Day 196 Writing Short Stories and Mulling Over Writing

Island

The hovercraft swooped over the artificial island. The city below was dark and industrial, and the streets were crowded with workers, making sure the little island city pumped electricity to the mainland. The carrier was taking the new batch of workers down from the mainland. The pilot had heard the news. There had been a significant incident last week as a maintenance pipe had erupted, taking down twenty people. He wouldn’t have paid any thought to the story if he weren’t tasked with taking constant supply runs to the island.

Back there, out of the cockpit, men and women chattered about the new post. Most were excited. He had spoken a few, and the job was a blessing despite the poor conditions, the island confinement, and the lousy pay. But it was better than the scarce opportunities on the mainland.

He knew he was one of the lucky few to have a job like he had. He had been able to afford to buy his own hovercraft and set up a delivery business. He lowered the craft onto the helipad, opened the cargo bay doors, and let the workers out. He’d rather stay in and let the workers go, but he needed a signature from the foreman. The island gave him the creeps. The islanders gave him the creeps. They were cooped up in a toxic place, with tall gray buildings and the constant hum of electricity. There was nothing living on the island except the workers and the rats.

He rushed in and out to get the signature and departed as soon as the supplies were taken out.

Advice

He slumped his head into his hands and sighed aloud. This was going to be another shitty day, and there was nothing he could do about it. He had been down on his luck forever. Everything seemed to fall apart. His wife had left him. Then he was let go, and now his best friend had died suddenly. It was as if the world were conspiring against him.

“It does get better,” a man said.

He looked up and saw an older man sitting next to him. He hadn’t heard the man coming at the bus stop. The old man looked at him with kindness. The dark eyes and the strong lines on his face were like a reminder of what life could bring with it. He didn’t seem to be in pain. The man seemed to be at peace, and he hungered to have it.

But he shook his head. “It won’t. The whole world is against me.”

“It might be. It can be. But there’s nothing you can do about it. All there is are the actions you take and the thoughts you carry. Let the universe do what it does, and do what you like.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Oh, but it is. There’s nothing you have to lose. It’s all in here.” The old man tapped his head. “The trick is to make it do what you want.”

“But—”

“No, it truly is. Try it and let’s meet here one year from now.”

He laughed, but when the old man looked at him seriously with his kind eyes, he fell silent. “Okay,” he said.

“Good,” the old man said, and stood up.

He watched the man walk out of the bus stop and disappear around the corner just when the bus came.

Help

A clerk helps a lost boy.

The prompts are from the book A Year of Creative Writing Prompts.

The light is working. I woke up before my alarm clock went off, and I felt rested. I could do all I wanted in the morning, and it didn’t feel overwhelming.

News about my scifi book. I have relinquished it to my editor, so it is done. No more mulling it over. Now I’m trying to figure out what to do with my fifth Glorious Mishaps book. I have all the players there, but I have issues with the storyline. I know what I want to write about. I want to write about the value of human life and industrialization, but I’m not sure what to do with the story. It is all over the place, and I’m not sure how to tie all the actors together.

I want to write about my father. He worked his entire life in a factory, dedicating his life to it, and all he and men like him got was depression, drinking problems, emptiness, and early death. There aren’t enough fingers on my hands to count how many of his coworkers died before and just after their retirement. Heart attacks, burnouts, suicides, cancer… There is a story there. Something I can tie to Necropolis and the changes going on inside the city. Machines are coming, and the old ways are giving in.

As I wrote this, I went to Google and typed in best books about the industrial revolution, plus and Marxism. Wow, what results there were! There was one called The Birth of Energy, Dark Ecology, A New World Begins, Capitalism and the Death River, Madness in Civilization… So many good books to read. Maybe I will be inspired, and the story will find itself.

Now, I have to hurry to work.

Thank you for reading! Have an inspiring day ❤