Location: Small windowless concrete room with barrel with insignia in corner.

Camera: Pointed at door. Room is dark, but light from outside room is showing through.
Sounds: People running. People breathing hard. Door knobs being checked.

Scene: two men in military outfits check door knob. Door swings open. Lights turn on. Both men realize room is small and leads no where. They’re about to check other rooms when groans and moans are heard.

Man #1: “Shit”

Captain Ray waved the children back to their seats. "Strap yourselves in, we're going to reenter." They floated to the front seats and bound themselves into the acceleration couches.

The spaceman looked over to the kids. "This will be a little rough." He turned the ship. They had been pointing nose down. Now the rocket's tail pointed in the vector they'd been travelling. The spaceman fired up the drive torches. It felt like a giant hand was pushing them into their couches. Cord grunted with surprise.

The Snake is a standing wave with chaotic interference making it warble.

We
We Made
We Made Us

At some point in our future we wanted to see once and for all whether or not life was Created or evolved spontaneously. The only suitable way was to make a universe in the laboratory, and see what happened. But then, someone had to _observe_ the results, didn't they?

In the process of observation, the observer changed the state of the newly born cosmos and

-=BANG=-

There we were. Again.

We
We Made
We Made Us

Maura took a sudden and unexpected turn for the worse not quite two weeks ago. We were able to keep her from suffering too much.

I'll probably just lurk the boards for a while... don't feel too chatty.

Momma told me (after her own mastectomy), 'If there's anything you want to do, get out there and do it, because life is short'. Now I tell this to all of you.

Captain Ray opened a pocket on his p-suit and pulled out a bar of candy which he broke into three pieces. He passed them to Cord and Cliff. Cord sniffed hers. "This isn't really candy, is it?" asked Cliff.

"We'll be weightless soon. It hits some people the wrong way," said Captain Ray who then popped his piece in his mouth and chewed. He swallowed. "Don't want to chunder, do you?" Cord and Cliff ate their candy.

"What's chunder?" asked Cord.

Captain Ray chuckled. "It's a loud, colorful mess that is especially unpleasant in a weightless environment."

Chris sez, "Mercedes Lackey's agent, who also represents a 'persuasive little gnome' named Cory Doctorow, has been talked around to the Creative Commons point of view. Hence, Misty has announced she is going to permit fanfic as long as it is released under a Creative Commons license (presumably a noncommercial one, though she does not explicitly spell this out on the site)."

BoingBoing: http://www.boingboing.net/2009/10/19/mercedes-lackey-embr.html

They climbed up the side of the rocket. Halfway up, Cord pointed out her friend's house. "The tracking's broken on their solar panels. They're all pointing in different directions." Cliff looked down and his sister, just below his feet. The ground was far and he felt he hands begin to sweat. "Don't look down," said his sister. "Look sideways or up."

"Shut up," said Cliff. He turned his head to the right and saw the patchwork browns and greens of the fields and the metal sheathed rooftops. He felt the beating of his heart grow loud and quicken. His breathing was too fast.

The sign was handmade and read "Ride into Space $10" in black marker on brown cardboard. It was posted at the edge of the field. In the very middle of the timothy grass, in the center of a burnt-out circle, was a rocket. It was taller than a grain silo and was a squat obelisk resting on three legs.

Howdy, all. Anyone else doing NaNoWriMo? I try every year, but crap out at about 10k words. This year, I'm going to try it again. I'm thinking about posting my daily output, but I'm worried that it won't be SF enough and that it will be very rough. I'm always hesitant about posting first draft. Any thoughts?

I want money, and the pursuit of it, and the love of it, and the problems inherent with it to become obsolete. Meaning that it becomes so cumbersome that when the opportunity arises, people will slough it off like dead skin. And hopefully not Goldmember it.