it to D.B. It was a phone number. “Just in case you need help.” They both stood up. “Quickly.”

“Have a good weekend, now,” The doctor allowed the assistants to manhandle Holden through the lobby and out the large wood and glass front doors. D.B. barely caught up as Holden reached for the driver’s door of the Jag.

“I drive this weekend, buddy” D.B. teased. “Maybe next weekend you can.”

If you enjoyed this story, you might enjoy my short story collection The Maiden Voyage of Novyy Mir and Other Short Stories.

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Thinning the Plot: AKA Killing Your Darlings

Image by Garik Barseghyan from Pixabay

I’m a pantser through and through. If you haven’t heard that term before, it means that I create the story as I go, finding the plot. I don’t plan a story, I create it “by the seat of my pants.”

Probably the most famous pantser is Stephen King, whereas James Patterson is a good example of a plotter.

Ok, now that we’re past that, I want to explain about extraneous plot, and how I’m trimming a big chunk out of the last third of a novel to make the story flow better. There’s also consequences to the characters by doing it.

A very rough outline of the plot as it existed before excision:

Humanity discovers a work-around for faster-than-light travel, and goes out to discover that the galaxy is crowded with a multitude of aliens, none of whom use this technology because it causes reverberations that are fatal to some species. A confrontation between a human crew of explores and a couple of elder species ensues around a nearby star, Proxima.

Also, the aliens don’t believe we discovered it, they believe that a particularly aggressive species seeded the technology to us so they can harvest it and use it for galactic conquest.

Meanwhile, back on Earth, we’re following a high ranking assistant, who is aware that some of these accusations may be true. She’s helping the world council prepare to betray the aggressive species, and for humanity to make the conquest ourselves.

Our ship’s crew escapes back to Earth. The assistant warns them of both military and political danger. They flee back to Proxima, chased by a military force, and a final showdown occurs with four factions, two alien and two human.

The part of the plot that I need to excise is the return to Earth and then return to Proxima. It’s too much. The story flows faster and more dramatically if they don’t leave. But now I have two problems. First, I still need that Earth military force to arrive (solved rather easily). and second, the assistant’s story arc just got chucked in the bin. I need her to give me the background of what’s happening, politically, on Earth. But now she’s just an observer with no agency or story arc.

Oh, the joys of being a pantser… Actually, any inexperienced writer could have written themselves into this problem. You need to be able to give yourself distance from your story to see these things. That’s just where I am now.

If you enjoyed this, you might enjoy my short story collection The Maiden Voyage of Novyy Mir and Other Short Stories.

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Writing Challenge: Write a Story in 100 Words

My first actual paid stories were six 100-word stories (often called “drabbles”) in 2016. I was paid US$5 for each. Hey, it’s a paid writing credit. Someone read them and thought they were worth paying for. It was a big shot of validation early in my career.

I tried to write 100-word stories, because a famous New York literary agent (the late, dearly-missed Janet Reid) thought they were excellent ways to force writers to consider every word. In fact she ran a weekly contest wherein she’d give you five words you had to use, and you had to supply the other ninety-five.

The best I ever got from her was an “honorable mention” (US spelling) for Shakespeare’s Last Stand. I’ve included it below, along with one of my first published stories, My First Cosplay.

Shakespeare’s Last Stand

The legendary Shakespearean actor awoke to, “Assume crash positions!”

Glancing around as panicked faces craned to peer out the windows, abject fear at the angle of their descent ghosting their visages.

What do they know of fear? Peons!

Fear the indignities of ageing. Fear indifference and degradation! Flying to an audition? Audacity! Sitting in Economy, among the Greek chorus? Not even a window seat? Humiliation!

If they must die, let them die enlightened. One final stage then and not a critic to besmirch the memory, he thought as he arose, clearing his throat for their attention.

“To be, or”

Not.

This next one, My First Cosplay, was intended to be more than just a punchline, it’s meant to be read a second time, to understand the underlying horror. It was first published at Specklit.com on 17 July, 2016.

My First Cosplay

This should be a great night!

Human Cosplay is new to my species. Dressing up in another being’s guise is incredibly empowering. It’s almost as much fun as making the costume.

Entering the bar, everyone notices my impressive appearance. I must have done well to draw such immediate attention.

There are my co-workers, at the back: the cool crowd, finally accepting me.

“Dreegli, what have you done?” Cute little Shrel asks, exasperated, eyes wildly tracing the blood dripping down my sides.

“I … came as a Human?”

“You’re supposed to emulate them, not kill them and wear the carcass.”

“Oh…”

If you get the chance, I highly recommend taking part in “flash fiction” or “drabble” writing challenges. They will greatly enhance your writing abilities.

If you enjoyed these two stories and would like to read some more flash fiction, Kindle Unlimited users can download Flash! a collection of 20 such stories for free.

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Writing Assignment: 1st Person Short Story

One of our assignments in my writing course was to write in a voice you don’t usually use (first person versus third). This was my entry.

The Olgas, near Alice Springs, 2003. Photo by me.

PINE GAP

Picture a sailor. Now picture him as a little speck in the desert, as far from the ocean as you can possibly get. That was me, fifteen years a Navy man, standing in the sun-baked Outback.

My career was typical navy: commissioned after Annapolis, served on destroyers and cruisers mostly, always Signals Intelligence. Got all my promotions when I was supposed to, committed to full career after my first tour.

Then for the last five years of my service, they stuck me in Pine Gap.
Pre-departure briefing confirmed the little bits that the internet had, Pine Gap was a National Security Agency listening post in the middle of the Australian Outback, set up as a joint operation to monitor comms traffic out of China and Russia.

Being seconded to the NSA was meant to be in recognition of my service and my abilities. But honestly, once you’re at Pine Gap, it feels like you’re being punished. The end of the first year is the hardest. You look back at your crappy year and realise you’ve got another four staring you in the face.

Oddly, being seconded to a civilian agency doesn’t relieve you of your military protocols. We still kept our uniforms spit and polish, saluted our superiors, and looked down on the civilians we hoped soon to be.

Mostly I can’t talk about what I did there; you don’t have the clearance. Anyway, it was pretty compartmentalised. We could’ve caught the biggest secrets of our worst enemies, and I’d’ve never known. We just gathered the intel. Processing the data happened back stateside.

The one thing I can tell you about Pine Gap that’s not a secret is that it’s hot. I mean, “Pine” makes you think of shady forest, mountains, cool breezes. Nope, that’s not Pine Gap. Temperature there is at the other end of the thermometer. Changing the numbers from Fahrenheit to Celsius may make it look reasonable on paper, but it’s still hot as Hell.

Man, I hate shaving in the desert. I’ve never nicked myself so much as when I first arrived at Pine Gap. The sea air kept your skin hydrated, smooth. The heat of the Outback just leathers your skin. You learn to stock up on Nivea whenever they get a new shipment at the PX.

Moisturising routines are your neck’s best friend.

Because of the oppressive heat, you tend to stay inside a lot. The Armed Forces Network is a blessing, especially around the Super Bowl and March Madness. Best TV Channel in the world. But you get so tired of those stupid Operational Security ads. “I’m Dee Snyder from Quiet Riot. When me and the boys are off-base we practice OpSec. You should too.” Every freakin’ commercial break. And like he’s ever served. Have you seen his hair?

Anyway, last week, almost four years and nine months into an uneventful tour, I get notice that I’m being transferred back stateside. That’s not unusual. When you’re completing your last tour, they often give you a desk job back home for the final few months. Helps you set up your retirement.

Mine wasn’t just any desk though, I was going to be in the NSA processing centre at Fort Meade, being one of the intel quants me and my buddies used to bitch about. I wondered what I’d be saying about them once I had to decipher the crap they sent me from Pine Gap.

There’s an extra level of security clearance needed to work inside Fort Meade, but I’d always passed previous checks, and working at Pine Gap should add to your credentials. God knows I hadn’t had any opportunity to get into trouble out there.

So, what went wrong? Funny you should ask.

I had three weeks’ leave before reporting to Fort Meade, and I took it. I mean, I’ve lived in the worst part of Australia, why shouldn’t I see the best?

Flying Qantas from Alice Springs to the Great Barrier Reef is probably fine, if your pilot’s any good. Ours wasn’t.

OK, wait, back up.

First, I have to say, flying hungover is a stupid idea. The pressure change in the cabin induces the worst hangover you’ve ever experienced. My eyeballs ached, my teeth ached, everything above the shoulders was screaming for water, darkness, and quiet. The turboprops flying out of Alice are anything but quiet. They have an incessant whine far worse than your typical passenger jet.

In spite of all that, I was upholding naval tradition, working the flight attendant, Kat, as hard as I could. She was a pretty thing, with short, bobbed black hair on perfect cream skin — How do you maintain skin like that in a desert? I didn’t know but maybe I could convince her to show me her moisturising routines — all smiles, flirty touches. Man, she was hot.

Except for the freakin’ hangover, this was a great start to my vacation.

Then we landed. Or bounced. Three times, the plane’s wheels hit the runway, three times we bounced back up. The second time, the nose pushed hard to starboard and I feared we’d cartwheel down the runway. The pilot fought it back around, then added one more bounce for good measure.

An old biddy seated beside me smiled and said, “We almost rolled there, didn’t we?”

What could I say? She was probably mostly dead inside anyway. Me, I had something to live for. When Kat was near, there was a whiff of sex in the air. I just needed to keep my sites on her, focus on the object, complete the mission.

If I was going to talk to Kat, it had to be inside the plane. Mackay’s one of those small regional airports in Queensland that ferries tourists to the reef. No frills. They drag a gantry up so you can deplane directly onto the tarmac. You could tell from the vapour rising off the asphalt that blistering heat would force a quick march from plane to terminal. No way I could handle waiting for Kat to finish her duties and come down the gantry.

Once the props stopped spinning, they popped the hatch. Oh man, an ocean’s worth of humidity flooded the cabin, slapping everyone. You could actually see the moisture rolling down the aisle, see people wincing as it hit them, right before it engulfed you, too.

I’ve heard of extreme humidity, and I’ve lived on the sea. I’ve never experienced anything like this body-slam from the air. I fought to catch my breath. The humidity drove the hangover up a notch or ten. If I hadn’t before, now I certainly looked like crap, and I felt more than a little defeated.

Still, I kept to my game plan, waiting to deplane last, hoping to exchange a few more words with Kat, at least get her number, maybe start clean on a better day. As I approached, Kat and the other attendant exchanged conspiratorial smiles. Then it was just me and Kat.

“You,” Kat was almost laughing. “Need a change of clothes.”

“And a shower,” I agreed. “Where would you recommend…?”

“My place.”

That grin, those eyes, her hand tracing circles on my thighs — man, what a magical taxi ride. The world could’ve ended, collapsed all around me, I wouldn’t have noticed. I wasn’t paying attention to anything beyond her face, her body, the little brass buttons on her white uniform blouse. I was a male again, wanted, desired, needed, not just another uniform in front of a computer screen.

Look, how much detail do I have to give you about what happened next? Oh. Ok.

Well, I was a sailor on leave, and she was cute and willing. We…uh, did it…twice, no, maybe three times? First in the shower, that one’s crystal clear. Amazing. Then in her bed…twice, I think. Maybe not. Everything got kinda fuzzy fast. Then I guess I must’ve slept.

When I woke up, everything was wrong. She was nowhere. I was — naked! — curled up against some smelly-ass boarded-up doorway and your cops were poking me with truncheons. Thought I was gonna get pepper sprayed for sure.

And that’s how I got here.

No, I don’t know where her place is. Or her. Or my clothes.

Yes, I’m taking this seriously. No, you don’t need to show me that dossier again. Yes, I retained what I’ve read. Her name is Katrina Oblavska and she’s a suspected Russian operative. I got it.

No, I don’t know where my military ID is. No, my security clearance card, either.

Yes, I do understand how much shit I’m in. Yeah, maybe I should’ve listened to Dee Snyder.

Is that all, sir?

If you enjoyed this story, you might enjoy my short story collection The Maiden Voyage of Novyy Mir and Other Short Stories.

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