Short Story: Miss Communication

Another snippet of my novel An Analysis of the Cardassian Language. This one's from Chapter One:

'Note to self,' I thought, feeling myself blush, 'Don't wear a knit bra and a knit top together around cute, intelligent guys.' But I'd brought a sweater, so I put it on.

Photo: sheknows.com

"What's this vision you keep hinting at," I said, recovering my dignity, "about linguistics as a tool for social change?" I asked not only to change the subject, but because I was burning to know. I myself wanted to find the universal language patterns that would allow me, in partnership with a good computer programmer, to create software that could translate just about any language into just about any other language. The possibilities were staggering. This software, loaded on either a regular computer or a small, tough device built for the purpose, could empower indigenous businesspeople all over the world. It could let ordinary individuals build relationships across cultural boundaries, lessening international tensions on the grassroots level. It could reduce war, oppression and poverty by building bridges and eroding misunderstanding, fear and hate. But I wanted to hear what Derek had in mind. I knew it was going to be good.

His smile showed his dimples. I was beginning to suspect that when the dimples didn't appear, he was just being polite. I smiled, too, because I had a feeling I was going to have plenty of time to test that hypothesis.

"It's simple," he answered. "Purity of language. I'm applying for a grant for it."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it starts with a study to find the pure form of the language. I'm hoping to begin with German first."

"Naturally. You must be fluent."

"I am, but that's not why. German is a whole lot less corrupted than English or even Spanish. It's a good place to start. The world isn't ready for the purification of English yet."

I still had no idea what he was talking about. "So you find out the pure form a language, and then what do you do after that?"

He shrugged. "It's a long shot, I know, especially with the way things are trending lately, but the hope is that people, governments, will embrace the pure form of the language and reject the corrupted versions."

I wasn't sure I liked where this was going. "For what purpose? What would that do?"

"Our cultures have been weakened," he explained. "It's insidious. I'm not sure if you've ever looked into it, but you may be surprised how many words from inferior cultures have gotten in there, even in German."

We managed to part on friendly terms, mostly because for the rest of the meal I pasted a smile on my face and just listened and made small talk. It wouldn't do to stalk away in a self-righteous huff: it was kindness that would reach this man, if anything could.

Finally it was over. We confirmed that we had each other's numbers, and I took a taxi back to my cousin's.

I paid the driver and got out, and then realized I'd had him stop in front of the wrong building. Should have just given him the address and let him do his job. Fortunately, he didn't hang around to watch me walk. After two buildings I got out my copy of Connie's door key and turned to go up the front steps.

Photo: hookedonhouses.net

And that was the last I saw of Chicago.

Short Story: Creaking

Another short story taken from my current novel-in-progress:

Photo: dw.de

The problem with having the time to keep a journal is that it gives you time to think. Up until the guard left me in my new quarters, I'd been reacting, doing whatever I needed to in the moment. Now I'm alone, locked in what amounts to a very comfortable prison cell.

When I finished the letter to my kids, I got up and checked the door, and it was locked, of course. So I sat back down and started writing this journal, supposing, for some reason, that someone would come along and interrupt me before I'd managed to get very far. I've caught up now, all the way to the present, and I'm still alone. It's so quiet here it's creepy. There's a constant, very quiet thrumming that's probably the fan motors for the ventilation system, and an occasional creaking sound. I suppose that's the hull rubbing against the dock bumpers when the wind blows.

I have everything I need: toilet, shower, food, shelter. I have too much shelter. Still need to find a way to break out of here.

Which leads me to two questions: Where is here, and what do they want with me? For that matter, who are they? No matter what explanation I come up with for the bizarre people and events I've encountered over the past three days, every single one of them sounds crazy. Some of my friends would say I've been abducted by aliens, and that one makes me laugh. I do believe that sometimes that may happen to people, but it's not what happened to me. Alien abductions always happen when you're sleeping, and I was awake and walking around. And there's the matter of the missing aliens, too. These people are certainly odd-looking, but they're clearly human.

Photo: blogington.com

The nearest I can figure is that they're the result of some kind of genetic experiment. They're being held in some sort of secret facility, maybe in White Sands, New Mexico. The government convinces them all that they're soldiers, so they stay busy heroically serving an entire imaginary civilization of their own kind. And if this is true, I don't want to burst their bubble. They need something to live for, after all.

That would answer a few questions (why they act so strange, why I'm not allowed to go home) but still leave a bunch of questions unanswered (where I am, how I got here and why, how I can get out). If this is a secret building in New Mexico and not a ship in some body of water, then I wonder what that creaking sound is. I'd say it doesn't matter, except it may be a clue that can help me escape.

Why I'm Writing a Star Trek Book

Last October I was having a little trouble deciding which book to write for NaNoWriMo. I'd narrowed the options down to two:

Photo: ehow.com

16,ooo Nights. Suspense. When Gretchen locks her keys in her car and can't afford a locksmith, a stranger offers her $5,000 to deliver a locked suitcase.

An Analysis of the Cardassian Language. Science fiction. Faine is drugged, kidnapped and left on an enemy military base.

Cardassian Language was the one in my head clawing to get out, and I wondered if I was even going to be able to write Nights before I'd gotten Cardassian Language out of my system. But could I seriously entertain the thought of writing Cardassian Language? I had trouble imagining that I could actually look people in the eye and say, "I'm writing a Star Trek novel." I may as well go around saying, "Hello, I'm writing unpublishable junk."

I asked my writing buddy Bronwyn Cair which one she would pick. "Definitely the Cardassian one," she said. "It will help us build connections for pitching our Star Trek screenplay to Paramount."

"But it's fanfiction," I objected.

"So?"

Photo: startrek.com

"So, fanfiction isn't quality fiction. It's not a real novel."

"Yours is." she countered. "So what if other people write junk? Show them how it's really done."

Now that I'm well into toiling through the second draft, I'm very glad I took her advice. I'm still not used to admitting I'm writing a Star Trek book, but most of the responses I get are actually very positive. And I'm pleased with how it's turning out.

An Analysis of the Cardassian Language

If you've been following me a while, you know I'm writing a novel called An Analysis of the Cardassian Language. It was born last month during NaNoWriMo, and I'm posting chapters above as they become intelligible. (At least I think so. If you find unintelligible chapters up there, please let me know.)

So you're walking down the street one day and the next thing you know, you're lying on the floor someplace where you don't belong and you're not welcome, but you're not allowed to leave. Turns out it's a military installation, and it's not even our military. They slap a pair of handcuffs on you and ask what you're doing there, but of course that's exactly what you'd like to know.

That's what happens to Faine Channing in Cardassian Language. She's in Chicago about to go home to her kids, and then she wakes up on a space station. Fans of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine will be interested to know that the station is Terok Nor, or Deep Space Nine when it was still being run by the Cardassians. Of course, we're at war with the Cardassians, which doesn't make life any easier for Faine.

NaNoWriMo is pretty intense, and like many wrimos I took a week off from writing after it ended on November 30th. Meanwhile I gave Faine her own Facebook page and started having a little fun with pictures. Today I plan to jump back into the text. Be on the lookout for more tabs above.

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Connect with Faine on Facebook

Faine Channing, chief unfortunate of the novel-in-progress An Analysis of the Cardassian Language, now has her own Facebook page. Give her a 'like' to keep in touch with her (or just get the latest news on Analysis).

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Star Trek: Quicksilver

Gul (General) Dukat of the Cardassian military
ruled the station where Faine Channing landed
when she was taken from Earth by the
terrorist's weapon.
Photo: Memory Alpha

A little about the Quicksilver script I'm working on (with others): for those unfamiliar with some of the Star Trek references, I have linked to wikis to fill you in. If something doesn't ring a bell, click on it.

Not long after the Dominion War, there’s a Changeling hiding on Earth, and Captain Nado has assembled the quadrant’s foremost experts to catch him. But he isn’t a Changeling at all; he’s a Suliban Cabalist and he doesn’t belong there. (He's from 200 years in the past, for one thing.) Neither does the human from 21st-Century Earth who just appeared one day on a Cardassian space station. Investigation uncovers a terrorist behind it all, and he’s blowing up whole cities at a time. The terrorist himself eludes the team for now, but they are able to locate and destroy his weapon – only to learn that what they destroyed was just a decoy. Captain Nado visits the Justice Minister on the planet where the terrorist is hiding, to ask for his arrest and extradition, but returns empty-handed. Here's what she tells her team:

CAPTAIN NADO (half-Bajoran)

I learned something about who we're dealing with on that planet. Their procedure for apprehending suspects is simply not something the Federation could have anything to do with. They cordon off a ring around the suspect and arrest everyone who happens to be within it, whether they have anything to do with the case or not, and subject them to the most horrible cruelties. I've seen victims of this barbaric practice, talked with them. Some were missing fingers. One woman had her lips cut off . . .

SINIJ (Suliban Cabalist)

So we have to kidnap him?

COMMANDER MACLOMOND (Human)

Apprehension of criminals in non-Federation space without the consent of the local authorities: not only is it illegal, but I can't think of a more surefire way to start a war with about six different species and coalitions at once.

GILLEK (Cardassian military) nods in agreement.

NADO

Options?

TEJAT (Cardassian former spy)

Captain, I believe you're faced with the kind of decision we Cardassians have been forced to make often. Do you participate in the torture of innocent civilians, or stand by and watch while our friend destroys the entire quadrant, one city at a time?

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