SF Novelists is a new group blog by dozens of science fiction novelists, where they're talking about the work of being an sf writer -- the nitty gritty of writing, managing your career, and all the minutae of life in a very strange trade indeed. The contributor list is incredibly impressive, too.
It was the third week after Paul’s mom died by her own hand that the incident occurred. A real busy-body of an AA had stormed into his corner office-space demanding the heads of two of his MLAs for some screw-up that wouldn’t have occurred if the AA had stuck to procedure instead of letting himself get bullied by the customer, a rather self-important editor of Expanse politick feeds. Miscommunication occurred and a whole slew of wrong styles got sent out, resulting in a number of said editor’s feed archives being significantly different than what went out live; an embarrassing, though ultimately harmless mistake, as only the style of the feed was affected and not the content itself.
“Twenty-three skidoo to you too, muthahubba,” Paul muttered to the omni-pleasant voice that emanated from the tube’s bullet casing. One person, one route, one mission, get the fleshy bits from point A, the Reception atrium, to point B, whatever floor you worked on, you little plebian, you. As fate would have it, Paul worked on floor twenty-three. He did not have to tell the tubevator this, of course, it compared and contrasted his trex’s serial number with Paul’s registered assignment space. It was just, for the past two months, the damned thing kept saying “twenty-three skidoo” to him every time he was a minute or two late. It was a weird joke, he was sure, a prank pulled by some maintenance drone bored out of his nut, but he hadn’t the faintest idea what, exactly, it meant.
Link to part 1
Now Paul was angry. Whatever had just happened, whatever that “hemorrhage” was, it had stirred up painful memories from years past. Things better left to Retirement. The swirling circles of the ceiling were pissing him off as well. What business had they doing in his world? All opulent and grand and haughty and, he couldn’t help feeling, they weren’t jetted out of a trex. Double-you-tee-eff.
Paul woke up on the couch with lady hovering over him. He felt numb and woozy, with an itching sensation in the middle of his skull. Why am I attracted to you, Lady? You’re obviously terribly and completely bad for me.
“I didn’t realize my talk was so powerful,” she laughed.
Part 5: heading to work, a flashback beckons.
Link to part 1
Paul heaved a sigh as he stepped next to the apartment’s doorway. “You can do this” he breathed out loud. “Easy stuff just open the door and go.” He felt the weight of the trex and realized that his hands didn’t want to touch it to the door pad.