BLOG: What are priorities, anyway??

Recently I finished up the last of a synopsis for a screenplay, vowing to finish it before embarking on my next novel project. Before that, I vowed my next novel would be set in a gothic western world before I embarked on any more science fiction novels.

So where do I find myself yesterday morning? Beginning a new friggin science fiction novel. We'll see how it goes, but here's how it starts:

The field was soft green grass, for as far as the eye could see and beyond. When he walked his legs barely felt any weight, and when he ran he glided, the waves on waves of lush grass brushing the bottoms of his bare feet. Faster, and faster he ran until he flitted across the plain with the dashing speed of an electric charge. Hundreds of miles of green field were left behind in a matter of moments, and hundreds of miles of green field still lay ahead.

Lifting their heads to watch him pass were varied breeds of great animals, some with four legs and some with six, some with fur and some naked as newborns. Among them were some that were terrifying, eighteen feet high with teeth the length of a man’s shin. These beasts, like the others, grazed peacefully, their bodies slowly swaying with the breeze in harmony with the tall grass upon which they chewed. As the running figure sped by them, each animal raised its head in curiosity, and though the creatures could not accurately be said to smile, their faces filled with graciousness. The smallest of the animals could not be immediately seen, for they mingled with the grass itself, barely the size of a little fingernail. They bounded and leaped six inches above the ground as his feet sped past them, and none were crushed by his light footfalls.

Speeding on past these herds, the runner found the plain’s flatness interrupted by gradual hills, rolling one into the next and building one on the other until they were no longer gradual but magnificent. As he ran he found it took as little effort to climb the hills as to descend, and with no loss of speed or sensation of weight.

The grass beneath his feet began to give way to soft, damp moss, and from moss to gray stone that, while sharp and smooth, neither cut his feet nor caused him to slip. Before his eyes a mountain appeared, dwarfing its foothills and climbing so high into the sky that the top could not be seen through the high, bright clouds. He knew he must reach the top of the mountain in order to glimpse the views of the lands below, even if he had to run all day and night. But night never came. The sun moved more slowly than he thought was possible and the day showed no signs of ending any time soon. “Of course,” he found himself half-thinking, half-shouting; “the days are longer here.”

As he climbed higher and higher the mountain grew steeper, until he could no longer achieve altitude with his feet only. He crawled up precipitous valleys and then began to climb when only cliff faces presented themselves. Hand over hand, leaping from jutting rock to jutting rock, he still felt light as a feather and his arms never threatened to feel weariness.

Now he was in the clouds and the green landscape was invisible behind him. He could not see the top of the mountain but he knew he must be near. A little more climbing, and then he could rest and wait for the clouds to clear away. Then he could look down and see Earth.

The mountain shook, suddenly and violently. His hands nearly lost their hold on the rock and his climb was momentarily paused. The mountain shook again. This was not the familiar vibration of a bombing, but something else, something moving from within the mountain itself. “Earthquake,” was the word on his lips as his eyes grew wide with excitement and fear. But the word never left his mouth. With a deafening roar the mountain wrenched and jolted. A hot red glow appeared high above, illuminating the fog and clouds at the summit. A moment later he saw the lava, flowing down the rocks above and making its way swiftly to the cliff face upon which he hung.

There was no fear. There was only joy. The danger and the imminence of death were afterthoughts; the boiling grey fog, the distant white-tipped peaks, the bright red molten rock gliding with gentle inevitability down from the mountaintop, all painted above the image of endless green below where the clouds had begun to give way - it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

The mountain shook.

“Thirty…atmosphere…brace…rough ride…” Mingled with the noise of the exploding mountain it was garbled and hard to hear, but it was a human voice, and it came from the air all around him. It did not belong in this place.

Key woke up.

The cabin was shaking violently. More violently than usual, that was. The room’s dark metal walls blinked erratically in and out of darkness as the cabin’s single lightglobe flickered. Key tried to sit up in his bunk but a sudden jerk flung him sideways, his head thumping against the pipe conduit that ran alongside the bed.

“That sounded painful,” Gravy growled dispassionately. The old man was fidgeting with the wires behind the lightglobe, and his words flowed seamlessly in and out from a torrent of muttered curses.

“I’ll live.” Key put his hand to his sandy hair and felt a knot growing behind his right ear, but no blood. “But apparently I can’t sleep for ten minutes without the damn ship falling apart.”

“Ten minutes if I’m a virgin. You were asleep for two hours.” The hardened wrinkles in Gravy’s face pinched together as he scowled at the electric connection. “The whole onboard mainframe is going wobbly. Lights are shot and the intercom’s spazzing.”

As if to prove his statement true, the intercom crackled to life and a tinny sound, barely recognizable as the voice of the pilot, swam through the static. “Hitting atmosphere…twenty minutes…advise bracing yourself…turbulent descent.”