And the award for the world's most generic [placeholder] cover art goes to:

#worldglass #writing #writersofmastodon #writingcommunity #ebook #ebooks

OH LAWD HE COMIN'

#aeonglass #worldglass #books #ebook #writing #writersofmastodon #writingcommunity

Nothing to see here ¬__¬

#worldglass #webdev #html #css

We swung back around the corner and over to the window slot in the entrance way, right next to the big doors. Their room was neat and tidy in every way the Records Department wasn't: the people were well dressed in white-toga and black-bands, there weren't ceiling-high stacks of tablets and what piles there were, were all squared-up neatly. Their desks were ceramic-topped rather than bare wood and at the front-desk a young-looking blond-haired lady was looking down at a pair of tablets when we approached. Her hair was done up in a loop through a wide silver saddle-shaped ring. "Morning Lydia", Persius said to catch her attention. She looked up with a beaming smile and sparkling eyes, "Oh, Persius, good morning! Another white-band I see, excellent, the more the merrier!"

"Have you got anything for the merchants?" Persius asked. Lydia looked back down at her tablets, then leaned to her side on her chair and searched under her desk for something, saying "Yes, there's an assay certificate here they asked for", before drawing out a long light-coloured scroll and holding it out to Persius. Persius merely smiled, keeping his hands behind his back.

"Oh, yes", Lydia said and pointed the scroll at me instead, smiling. It had a metal ring in the middle to keep it from unfurling. This must be vellum; I had seen it before, but I don't think I had ever touched it. Apparently it was made from the skin of a young animal, scraped thin enough to use as a writing surface. However they did it, it was expensive stuff. I took the scroll from the other end and looking at my knapsack, realised it wasn't going to fit in there so I just held it at my side.

"Why not use a runner for something like this?" Persius was asking Lydia. "Because," she grinned back, putting her elbows on her desk and leaning forward, "the runners are for OUR business, not THEIR business".

"Runners?" I asked quietly. Both turned to me but Lydia got there first; "Couriers, like you, but black-bands that get our dispatches to where they need to be without getting waylaid by other orders". Persius took his turn to butt in now, "This is Lydia by the way, she will be your main point of contact here; if you've got any deliveries for Legal, you drop them in with her. Remember that Records is separate so you can't drop deliveries for them here, and since it's very rare that Records has anything to send, you will be expected to stop by here any time you're going through Legal to check for outgoing deliveries --- got it?". I nodded along.

The two turned back to each other from my interruption, Lydia spoke first: "When will I see you again?". Persius put his hand to his chin, "Probably tomorrow --- I'll be busy with this one for the day". Lydia had put a sour face on for this news but turned to me smiling and said "Okay, good luck today!". I smiled back and said thanks, still not completely sure what this "luck" thing meant. Nobody could give a good explanation; it was like fate, but not, and it was supposed to be arbitrary and unpredictable but was, more often than not, cruel and unfair. If things went well, it was said to be good luck, rather than the outcome of skill, practice and planning. Wishing someone "good luck" seemed to me no better than saying "I hope you don't get hit by a stray arrow today!" for all the good you could do about it. Persius said his goodbyes to Lydia and we left through the large wooden doors, out to the 3rd floor market plaza.

----

(ᴄᴏᴘʏʀɪɢʜᴛ © Kʀᴏᴄ Cᴀᴍᴇɴ, ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ.
ɴᴏ ᴀ.ɪ. ᴡᴀs ᴜsᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏғ ᴛʜɪs ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ.
ᴜsᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜɪs ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ʙʏ ᴀ.ɪ. ɪs ᴇxᴘʟɪᴄɪᴛʟʏ ғᴏʀʙɪᴅᴅᴇɴ.)

#worldglass #writing #fiction

I've been #writing every day for 15 weeks, ~3 months! I thought it was only a month!? Sometimes I might only write a sentence or two in a day, sometimes it's five hours.I've passed 30'000 words now, ~120 pages in standard UK paperback size.

Over-arching plotting is by far the hardest part; actually putting out words -- describing things, capturing moments -- I don't find any difficulty with, but I've been going through a long chunk of what I call Disney-ride exposition: An on-rails section of stopping points to explain things. This bit has been slow going, but I may just have to write it and come back another time to change it. Those who like world-building won't be short for details!

Would anybody be interested in an #ebook / PDF of what I've written so far?

You can read large chunk of it here: https://oldbytes.space/@Kroc/115895172569381595 but Mastodon scrolling is probably not a good reading experience.

#worldglass #writersofmastodon #writingcommunity

Once he had closed the door, shutting the records room away from sight, he looked down at me, smiling. I was still slightly shaken by how incredibly rude the man had been, "Did you set me up?" I asked Persius who was getting much enjoyment from my reaction.

"Yes, because I thought it was funny," his smile dropped to something more serious, "but also because you need to know what the head of the records department is like when he's not dealing directly with me. Only I may call him 'Gregory', you must always address him as 'Sir'. He hates Reg' because Reg' is the only one who calls him 'Greg' -- he hates that name more than anything, and he hates everything!"

"Why is he like that?" I asked, dreading any future interaction.

"No idea. Just one in a long line of miserable sods that head up the Records Department. When one retires they just elect the next miserable sod in line and so it continues. I think I've seen five department heads in my time and they've all been like that". Persius patted me on the back, "Don't let him get to you; just keep quiet, say 'Yes sir!', and hand the tablets in without delay and you'll be fine -- yes he's a department head, but it's not like he has any power in the city."

"Wait, why is that?" I asked, glad that someone like that wasn't pulling strings everywhere. That was not a web I wanted to be caught in.

"Oh? Well, the Records Department is not a real department, or at least it shouldn't be. It doesn't manage anything of value like the other departments -- everybody sends their numbers and reports there and then forgets about them. If legal had their way it would have been subsumed by them ages ago, but ol' Greg here won't let even a grain of sand slip his grasp; thinks he's the most important guy in the city because he prepares the final numbers for the treasurer."

"The treasurer?"

"The Governor's steward for his finances; lives at the palace -- not something for white-bands to be concerned about -- he audits the Governor's personal wealth, which means that the numbers coming in from the markets must be 'All Correct'. Greg is responsible that there's no funny business going on and his only power is coming down on anybody who gets their numbers wrong, which he does like a brick from the third floor balcony. If you ever see him roaming the halls, give him the same space you would a runaway ox -- you're not responsible for the numbers, but he will happily take out his grievances on the messengers. Anyway, enough about Gregory, let's stop by the outbox."

----

(ᴄᴏᴘʏʀɪɢʜᴛ © Kʀᴏᴄ Cᴀᴍᴇɴ, ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ.
ɴᴏ ᴀ.ɪ. ᴡᴀs ᴜsᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏғ ᴛʜɪs ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ.
ᴜsᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜɪs ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ʙʏ ᴀ.ɪ. ɪs ᴇxᴘʟɪᴄɪᴛʟʏ ғᴏʀʙɪᴅᴅᴇɴ.)

#worldglass #writing #fiction

Back to the grind

#worldglass #writing #writersofmastodon #psion #retrocomputing