NaNo Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty
In which our story reaches an entirely unsatisfactory conclusion, though what did you really expect after the drivel you’ve read? Assuming anyone has read it, which would surprise me greatly, and I offer my sincerest condolences to you, though I stop short of actually offering to pay for any therapy. No one made you read it.

Stephanie stood, blinking, surrounded by bright white lights. “Have I been… abducted by aliens?” she asked tentatively.

“I suppose, in a manner of speaking, though you weren’t really abducted – you stepped on a transport pod. We’re working on getting you back to your time and place, but we have to rebuild the timeline,” a voice said.

“I don’t suppose you want to explain that to me?” she asked, not really expecting them to.

“Sure. You see, it’s like this. Nenipven Halerth’ji’na Weevrnoop, Rogue Assassin and Second Class Thief, Order of the Putrid Swamp Thing, Blurpee Tribe, Boggsley Precint – better known to you as Ned – is an escaped mental patient. A very dangerous escaped mental patient, with the ability to travel through time and space and completely screw up the universe. It’s our job to fix what he screws up,” Ba’nath Jaquir, His Most Enlightened Lord of the Silver-Sequined Realm, Fifth Junior Earl of the Eight Gordanth Province, Second Advisor to Kre’th Jun’or said. He stepped into the light and Stephanie gasped. He was a completely ordinary looking man in a button down dress shirt and black rimmed glasses.

“Oh,” she said weakly. “What about Pippiment?”

“That is a manifestation of one of his other personalities,” Ba’nath Jaquir, His Most Enlightened Lord of the Silver-Sequined Realm, Fifth Junior Earl of the Eight Gordanth Province, Second Advisor to Kre’th Jun’or said. “Since he has the ability to form and shape matter, he can actually create a body for his alternate personality. And he honestly believes it’s another person.”

“Wait, I thought one of the laws of physics was that matter cannot be created or destroyed?” Her grasp of science was a little fuzzy right now, what with having traveled through some sort of portal in space time, but she was pretty sure about that.”

“Matter can be turned into energy, like burning wood, and, if you’re talented enough, energy can be turned into matter,” Ba’nath Jaquir, His Most Enlightened Lord of the Silver-Sequined Realm, Fifth Junior Earl of the Eight Gordanth Province, Second Advisor to Kre’th Jun’or said. “But you’re right that in the end it all has to balance out.”

“Oh,” was all she could think to say.

“But where are my manners,” Ba’nath Jaquir, His Most Enlightened Lord of the Silver-Sequined Realm, Fifth Junior Earl of the Eight Gordanth Province, Second Advisor to Kre’th Jun’or said. “ I am Ba’nath Jaquir, His Most Enlightened Lord of the Silver-Sequined Realm, Fifth Junior Earl of the Eight Gordanth Province, Second Advisor to Kre’th Jun’or. Pleased to meet you.”

He stuck out his hand, and she shook it without thinking. Funny, she thought, he didn’t feel like an alien.

“Ba’nath Jaquir, His Most Enlightened Lord of the Silver-Sequined Realm, Fifth Junior Earl of the Eight Gordanth Province, Second Advisor to Kre’th Jun’or, I am pleased to report the fugitive, Nenipven Halerth’ji’na Weevrnoop, Rogue Assassin and Second Class Thief, Order of the Putrid Swamp Thing, Blurpee Tribe, Boggsley Precint, is now in custody,” a man in full Viking costume said as he strode into the room.

“It’s about time, Halafax Creeth, Assassin First Class, Order of the Gold Bow, Senior Marksman of the Uloff Tribe,” Ba’nath Jaquir, His Most Enlightened Lord of the Silver-Sequined Realm, Fifth Junior Earl of the Eight Gordanth Province, Second Advisor to Kre’th Jun’or grumbled. “And you made quite a mess of it. Malkkwe Huntraeek Hu’gfadst, Commander of the Glycine Phleet, Order of the Tangerine Crumpet, Chief Commanding Officer of the Kleenextic Tribe is not happy. Not to mention if Dalltho, His Most Royal and Exonerated Highness and Ruler of All He Surveys gets wind of it.”

“Who is this?” Halafax Creeth, Assassin First Class, Order of the Gold Bow, Senior Marksman of the Uloff Tribe asked, suddenly catching sight of Stephanie.

“Oh, this is Stephanie Feinton, a friend of Nenipven Halerth’ji’na Weevrnoop, Rogue Assassin and Second Class Thief, Order of the Putrid Swamp Thing, Blurpee Tribe, Boggsley Precint,” Ba’nath Jaquir, His Most Enlightened Lord of the Silver-Sequined Realm, Fifth Junior Earl of the Eight Gordanth Province, Second Advisor to Kre’th Jun’or said. “She’s our guest temporarily because apparently Nenipven Halerth’ji’na Weevrnoop, Rogue Assassin and Second Class Thief, Order of the Putrid Swamp Thing, Blurpee Tribe, Boggsley Precint managed to leave behind a transport button that somebody didn’t sweep up. Just one more thing we have to deal with.”

“Look, I’m sorry, but you try following after him. It’s near impossible!” Halafax Creeth, Assassin First Class, Order of the Gold Bow, Senior Marksman of the Uloff Tribe griped.

“Excuses, excuses,” Ba’nath Jaquir, His Most Enlightened Lord of the Silver-Sequined Realm, Fifth Junior Earl of the Eight Gordanth Province, Second Advisor to Kre’th Jun’or said. “Now, how are we coming on that reboot?”

“Nearly ready,” Halafax Creeth, Assassin First Class, Order of the Gold Bow, Senior Marksman of the Uloff Tribe said, reading off of a nearby instrument panel.

“What will happen to me?” Stephanie asked, not really sure she wanted to hear the answer.

“Oh, you’ll be returned to where you would have been had Nenipven Halerth’ji’na Weevrnoop, Rogue Assassin and Second Class Thief, Order of the Putrid Swamp Thing, Blurpee Tribe, Boggsley Precint never crossed your path,” Ba’nath Jaquir, His Most Enlightened Lord of the Silver-Sequined Realm, Fifth Junior Earl of the Eight Gordanth Province, Second Advisor to Kre’th Jun’or said. “No worries.”

“So I won’t remember this?” she asked.

“No, because it will never have happened,” Halafax Creeth, Assassin First Class, Order of the Gold Bow, Senior Marksman of the Uloff Tribe explained.

“Will you remember it?” she asked.

“No, because it will never have happened,” Halafax Creeth, Assassin First Class, Order of the Gold Bow, Senior Marksman of the Uloff Tribe said again, slowly, as if explaining something to a simpleton.

“Then how will this have happened for it to… be made not to happen?” Stephanie was confused.

“Look, just… oh, goodie, it’s ready,” Halafax Creeth, Assassin First Class, Order of the Gold Bow, Senior Marksman of the Uloff Tribe said.

Stephanie sat, confused and blinking, in front of her computer. A message from her editor, thanking her for the thorough review of the cleaning products was in the center of the screen. She frowned, trying to remember… something. There was something she needed to remember, but couldn’t. There was a take-out container on the table, and it pulled on her memory.

She opened up a new document, and began to type.

“Of course I heard something weird last night,” Mrs. Mollycoddle said. “There were howls and screams and shrieks and all sorts of unidentifiable noises! Though the kids did seem to love it. I’m thinking maybe I should do something fun next year. Not a gory haunted house, of course, I don’t go in for such things, but something… I don’t know.”

The (thank goodness) End

NaNo Chapter Twenty Nine

Chapter Twenty Nine
So close to the end you can taste it! And yet, no meaningful resolution in sight! Will we ever find out what drove poor Nevipen ‘round the bend? And what is it he’s searching for? Is he just a raving lunatic? And what did those people want with poor Marissa’s body (hint: we’re never going to find out, though I’m sure most people really would not want to know – suffice to say, it’s not particularly relevant to our story)? And what is the deal with that cucumber?

“Could be worse,” John said.

“It can always be worse,” Seth said. “That really doesn’t make me feel any better about how it is, though. Because short of being dead, yes, of course it can always be worse, because you could always be dead. Not really helpful.”

“What’s worse than being on fire?” Mark asked.

“Being on fire and being chased by zombies,” Seth said.

“Zombies make everything worse. Except movies. Those they improve pretty much across the board,” John said. “Even bad zombie movies are good, because, dude, zombies. Actually, especially bad zombie movies are especially good, because they’re so bad they’re good.”

“I’m sure they’ve been some bad zombie movies that are just bad bad,” Mark said. “And really, don’t you think zombies are getting played out? They’re the new vampires. Or maybe vampires were the new zombies. Yeah, because the whole zombie thing was big first, with the glut of movies – Dawn of the Dead, Shaun of the Dead, 28 Days Later… 28 Weeks Later… there were more, why can’t I think of them?”

“You can’t really put Shaun of the Dead in there, it’s in a class of its own,” Seth said.

“True. I’m sure there were a bunch of made for TV zombie movies that were bad,” Mark said.

“No way, dude, those are the most awesome, because they’re the worst! They’re Mystery Science Theater 3000 bad good,” John said.

“Look, all I’m saying is zombies aren’t perfect. They aren’t the end all be all formula for a good movie. Can you imagine zombies making Casablanca better?” Mark asked.

“Casablanca? That’s what you pull off the top of your head? Dude,” Seth said.

“Shut up, I study film. It’s a classic,” Mark said. “Spaceball, then. Or National Treasure. Would those have been better with zombies?”

“Well, yes,” Seth said. John nodded in agreement.

“You two are just like the Twihards,” Mark said. “Only, you know, with zombies. Zombhards?”

“At least zombies never sparkled,” John said. “So it’s still not at bad as the vampire crap.”

“What if they were pixie zombies? They’d sparkle, but could still be… well, I suppose they’re still pixies, so maybe not scary, unless pixie zombies are like… evil gnomes.” Seth picked up the game controller and started scrolling through the game menu.

“Dude, then they’d be gnomes. Zombie gnomes. And they wouldn’t sparkle,” John said.

“Aren’t pixies the evil ones? And fairies are the good ones?” Mark asked. “Or is it the other way around?”

“Isn’t that Disney thing called Pixie Hollow? I can’t imagine pixies are evil, I mean other than Disney being… what?” John broke off as the other two stared at him. “It’s my sister, dudes, it’s all she talks about.”

“Right…” Mark said. “That’s it, sure.”

“It is, she obsessed with that web site. And when my folks are gone, I’m supposed to monitor her web usage. It’s scarred me, I tell you.” John clutched his chest dramatically.

“Yes, that’s a fate worse than death,” Seth said dryly.

“I thought we already determined that nothing was worse than death,” Mark said. “That was the benchmark.”

“It’s just an expression, doofwad,” Seth said.

“Well, it’s a dumb expression,” Mark said.

“Bite me,” Seth said. “Now, are you two going to play, or sit around gabbing like a group of fishwives all evening?”

“I dunno, mocking John for a little longer might be fun,” Mark said.

“More fun than Rock Band?” Seth asked. He threw the drumsticks at Mark.

Mark caught them, and twirled them in his hands. “I’d rather be playing for real,” he groused.

“We all would, but if the neighbors call the cops on us one more time, we’re going to be in real trouble. Until we can find a place to practice where no one will be bothered by the noise, we’re stuck with this,” Seth said. He tossed the microphone to John. “Ready?”

“Ready,” John said.

Mark picked up the drumsticks and started tapping out a rhythm. Rat a tat tat tat a rat a tat tat tat a rat a tat tat tat… Seth was about to strike the opening chords on his guitar when a screeching noise outside made them stop cold. It was a hideous sound, like… someone being pulled by their testicles, backwards, though a rip in the space time continuum.

Seth put down his guitar and walked slowly to the window.

“Uh, guys, you’re not going to believe this,” he said.

Mark and John moved to stand next to him at the window.

“Whoa,” John said.

“Ouch,” Mark said.

All three covered their crotches with their hands as they watched a naked man being dragged backwards through a rip in the space time continuum by a man in a Viking costume. As soon as both men were through, the rip closed with a snap, and the only thing left on the pavement was a cucumber of rather unusually large size.

NaNo Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Eight
Much more gratuitous word count padding and very little plot development. Hey, I can’t lie, this is basically a useless, “I’ve given up on the story but refuse to quit, because I’m stupid like that, and because the other option is cleaning the house, putting away laundry, or working on the bathroom remodel” chapter. So pointless writing it is! At least the pitiful re-use of things written (but yes, written this month!) for other reasons has stopped in this chapter! That has to make it better, right? Yeah… I wouldn’t take that bet. Though longer shots have come through, thank you very much, Cleveland Browns!.

Melissa stared at her computer screen. There were so many things she should be doing, instead of working on the fetid pile of crap that was her National Novel Writing Month novel. She could be folding that serious mound of laundry, vacuuming the rec room, doing dishes… or starting to work on the numerous Christmas presents she still had to craft. But no, she was determined to stick this out and finish, no matter what.

Maybe just a quick check of Facebook, a little bit of Farmville, an update on Twitter… no, she had to buckle down and write. Something, anything. She was already willing to throw in the towel on plot and any semblance of a decent story for the sake of word count, why couldn’t she just write? Stream of consciousness, even! Anything! But her mind was a complete blank, except for idea that her mind was a complete blank. And you couldn’t very well just write that, even in a story as bad as hers had become.

Because what can you say past ‘my mind is a complete blank’? Past that, she was, well, blank. You can’t just go on and on about having a mind as empty as space, as devoid of thought as, well, Paris Hilton’s. That was bound to get boring after awhile. And it was weird, the one time she needed her head to be full of thoughts and ideas, and it wasn’t.

She’d never been able to clear her mind like this during yoga, had, in fact, gotten tossed out of a Ti Chi class for being to… rambunctious, because she couldn’t settle down and meditate. Her brain was always going on about all sorts of projects and ideas, and bombarding her with things she needed to do – e-mails she needed to answer, posts she should respond to, all sorts of things. That reminded her, she did actually need to leave a few messages…

Flipping to her internet window – yes, she should have closed it, but she didn’t, and it was there, waiting to distract her – she went to her blog and posted just a few, quick responses. It wouldn’t take too much time and she’d be right back at it, getting those last three thousand words before she put this horrid NaNo experience behind her. And maybe a quick post. She hadn’t been around much, and maybe people would appreciate an update? Not that most of the people weren’t busy with their own NaNo projects, most far better than hers, for sure.

But what would she update them on? “Oh, bother, still have writer’s block, don’t know why I’m bothering with this whole NaNo thing at all this year”? That seemed a stupid update, and they already knew she’d gone ‘round the bend. She’d written crazy things before, but this year… this year was over the top. This year the crazy had a whole zip code to itself. And really, there was a fair amount of cheating, so is it really a clean win? Yes, she wrote those words herself, but recycling them into her NaNo seems unfair. But is it any less fair than stream of consciousness writing? They say quality is not the issue with NaNo, you’re just supposed to write. But doesn’t that imply some story? Some thread that runs through the narrative that presumably leads you to an ending?

Or is narrating the Battle of Gettysburg – bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang, etc – a viable option? Could she simply have a character that is unable to fall asleep, and counts sheep endlessly? One thousand, three hundred and twenty one sheep, one thousand, three hundred and twenty two sheep, one thousand, three hundred and twenty three sheep, one thousand, three hundred and twenty four sheep, one thousand, three hundred and twenty five sheep, one thousand, three hundred and twenty six sheep, one thousand, three hundred and twenty seven sheep, penguin!, one thousand, three hundred and twenty eight sheep, one thousand, three hundred and twenty nine sheep, one thousand, three hundred and thirty sheep, one thousand, three hundred and thirty one sheep, one thousand, three hundred and thirty two sheep¸ one thousand, three hundred and thirty three sheep, one thousand, three hundred and thirty four sheep… and so on.

The web site says that it’s up to the individual to decide what is right, what is fair, and what should count. If grammar and spelling aren’t an issue, and lack of plot is no problem, is it really much of a writing exercise? Maybe for the more prepared, it gives them a goal, a motivation, but she’d always approached it as a blank slate – no pre-planning, nothing. Was that really the spirit of it? And if so, is it fair to call the end product a novel? Again, yes, for some people. But is it still an accomplishment of anything but typing to vomit out fifty thousand words of meaningless text?

This was seriously depressing her, so she went to get a glass of wine. So close to the end, to the accomplishment, and she was talking herself out of that finish. Telling herself she didn’t deserve to win. And maybe she didn’t. In years past, yes, she had produced a halfway decent, coherent story. But when one goes so far out on a limb, does so many insane things, all in the pursuit of some word count goal, what is the point? Or can the ridiculousness itself be a point? In some ways, the cheating is hard – how do you work, say, a scientific paper on the mating habits of the wax worm into a romance novel? Badly, sure, but with some creativity. How do you shoehorn in the words to a disco song into a piece set in Regency England? With style, naturally. How do you think up ridiculously long character names, or work in horrendously long numbers?

That reminded her, she still needed to work in a character that could recite pi to at least a hundred digits. That would be good for… hmmm, only a hundred words, and was it really worth it. Maybe her character could recite Shakespeare, instead. Or Jabberwocky. Literate gibberish and word padding! That had to be a trifecta record. Or maybe she should write a musical, and her characters could burst into song. Modern rock songs, like Mamma Mia did with ABBA. Except that had been done. With Mamma Mia and ABBA, and, frankly, looking for songs she could tie together into a story would take longer than just writing something off the cuff. Come to think of it, a lot of the word count padding techniques were a lot of work, at least compared to stream of consciousness writing.

Would it be cheating to use a speech to text program? She could certainly babble out fifty thousand words in no time. She could probably write her whole novel on her commute to and from work. Though what she really wanted was a program that would read the internet to her as she drove. How hard would it be to come up with an application to read your blogroll to you as you drove? Yes, she normally liked to listen to audio books, when she could find a decent one, but she’d struck out lately. The last one she’d listened to, Body Movers, had been so annoying. And yet she had started listening to the next one in the series, because she thought that she could tough it out and get some resolution, but the main character drove her insane.

The basic premise was that a spoiled rich girl gets stuck raising her little brother after her parents skip town to evade legal charges. She’s eighteen, her brother is eight or nine, and her whole life falls apart. Of course her rich friends – and her fiancé – drop her like a hot potato, she gets a retail sales job, and they scrape by. But at every turn both she and her brother are so irresponsible with money it sets your teeth on edge. Her brother is nineteen before she makes him get a real job, and she’s constantly blowing money on seriously overpriced designer clothes (she works at a Nieman Marcus). And her brother gambles and is in debt to loan sharks, on top of all their legitimate bills, like being behind on the rent. It’s enough to drive you crazy.

Of course they put the teaser out there about her parents at the end of book one, which led her to start book two, but more of the same and she’d returned it to the library unfinished. And she’d picked up a few others, just by the titles, but hadn’t listened to enough of either to decide if it was decent or not.

Titles. There was a whole other ball game. She couldn’t count the number of times she had picked up a book based on the title. To be honest, it was probably most of the time. Sure, if the blurb didn’t sound like her cup of tea she put the book down, but it was almost always the title that led her to pick up the book in the first place. Sometimes the gamble paid off, and a quirkily titled book was an amazing find. Sometimes, not so much. Gun, With Occasional Music was one audio book she’d recently tried that had seemed good, but hadn’t really caught her attention. Maybe it was something about the near future alternate reality that put her off. Things were recognizable, to a point, but not. And that whole evolved animal thing was, admittedly, weird.

A sudden noise outside the apartment drew her to the window. It sounded like someone running down the back alley, pulling over all the trash bins in their wake, like the bad guys do in movies to slow down their pursuers. She’d always wondered if that worked in real life, and it looked, at least for now, as if it was. The naked guy carrying the large cucumber seemed to be increasing his lead over the guy dressed like a Viking, though it could have less to do with the trash cans and more to do with the fact that the Viking had a large pair of bloomers stuck to his horns and it was interfering with his ability to see properly.

She shrugged, let the curtain fall back into place, and went to get herself a slice of pie. She’d think of something to write about, eventually.

NaNo Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Seven
In which the author goes to extreme measures to reuse text that was written for other purposes, far above and beyond the ridiculousness that has already been seen (book reviews, product reviews, etc) and hopes you don’t notice and that it will blend seamlessly and effortlessly into the rapidly deteriorating story. No, winners never quit, but it’s also fair to say idiots never give up. Go, word count!

Martha sighed and looked up from her keyboard. The last words – the only words – she’d typed in the last hour still staring at her. Mocking her.

“This Preliminary Engineering Study investigates the roadway and structure flooding in the area of Sunberry Road and Jackson Street, adjacent to a tributary of Loftloller Creek, in Haynesworth, Missouri.”

The report was due tomorrow, and she had writer’s block. How can someone have writer’s block on a report? She sighed and took a sip of coffee, grimacing when she found her cup had gone cold. One more way to procrastinate, she thought, getting up to get herself a fresh cup. It wouldn’t be so back, but she had the beginnings of a migraine, and staring at the computer screen was torture.

Fresh coffee in hand, she settled herself back down at the computer and started typing.

“As part of this study, flooding problems were identified through prior resident complaint files, a letter sent to the residents and a subsequent storm water committee meeting, and modeling of the existing conditions. Through this, possible storm water improvements were identified along Sunberry Road and running perpendicular to Jackson Street to the creek. This Preliminary Engineering Study highlights the inadequacy of the existing storm sewer system in not only the number of structures but also in the capacity of the existing pipes.”

A noise outside her office startled her. It was late, and she should be alone. She froze, but then relaxed when she realized it was the cleaning crew, emptying waste bins and taking out the recycling. In a minute, they’d probably start running the vacuums, which would be a nice, pleasant background noise.

“The level of this analysis is conceptual in nature, and it is not intended to be a final design solution. The recommendations included in this report are used to determine the magnitude and the requirements for making the improvements.”

She went to take another sip of coffee only to find her coffee cup empty. At this rate, she was going to be so buzzed on caffeine sleep would be unnecessary. She got up, nodded to the night cleaning crew, went to the bathroom, and made a fresh cup of coffee. Another twenty minutes worth of procrastination. She was turning this into an art form.

Back at the computer, she took a deep breath, flexed her shoulders, and began typing again.

“The drainage system analyzed herein includes a small portion of two tributaries of Loftloller Creek and lateral drainage systems – including undefined drainage paths – feeding Loftloller Creek. The project begins at Sunberry Road and 187th Street and extends down Sunberry Road to Jackson Street.

Sunberry Road from 187th Street to Jackson Street is completely devoid of any storm sewer structures, despite the large area that drains through the properties on the east side on the way to a low point/culvert just south of 187th Street. This culvert is also undersized, and there is significant erosion from water not only draining off the street but also backing up because of a lack of capacity.

There is an existing storm sewer system that runs perpendicular across Jackson Street to the creek, but it is undersized and residents have reported flooding on numerous occasions.”

She looked back at the example report, and fiddled with her formatting and outline structure until it matched. Anything to put off doing any more typing for any amount of time she could justify. Normally, she didn’t mind writing reports – was quite good at it, in fact – but this one just wasn’t inspiring her. She’d been under too much stress lately, in her personal life, and it was showing.

“The existing storm sewer system that runs perpendicular to Jackson Street to the creek is inadequate and undersized. The flooding was initially reported by a resident three years ago, when her basement flooded. In her complaint she stated that the existing storm sewer pipe that runs along the side of her house is inadequate and does not have the required capacity to handle runoff from the upstream properties, and that during periods of heavy rain, the manhole lid pops open and water surcharges into the street.”

She pulled up the reports and inserted them into the appendix of the document. Everything had to be documented, she thought with a yawn. That, at least, was one thing she had enough of. Whether she could write a good enough report around it remained to be seen.

“Scour and erosion around the culvert/bridge is the largest problem on Sunberry Road. Below are some pictures of the area, which shows signs that stop-gap measures have been tried to stem to erosion, but have ultimately failed.”

She scrolled through the pictures she’d taken of the area earlier in the week, trying to find any that showed the problem clearly. It was tough, as the fall leaves obscured a lot of the erosion, but she found a few she thought would get her point across. She cropped and color enhanced them, and put them in the document.

She added the standard boilerplate about their standards and design procedures, including the construction standards and specs that would be used to build the project, if this report netted them enough money to actually build it. She yawned again, and drained the coffee from her cup. Should she get another one? It had been a long week, and she needed her sleep, but she needed to get this report done more. So she got up, brewed another cup – she loved the new single serve coffee machine – and went back to her desk to finish the report. Then she could go home and finally get some sleep.

“The major utility issues that must be addressed during design of the project will concern avoiding conflicts with and/or relocating water, gas, sewer mains and service line crossings. Costs associated with required utility line adjustments that fall within existing right-of-way is typically the responsibility of the particular utility companies in the area. Verification of exact utility locations and coordination with the utility companies in the area will be necessary during the final design and construction phases.”

She sighed and stretched again, her eyelids drooping. Maybe she needed sugar more than she needed caffeine. She grabbed some money from her purse and made her way down to the vending machines. The cleaning crew had moved on to another part of the building, and would be back to do the vacuuming, but for now the floor was eerily quiet. She found herself looking over her shoulder as she fed the money into the machine and punched in the buttons for a Snickers bar.

She was just grabbing the candy bar out of the bottom of the vending machine when she thought she saw a shadow move quickly across the break room door. She turned in time to see another, but when she raced out into the hallway, there was no one there. She took a deep breath and listened, but there was no sound.

“Well, that’s some imagination you have there, Martha,” she said to herself. She tried to add a laugh, but it came out shaky. She went back to her desk and tried to put the incident out of her mind while she finished the report, but she longed to hear the sound of the vacuum cleaners, so she wouldn’t be alone.

“The proposed limits include Sunberry Road from 187th Street to Jackson Street and the corridor of the existing storm sewer pipe running perpendicular to Jackson Street to the creek.

Runoff calculations for the enclosed storm sewer systems are based on the Rational Method for watersheds of less than 200 acres as described in Section 5602 “Hydrology” of APWA Section 5600, and runoff was calculated using a weighted runoff coefficient of 0.51 for single family residential areas. The time of concentration for each sub-watershed area was calculated in accordance with APWA Section 5600, and the rainfall intensities for the 10-year and 100-year design storms were also calculated in accordance with APWA Section 5600.

Enclosed storm sewer systems were analyzed using Manning’s equation for partially full flow and energy balance equations for pressure flow. The calculation spreadsheet and mapped drainage areas are included in Appendix C.”

The whirring of the vacuum cleaners suddenly reached her from the other side of the office, and she relaxed. She hadn’t realized how tense she had become, and as she listened to the monotonous drone of the machines moving about the office she felt her shoulders drooping in relief.

“As part of this study, survey crews surveyed the roadways, front and side yards of all the properties in the project area, back yards over the existing storm sewer line, and lateral storm sewer systems (for location, flow lines, and size). A letter was mailed to residents of the study area requesting them to report any flooding concerns they have had. Several called to report excessive overland water flow, and some showed up to the stormwater committee meeting to discuss flooding of their residences (see Appendix B)”

The calm was shattered by the piercing scream of one of the cleaners. Martha jumped up and ran out of her office, just in time to see the poor woman, looking pale and faint, pointing to a row between a set of cubicles across the room. There she could see two men running, presumably one chasing the other.

This was weird enough, but as they rounded the corner she saw that one was completely naked but holding an unusually large cucumber and the other seemed to be dressed in full Viking garb. She stood, rooted to the spot, as the raced down the hallway and out into the main corridor.

NaNo Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Six
Never judge a book by it’s cover, or a naked man by the size of his… cucumber.

“I can’t say I enjoyed it, no,” Judith said. “I mean, I suppose I didn’t hate it, but to say I liked it would be a stretch, as well. Actually, I can’t remember the last one I read that I really enjoyed. Maybe I’m just getting burned out on mysteries?”

“I went through a stretch like that, too,” Kathy said. “Everything I read was just… boring. I mean, yes, the plots of most mysteries are similar by necessity – a murder, robbery, kidnapping, whatever happens, and people try to solve it. There’s a formula, and that’s what makes it a mystery. But there should be something that grabs you, something unique about that particular story, that makes you want to read. And sometimes it’s a long time between good stories.”

“For me it’s about the characters. The story can be as formulaic as a geometry text, as long as I like the characters. That’s what keeps me reading,” Barbara said.

The three women sat around a small table at a sidewalk café, sipping tea and munching on cookies. A small pile of paperback books sat in a pile in the middle of the table, all bearing different colored post-it notes stuck to various pages.

“But it’s agreed, we really do need to quit the Middleton Book club and shop around for a new one?” asked Kathy.

“Agreed,” chorused Barbara and Judith.

“They’re not even open to feedback as far as book choice is concerned, and that odious Beatrice acts like she’s the queen bee. I can’t stand that women.” Judith repressed a shudder and snagged another cookie.

“I say we try out the Coffee and Crumpets club that meets at the bookstore on Park Street,” Barbara said. “I’ve heard great things about that one.”

“The only problem with that one is the time they meet – it would be tough for me to get there on time,” Judith said. “But if their book selection is good, I could try to make it work.”

“I have their last three selections here. Looks like they’re reading Changeless by Gail Carriger next month. Have you read anything by her?” Barbara asked.

“I read Soulless, the first book in the series,” said Kathy. “I didn't think the writing was very polished – it was very informal and almost blog-ish in a lot of ways – but my goodness was that story fun. And I did like the characters – though I refuse to picture her like the woman on the cover, who bothers me for some reason. Probably because it looks like her spine is broken. I'm definitely up for reading more in that series!”

“What about the characters?” asked Barbara.

“Varied, and interesting. The main character… you wouldn’t think you’d like her, but you do. She’s odd and quirky, but not in a Mary Sue sort of way. And the one vampire…” Kathy shook her head. “There are definitely some odd ducks in that story.

“Vampires? Oh no,” Judith said. “My friend tried to get me to read that Twilight crap and I think my brain tried to crawl out of my head through my ear to escape. I am not reading teen angst, and this from a person who admits to liking some romance novels.”

“It’s not at all like that,” Kathy assured her. “Yes, there are vampires and werewolves, but… let me finish… but there’s nothing emo about it. It’s steampunk, actually, with a hint of romance novels, and a very practical, logical, down to earth heroine. Not at all what you’d think when someone says vampires. And no one sparkles. I promise. But you really should read Soulless before going on to Changeless, since it’s a continuation of the story and I’m guessing there will be some things that happen in the first book that may have relevance in the second.”

“Or the author could over-summarize, which would be annoying if you read one right after the other,” Barbara said. “You know, just the other day, I was watching my DVDs of NCIS, and half of an episode was ‘preciously, on NCIS. Okay, I exaggerate, it wasn’t half of an episode, but it was an exceeding long lead-in.”

“Oh, that does irritate me. I think for the DVD versions they should take that out and just put up a screen that says ‘If you want to know what happened previously on NCIS, hit that handy little menu button on your remote and watch the flippin’ previous episode, you dolt.’ But that might not fly with the general public. I’d find it funnier than hell, though,” Judith said.

“You’d think they could at least edit it out, because it’s hard to skip forward past, since it’s not always a separate track. Sometimes it’s just a quick ‘previously’, and sometimes it does go on and on and on,” Kathy said. “What really irritates me is DVD sets that don’t have a ‘play all’ option, and, even worse, ones where you have to navigate back up to a main menu to select the next episode. But sorry, didn’t mean to get us off-track. What you read lately?”

“Okay, you know I’ve been on a cleaning and organizational binge lately, right? I checked out loads of books from the library, and most of them were so-so. Some were bad. Organizing for Life by Sandra Felton falls into the bad category. I suppose I should have known better, with a subtitle like ‘declutter your mind to declutter our world’ that this book wouldn’t be for me. To be fair, it doesn’t claim to be a how-to book when you start reading it, though the back cover blurb is a little misleading in that regard. One of my big problems with this book is that it is very religious. It runs along the same lines as Alcoholics Anonymous, where you need to surrender yourself to god and realize you are powerless, etc, etc,” Judith said.

“I’d have a clean house, but Jesus keeps hiding the vacuum cleaner,” Kathy said. They all chuckled, though Barbara looked a little uncomfortable at that. She hadn’t really come to terms with the fact that her friends weren’t the most religious bunch.

“Mostly this is a self-help book in the sense of looking deep within yourself and coming to terms with the reasons you don’t clean, which isn’t helpful as I know why I don’t clean – laziness. The book doesn’t address that at all, and isn’t at all helpful for those of us who just need some motivation, aka a kick in the rump.” Judith paused for a moment. “But I supposed I have to be fair and mention there was one thing I liked - that the book addresses the fact that compulsive cleanliness is as much of a problem as being messy.”

“Doesn’t sound like a keeper, I’m surprised you made it through it,” Kathy said.

“Well… I didn’t really. I skimmed most of it,” Judith admitted.

“I want you to know your obsession with cleaning and organizing rubbed off on me,” Barbara said. “I picked up a few of those books, but my choices were worse than yours. I started with House Beautiful Storage Workshop by Tessa Evelegh, and man, was that depressing. Seriously, who has houses like these pictured in this book? If I had a house with that much space, I wouldn’t need tips on organizing.”

She pulled out her cell phone and brought up a picture, handing the phone around to the girls. They arched their eyebrows and nodded.

“No kidding. If I could afford that…” Kathy shrugged.

“And if I just wanted to look at pictures of model houses to depress me, I would do that. I mean, I realize those pictures are supposed to inspire you, but, really, they just fill me with envy and sadness that no matter what I do, I won’t have a house that looks like that. The walls of bookcases, the neatly stacked tiny pile of CDs in a wicker basket – are there people who really only own a dozen CDs, and have just one remote? Really? The artfully arranged towels – because goodness knows I only have one perfectly matched set of towels! … and, of course, the neatly made – with china and silver! - dining tables.” Barbara grimaced.

“Yes, if I had the house and the money to have floor-to-ceiling bookshelves built in, that would be awesome.” Kathy’s eyes shone with the fantasy of her own library, with wall after all of floor to ceiling bookshelves.

“Bottom line - very pretty pictures, beautiful houses, and if you’re looking for serious remodel-grade idea for your house, this might be the book for you. But if you’re looking for quick and easy tips that work in most houses, give this book a pass,” Barbara said. “And the next one I picked up wasn’t much better. Easy Home Organizer by Vicki Payne. I will say that there are some good little ’15-minute’ organizing tips in the book, though most aren’t anything new – like how to clean out a junk drawer. And I do love the step-by-step instructions for projects like installing pull-out bases in cabinets. It’s not a cheap storage solution, but it would be very handy. But, overall, it suffers from the same problem the other book did - ‘model home syndrome’.”

“Oh, another one where the pictures of the rooms in this book are just too perfect?” Judith asked. Barbara nodded and took a sip of her coffee. “I hate that. Instead of inspiring me, they tend to be a little depressing. Because I don’t have a house with nifty nooks and crannies and/or wide open spaces for shelving and storage. A lot of the solutions aren’t practical in a lot of homes. When are people going to realize that?”

“My absolute favorites are the pictures of desks with computers… without CPU towers or unsightly cords. Just a picturesquely placed monitor and keyboard, looking all spiffy on the wide-open desk,” Kathy said. “It’s this sort of unrealistic – and unattainable, at least if you want a useable computer – picture that irritates me. Like I’m supposed to have a house that looks like that, and if I fall short, I’m a failure.”

“No kidding. I think I’m done with those books for awhile. Maybe in a few years I’ll have another bout of insanity, but… not for awhile,” Barbara said.

“Well, I read a great cleaning book,” Kathy said with a grin. “Frankie Pickle and the Closet of Doom by Eric Wight.”

The other two laughed. It was just like Kathy to pick something so out of the box, they thought.

“Easily the most entertaining ‘cleaning’ book I found during my library search, and, honestly, if I could turn cleaning into as much of a fun adventure as Frankie Pickle, I wouldn’t have a motivation problem!” Kathy said. “Sure, there’s a moral to the story, and it’s aimed at kids… obviously. The comic-style artwork is quite fun, though I really wanted to color it in – I resisted, of course, as it was a library book, but I can’t say I’d be able to if I owed it. And, yes, it only took me about 20 minutes to read, and didn’t really motivate me to clean, per se, but I really enjoyed reading it.”

“That sounds like fun!” Judith said. “Too bad so many adults lose so much of their imagination as they grow older, and so many people look down on those who dare to express any hint of wackiness.”

“Seriously, it might actually be fun to dress up like the dryer sheet fairy to do the laundry!” Kathy said. “If it got my family clean underwear on a regular basis, I can’t really see them objecting.

“Yup, if slapping on jeweled rubber gloves and calling yourself Madame Sudsalot makes doing the dishes less of a chore, I say go for it!” Judith was about to say more but her attention was caught by a ruckus across the street.

“Do you guys see what I see?” she asked.

“I... think so,” Kathy said.

“But I really hope not,” Barbara said. “That’s… disturbing.”

“I’m sure there’s a rational explanation for why a Viking is chasing a naked man down the street,” Kathy said somberly.

“I’m more interested in where he got a cucumber that size,” Judith said. The other two gave her a startled look. “It’s not a euphemism, you two. Look!”

“Oh, he really is carrying a cucumber,” Barbara said.

“And it is absurdly large,” Kathy agreed.

“How odd,” Judith said, and they all turned back to their coffee and talk of books.

NaNo Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Five
In which we learn more about cleaning products than we really want to, or will ever need to know.

Stephanie stared down at the matted, dirty carpet. She supposed getting this assignment was a bit of a blessing in disguise, though she had bristled slightly at the assumption, by her editor, that she would have a filthy carpet on which to test the cleaning products. But it was true, so she couldn’t bristle too much, and here she was, getting paid to clean her carpets.

Ned snored heavily on her couch, uninterrupted by the vacuum cleaner. She’d managed to get him stumbled home after he’d passed out in the restaurant, having declared himself a time traveling alien. The police had arrested the shooter on the spot, no one had gotten seriously hurt, and after giving her name and address she was allowed to drag Ned back to her place. She’d rather have put him in a taxi and sent him home, but he was in no shape to care for himself, and even though he was a complete nutter, she felt she should take care of him until he was conscious. The weird thing is that the little dog, Pippiment, was out cold as well. Almost as if he was as drunk as Ned was. Weird, but not something she had the time or energy to deal with right now.

Picking up the can of Resolve High Traffic Foam, she sprayed an even layer on the patch of carpeting that had sported a mysterious dark stain for longer than she could remember. Then she gently rubbed the stain with a towel, and… it was gone! Amazing, and while she waited for it to dry, she coated her grubby staircase with the rest of the foam. Unfortunately, this led to a noxious cloud of chemical odor that sent her coughing for the next room, and throwing open windows, despite the chilly air. She thought about scrubbing the carpet, but simply didn’t have the energy. So she settled on the chair next to the couch and its snoring occupant, and settled in to watch some TV while the foam dried.

This, unfortunately, took far longer than the can indicated it would, and several hours later, and several episodes of Hoarders later, which made her skin crawl and made her actually want to clean, the foam was still wet. She was hungry, and, despite her best judgment, left Ned still snoring on the couch to go and get some food. It was only a quick run to the fast food place down the street, she reasoned. It wouldn’t hurt. She poked him once, to see if he’d wake up so she could take him with her, and maybe drop him off somewhere, but he didn’t move. Pippiment, likewise, remained snoring and curled up in his lap. With a shrug, she picked up her keys and her spare set of keys, just in case, and went to get a late-night snack.

When she returned, it was to find her front door unlocked and her house guests nowhere to be found. A quick and frightening search of her house assured her that no one was there, and nothing appeared to be missing. It seemed Ned had awakened and simply disappeared, which was rather rude when you come to think of it. The stairs were still damp, so she settled back down in front of the television to eat her food, and that’s when she saw it. A small silver button, laying on the floor next to the couch. It shimmered softly in the flickering light of the television, and she reached down to pick it up. A shock went up her arm and she dropped it immediately. The room swayed, but re-focused. She shook her head, and, one eye still on the button, finished her food. It’d been too long of a day, and she was simply not equipped to deal with this right now. Cleaning, now, cleaning was something she could wrap her head around.

She checked on the stairs and determined they were finally dry enough to vacuum, though they still seemed a little on the damp side. It didn’t seem to make as much a difference on the ground-in dirt on the berber carpet as it had on the spot. Ah, well, on to the next product.

She pulled out the Bissell Little Green Clean Machine and followed the simple assembly instructions. Instead of adding soap, though, she decided to try to suck up any residual wet chemicals on the staircase. To her surprise, an amazing amount of soapy residue started pulling up from the carpet. She worried that the Resolve High Traffic Foam had left behind a lot of residue, so she went over to the spot she had cleaned earlier, on an area rug she knew didn’t have previous soap left in it. Nothing. So apparently, the foam was not to blame for all the soap in the stairs. The previous tenants had most likely cleaned the stairs and didn’t do a proper job if it, leaving behind a ton of soap. This, of course, would attract even more dirt, making the carpet a veritable dirt magnet. Of course, her haphazard vacuuming habits didn’t help, but it was nice to have something else to marginally blame it on.

Unfortunately, other than sucking up a lot of soapy residue, the Little Green Clean Machine didn’t do much on the stairs. She had to admit that they just might be a lost cause. So she moved on to another, newer area of plush carpet and tried out the machine on a few spots. She’d read about the soap clogging the machine, though, and since she’d get to keep the product she tested, decided not to gum up her machine. Plus, there was no way to change the concentration of the soap mixture, like there was on the large machine, once you filled up the reservoir, so you’d have to empty the container each time to rinse the carpet with clean water. So she used a small bottle of diluted soap and sprinkled it on the dirtiest spots, then used the machine to spray hot water and suck up the soap, water and dirt. It didn’t do a bad job, but it was noisier than she had noticed before, and by the time she was done, her ears were ringing. And her back was killing her.

She booted up her computer, made a cup of hot tea, and sat down to write her review as a guest reviewer. Apparently Mr. Don Jackson, the normal cleaning product reviewer, did not have suitably dirty carpets to fully test this product. Or he just had better things to do this weekend.

“I tried Resolve High Traffic carpet cleaning foam on two separate areas, and had two very different results. They were two different types of carpeting (standard plush and berber) and two different types of dirt (stained spot verses high traffic ground in dirt) and two different cleaning methods (rubbing verses letting it sit).

The first area I tried it on, a small discolored spot on plush carpet, is completely gone. In that instance, I sprayed on the foam and gently massaged it into the carpet with a small towel. I didn’t have to wait for it to dry to see the results, they were immediately apparent. The spot was gone. Subsequent vacuuming didn’t really do anything, other than presumably removing the leftover chemical flakes. I would highly recommend the product for this type of small spot cleaning.

The second area, a set of berber carpeted stairs that have seen better days, presented more than one problem. It took the entire can of foam to coat the stairs, which is not unexpected. The foam is a little pricey, though, and I’m not sure I’d want to spring for enough to do a huge area. Not only that, but when you spray an entire can of foam, the chemical smell is very intense. It wasn’t really noticeable when using just enough for a small spot, but when working a large area, it was overpowering. Then, the foam dissipated, but the stairs felt wet for hours, far longer than the product says. I did not rub too much on the stairs, because the small area I did rub with the towel did not have the same immediate effect as it did on the spot. Overall, there was very little improvement in the overall appearance of the steps. Whether this is because the product really isn’t capable of handling ground-in dirt, or if it’s a problem with the berber carpeting, I do not know. Another thing to note is when I used a carpet cleaner on the stairs, it pulled up a lot of soap that had been left in the carpeting from some previous (bad) cleaning. Whether this led to the carpeting clinging to the dirt more tightly than it otherwise would, I don’t know. However, even if it did a decent job of cleaning the carpeting, I still would not use it over a large area, as the smell is overpowering and honestly, it stayed damp as long as cleaning with a small carpet cleaner.

Verdict: very good for small, spot cleaning. Stick to conventional carpet cleaners for large, high-traffic areas.”

She rubbed her eyes and re-read the first review. Not anything that would earn her a Pulitzer, but it would do for the magazine. What could they expect on such short notice? She poured herself another cup of tea, and started in on the second review.

“I’ve used the Bissel Little Green Clean Pro-Heat machine two times so far, and have mixed feelings. One of the first things that bothered me is a feature that is available on the large machine that is not on this one – the ability to control the mixture of soap. In the large upright machines, the soap and water reservoirs are separate, and there is a dial you can use to adjust soap concentration on the fly. This may explain why I’ve never had the problem so many people have with this machine – the soap gumming up the heating unit – on the larger machine, since perhaps the water is heated before being mixed with the soap? At any rate, that feature allows you to ‘rinse’ areas of the carpet as you go, instead of having to mix a soapy solution, run that over the entire area, and then rinse out the water reservoir, fill it with clean water, and run over the carpet again to get out any soapy residue (leaving any soap in the carpet will attract new dirt even faster).

First, I used it on some highly trafficked berber steps, which already had a lot of embedded soap. I did not use any soap mixture, just ran the water/suction over the carpeting. This pulled up a lot of soap, and a lot of dirt, but did not do much to improve the overall look of the carpet. It may be that this particular berber (which people say is long-wearing, but I think shows wear a lot more than plush) is simply hopeless. The carpet stayed damp for quite some time, and the suction on the machine is only moderately good, but as long as you’re not using it over a large area during a really humid month, it was acceptable.

Then I moved on to another set of stairs, these having plush carpeting that was a lot newer. New enough they had never been cleaned, and had no embedded soap residue, and only minor wear and a few spots. For this, I mixed a small amount of solution in a bottle and sprinkled it over spots, but otherwise just used the water and brush to freshen up the carpet. This worked pretty well and though a few of the spots lingered (I’m not terribly surprised, there’s a reason people use tea to dye fabric!) the stairs look very much refreshed. Again, a fair amount of water remained in the carpet, but in a low-humidity month it wasn’t much of an issue.

Another couple of down sides are the inability to use the brush and the suction at the same time, and the placement of the switch on top of the brush makes it very easy to accidentally move (I push down fairly hard on top of the brush to try to get the best suction possible). The later being a mere annoyance, the former being something I really wish would be changed (again, to work more like the big machine).

Overall, I would say it’s handy enough for spot cleaning, and certainly a lot easier to pull out in the case of a spill than the large machine. I don’t really regret buying it, but I’m not certain it’s worth the price. If you have a decent place to store the larger one (which has a hose/small brush attachment) that you can get it out quickly and will use it, I’d probably recommend just going with that. If you really want convenience, and can adapt to/don’t mind the little things that aren’t quite right with this machine, it’s handy to have around.”

She e-mailed the articles to her editor, turned off the computer, and went to sit back on the couch. Too late she remembered the small silver button, and she accidentally stepped on it, a sharp shock going up her leg.

The room swam, dissolved, and everything went dark.

NaNo Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Four
In which Nenipven makes a grave tactical mistake as the result of too much alcohol, and accuses Stephanie of improper conduct with a parsnip. This puts a slight damper on their date, as you may well imagine.

“Sorry about that,” she said, returning to the table and closing her phone with a snap. “Work never ends when you’re a freelance journalist. They just called to ask me to review some products. On the up side, free products. On the down side, there goes my weekend.”

“On the upside, money,” Nenipven said. And then he hiccupped.

“How many glasses of wine have you had?” Stephanie asked suspiciously.

“I… don’t know,” Nenipven admitted. He didn’t even know how many would be considered a lot. “Four?”

“Hmmm,” she said noncommittally.

“Where were we?” he asked.

“I believe I was up by one… no, two.” She picked up her wine glass and swirled it, but didn’t take another sip. The waiter walked by, and she flagged him down to ask for coffee.

“Ah yes. Do you ever wonder, I wonder,” he swirled his wine and took another sip. “Why we do the things we do? Is it just for the challenge? And if so, why do we continue to do things long after we’ve proven we are up to the challenge? Is once not enough, and if not, then what is? How many challenges must we complete before we are satisfied and can simply say ‘yes, I can do that’ without having to prove it? And do our failures detract from our successes?”

Stephanie was thrown by the sudden conversational sidetrack, but she regrouped quickly. “You mean, failures are negatives, actually reducing the amount of successes?”

“Yeah, that,” he said. “So if a succeed once, but fail once, it’s like I’ve never succeeded. And worse yet, what if that one failure keeps you from feeling like you will ever be a success? That without a one hundred percent success rate, you are a failure?”

“Well, that would be sad. Everyone fails now and then, you have to learn to live with it. I think it’s mostly important to learn from our failures. Cliché, I know, but it really is true. You can’t let a failure hold you back forever. Where is all this coming from?”

“I… I… I…” He hiccupped suddenly. “I don’t know. I really don’t. I just feel like a miserable failure, and I don’t even know why. There’s something I’m supposed to do, something I’ve been trying to do, but I keep failing.”

“I think you’ve had a bit much,” she said, and made a move to pull the wine glass away from him.

“No!” he said sharply, pulling it out of her reach. “I haven’t had enough! It’s helping me remember. I didn’t even remember that I’d forgotten before the wine. Now, at least, I know there is something to remember, even if I can’t. I’d say that’s a step in the right direction, wouldn’t you?”

“I suppose?” She sounded hesitant.

“Damn straight. Now where were we? Just keep going, it helps to distract my mind from what I’m trying to remember.”

“Okay, I’ll go. I’ve never had the patience to learn to do any one thing really, really well. There’s always something new I want to try, so I never devote enough time to practicing the things I already sort of know how to do.” She stirred sugar into the coffee the waiter brought her.

“True. You are the type who’s always up for something new,” he guessed.

“You are correct. Your turn.”

“I’m a horrible teacher. I mean, I’m patient enough when it comes to silly things, like waiting in the queue at the Galaxy club, because there are girls to oogle and that’s never a waste of time, but I can’t explain things well. I don’t know why they thought I could be a teacher. I’m a little like you, always looking for something new, and teaching the old over and over chafed, which is why…” His voice drifted off, and he was lost in thought for a moment. “Which is why I went looking for something, and found it. And it changed – no, ruined – my life. Anyway, I expect people to know everything that’s going on in my head, to know what I know, which makes teaching very difficult. I can do a decent set of written instructions, though, given the time and motivation.”

“Oh, you just had to tack that last one on there, eh? Very well, I’ll say all true.”

“And you would be correct,” he said, but he was still thinking about whatever it was that had jogged his memory.

“My turn. I suffer from extreme sleep inertia. I frequently wake up extremely confused and disoriented, and cannot distinguish dreams from reality. In fact, just the other day I had a dream about a good friend of mine, who – in the dream, not in real life – got a hideous super short haircut and dyed her hair the palest blonde, which looked horrible on her. I hedged when she asked me what I thought, but then did say I thought she looked better with the darker hair. She got really mad at me, claimed I never supported anything she did, and threw me out of her house, saying I was never welcome there again.” She paused, and he looked at her as if to reassure her that, despite the preoccupied look on his face, his was listening. “And for some reason I needed to get back into the house. I think it was because I’d forgotten something, or left something, or… hell, maybe I wanted to steal something? I can’t remember. But I climbed up in through a second-story window and was rummaging through her dresser. And the room wasn’t her room, but it was, you know the way that works in dreams?”

“Yeah, I once had a dream my boss backed over a gorilla in the parking garage, only word didn’t have a parking garage,” he said.

“Exactly, but in the dream you know it is work, and it is work’s non-existent parking garage, somehow. It was like that. It wasn’t her house, but it was. Anyway, I don’t know if I found what I was looking for, but I woke up, and I was completely convinced that she was mad at me in real life. Even though I kept telling myself it was just a dream, it still bugged me. I couldn’t get over it. Until I finally say her, and she assured me she wasn’t mad at me – and I saw she hadn’t cut or dyed her hair.” She took a sip of her coffee. “Even though, logically, I knew it was a dream, it felt so real. I couldn’t make myself believe that it was just a dream, not deep down. Some irrational part of me still believed it. How stupid is that?”

“It’s not, I think a lot of people have that problem. But from the level of detail, I’m going to say that one’s a gimme and it’s true,” he said.

“Oh, you’re right. I’d kind of forgotten I was supposed to be trying to fool you. Got a little carried away.” She gave a little laugh. “That one just really bothers me. I see it as a character flaw, when logic and reason don’t emerge victorious.”

“Well, sometimes there are good reasons for those feelings. Not, perhaps, in your case, but sometimes. I mean, not in this case of your case, but sometimes for you, just not now,” he hastily amended.

“I know what you mean. It’s just hard, when you’re used to being all reasonable and logical, to have emotion ride in and triumph, you know?”

“Well, not really. I’m pretty emotional, and I rely on gut feeling and intuition a lot,” he admitted. “It’s saved my skin more than once, so I’ve learned to depend on it.”

“Yes, I can see how in some situations, like noticing someone who gives you an uncomfortable feeling in a park at night, could help you out. But how could thinking someone was mad at you help anything?”

“You never know. Maybe, because you were worried that you had upset a friend by saying something that hurt her feelings, you didn’t say something else that day. Maybe that sense of worry over what you’d said, or felt like you’d said, led to you not saying something in real life that could have had dire consequences.” He raised his glass, but it was empty. She pushed her still mostly full glass over to him, and he took it with a grateful smile.

“Okay, I’ll admit that is plausible, though it’s not something you can ever know. What would have been, what could have been, that sort of thing. Unless, I suppose, you believe in an infinite number if parallel universes where every possible permutation of every possible decision are being played out as we speak.” She laughed. “And we could find a way to travel between them.”

“No, not an infinite number, just the two,” he said somberly, and catching her startled look, quickly added. “You know, this one and the other one where all the evil guys have goatees?”

She laughed, and he relaxed. The alcohol was breaking down the barriers in his memory, but it was also loosening his tongue, and that was not good. Pretty soon he’d be telling her about… something. It darted across the back of his mind, and was gone. He sipped her glass of wine and willed himself to relax. It would come back, when he wasn’t thinking about it.

“Okay, my turn,” he said, but whatever he was going to say was cut off but a loud bang as a shot shattered the large glass picture window across the front of the restaurant. Pippiment, startled out of his snooze, leapt off Nenipven’s lap and shot under the table. Nenipven scooted around the table, grabbed Stephanie, and pulled her down.

“What was that?” she gasped.

“Just someone shooting up the café,” he said mildly, as more shots rang out. “We’ll be fine if we stay here.”

“How can you be sure of that?”

“Because I’m an inter-dimensional time traveling being and we know these things,” he said absently. Then he paused. “Oh, bugger, did I say that out loud?”