Sunday, August 26, 2018

Vacation Planning: Washington DC

It's silly to do this when we are incredibly broke, and I have a dozen other things on my mind.
That's exactly why I need to do it.

Driving time is about 14 hours, for the 850 miles, with the time change and without breaks. It may be a 2 day trip.

Hotel costs. The Comfort Inn in Springfield offers a breakfast buffet and a shuttle to the Metro at about $85/night. Not terrible.

The Must-Dos

The Metro into town takes about half an hour. We may need to look into passes for the system, since it's about $5 each way. Parking is very limited in the city.

Smithsonian: Free. Allow a day for each
Air and Space Museum because we are huge science and space nuts.

The Natural History Museum.

The National Zoo

The Lincoln Memorial and Washington Monument and Mall.
The Library of Congress tour

Monuments by Moonlight is the one tour I've wanted to take for years, ever since I found out about it while researching a book that never got written. It's $43, but sounds ridiculously romantic.It's 2 1/2 hours long.


An Anniversary dinner. I kind of favor Zaytinya, (one of DC's 10 best romantic restaurants) The lamb bahar looks good, so do the sea scallops.

Side trips, pending interest:

The National Gallery of Art. Not Mudd's thing but I like a good art gallery

Mount Vernon: $20/person, at least 3 hours.

Monticello: $30/person

I've wanted to go to Colonial Williamsburg since I was a kid. It's about $41/person. And I still want to visit.

So I'm thinking about a week.
Leave on Saturday, stay the night around Knoxville, arrive Sunday.
Monday: the landmarks and tours. the big dinner
Tuesday-Thursday: Smithsonian, combine art gallery and zoo day
Friday we take one of the side trips (I'm bucking for Williamsburg, more expensive but an all day thing)
Saturday head home
Sunday arrive home.

It sounds like fun. Now to arrange the money.

Planning for the Week Ahead

Sunday:

Vacuum A/C see if I can get it working
Laundry
food inventory
grocery shop
dinner: BBQ pork
do dishes after dinner
make cocoa krispy treats
Fold clothes
lay out clothes for tomorrow
make lunch


Monday:

Shower
devotions
breakfast
Listen to audiobook on way to work
Work, 5:30 AM
Gym
write
Work 1 PM
Listen to audiobook  on way home
Dinner: burgers

Tuesday

devotions
breakfast
Listen to audiobook  on way to work
work 5:30-9:30
gym 9:45
write 11:30
Lunch 12:30
Work 1-5
Dinner on the run
6:30-9:30 Michaels

Wednesday

devotions
breakfast
Listen to audiobook  on way to work
work 5:30-9:30
gym 9:45
write 11:30
Lunch 12:30
Work 1-5
Listen to audiobook  on way home
dinner Alice Springs Chicken pasta

Thursday

devotions
breakfast
Listen to Guns Germs and Steel on way to work
work 5:30-9:30
gym 9:45
write 11:30
Lunch 12:30
Work 1-5
Listen to Guns Germs and Steel on way home
dinner: pork stuffing

Friday

devotions
breakfast
Listen to audiobook  on way to work
work 5:30-9:30
gym 9:45
write 11:30
Lunch 12:30
Work 1-5
Volunteer at FurMeet

Saturday
Volunteer FurMeet


Goals for the week:
Physical
Get back in the gym habit
track my food
take my meds
Sleep with CPAP (SpaceMom wants me to!)

Mental:
Finish The Adversary
Watch 1 movie

Social:
do the Memory reblog every day
Spend time with Mudd, every day

Spiritual:
Daily devotional practice to Hera and Hermes.
Read 3 things about the Morrigan

Writing:
Finish "The Construct Job"
Work on other stories
Start the piece about the unreal school buses

Promotional:
Schedule 10 tweets about patreon
Read an article on SEO

Cleaning:
Make bed
Take out trash
Clean around my chair

Crafting:
Finish the afghan
get going on baby afghans

Sunday, August 19, 2018

Planning for the Week Ahead

Sunday:

Laundry
food inventory

watermelon
grocery shop
breakfast casserole
dinner
do dishes after dinner
make rice pudding
Fold clothes
Assemble gym bag
lay out clothes for tomorrow
make lunch

Monday:

Shower
devotions
breakfast
Listen to Guns Germs and Steel on way to work
Work, 5:30 AM
WT at 10 AM, Three Little pigs
Work 1 PM
Listen to Guns Germs and Steel on way home
Dinner: Chicken alfredo soup

Tuesday
Shower
devotions
breakfast
Listen to Guns Germs and Steel on way to work
work 5:30-9:30
gym 9:45
write 11:30
Lunch 12:30
Work 1-5
Listen to Guns Germs and Steel on way home
Dinner, Jambalaya

Wednesday
Shower
devotions
breakfast
Listen to Guns Germs and Steel on way to work
work 5:30-9:30
gym 9:45
write 11:30
Lunch 12:30
Work 1-5
Listen to Guns Germs and Steel on way home
dinner spaghetti

Thursday
Shower
devotions
breakfast
Listen to Guns Germs and Steel on way to work
work 5:30-9:30
gym 9:45
write 11:30
Lunch 12:30
Work 1-5
Listen to Guns Germs and Steel on way home
dinner: spam sandwiches

Friday
Shower
devotions
breakfast
Listen to Thuvia Maid of Mars on way to work
work 5:30-9:30
gym 9:45
write 11:30
Lunch 12:30
Work 1-5
Listen to Thuvia Maid of Mars on way home
Dinner: burritos

Saturday
Michaels 1-930


Goals for the week:
Physical
Get back in the gym habit
track my food
take my meds
Sleep with CPAP (SpaceMom wants me to!)

Mental:
Finish Guns Germs and Steel
Finish The Adversary
Watch 1 movie

Social:
do the Memory reblog every day
Spend time with Mudd, every day

Spiritual:
Daily devotional practice to Hera and Hermes.
Read 3 things about the Morrigan

Writing:
Finish "The Construct Job"
Start the piece about the unreal school buses
And I forgot this week was the H/L fest
https://skysolofest.tumblr.com/post/176974286966/skysolo-fest-schedule-announcement-welcome-to
DAY ONE: Modern/Tropes
DAY TWO: Fix It
DAY THREE: Canon Compliant
DAY FOUR: Scene Stealer (AUs from filmographies!)
DAY FIVE: Role Reversal
DAY SIX: Free Space
DAY SEVEN: Appreciation Day

Promotional:
Schedule 10 tweets about patreon
Read an article on SEO

Cleaning:
Clear small bedroom
Make bed
Put up AC unit
Take out trash
take out soda boxes

Crafting:
Finish the afghan

Tuesday, August 14, 2018

At a crossroad

I'm in a quandary and need to write it out.

Option 1:

I give up. I take to my bed as my great great grandmother did, and no longer worry about whether the family is a going concern.

Why it appeals: Mudd got a year off with a broken back. Jon got a year off and hid in his room. When do I get MY year off?
Pros: takes the pressure of making a living off me.
Cons: My back will be hurting before supper time. And I'll die of malnutrition if I leave it to the guys to cook. And Mudd will pester me for input on every decision anyway, no matter how many times I tell him to leave me alone.

Option 2:

I crawl back to the school bus and Michaels

Why it appeals:
A known schedule. A steady paycheck. The gym. Writing time.
Pros: Set schedule, predictable pay. Benefits. A job I know I can do. Comfortable
Cons: 6-7 day workweek. Brutal hours, 4:30 AM to 6:30 PM. Pay is enough to get by, not enough to thrive. Admitting I'm a fraud. One more failure in the list.

Option 3:

I call a number I have and say my bylath sent me.

Why it appeals: Trucking again. All Fed-ex line haul. Maybe even dedicated.
Pros: Line haul is drop and hook. One customer. Known destinations. Home several nights a week. New Equipment. growing company. Decent pay but not top money.
Cons: 42c/mile. No benefits (company is too small) Starting from square one.

Option 4:

I continue training with the place I've been and get on with them.

Why it appeals: Truck driving.
Pros: Trucker pay. 50c/mile. benefits. All drop and hook or live load. Possibility of some steady Williams Sonoma work. Paperwork is all done.
Cons: OTR. All my OTR memories are trauma memories. Terrifying Not much home time. I'm failing egregiously at the backing up part. Hitting docks is not my best skill. Company fines you every time you turn around. Possible money laundering/Russian Mob company. Chicago every three months.

Friday, August 10, 2018

Vacation Planning


I indulged myself today.

I told Mudd I wanted to go to Disney for our 30th anniversary. The trip I have in mind is about $5000. That's hotel, parks and food. The flight is extra (about $250 for 2 of us).  Which, for that kind of money, we could go to Maui, and take a cruise of Canada and New England. (Hmmm).

He's hesitant because Disney was never his thing and he's never been.

He likes the idea of a Washington DC trip. I like it too. That's the next trip plan. (I also want to do the full immersion Star Wars thing at Disney, but I think that's me and Gabriel for our 5th in 2020) Also Wizarding world of Harry Potter and Universal Studios as part of a Florida Vacation.

So today, I sat and planned it all. I stopped fantasizing and put it all on paper.  I'd take advice from seasoned Disney travelers.

BTW:  how do I get him to wear the mouse ears and the Anniversary button?





***

We'd fly in on Sunday and check in to the All Star Movie (hoping for the Fantasia side) or All Star Music (Broadway) resort.
Maybe get a steak at the World Premiere food court.
Then either over to Animal Kingdom resort for nighttime animal viewing or a Pirates and pals dessert  and fireworks cruise (extra charge)

***

Monday we'd start with Hollywood Studios.



Get FastPasses for Star Tours (Star Wars galactic tour simulator), the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror (safety inspected by Mr. Cadwallader) and ToyStory Mania (which sounded delightful).

Catch the first Indiana Jones Stunt show, which is usually less crowded, grab a funnel cake for breakfast, and watch the younglings who have just been through the Jedi training Academy do their show. 

Take in MuppetVision 3D and Voyage of the Little Mermaid (sitting down, in the AC), and anything else we want to see. Lunch at the ABC Commissary where the BBQ rib platter sounds good or Fairfax Fare for chicken and spareribs. If we get noshy later in the day, I hear the carrot cake cookies at Writers' Stop (whoopie pies really) are terrific.

Dinner is at Hollywood and Vine which is not only a basic buffet (meat, pasta, vegetables), but also gives us preferred seating for the Fantasmic show later. Sorcerer'sApprentice!Mickey does a mixed media laser and music show.

This would be a laid back, take it slow day, with only a few (8) things on the To Do list.


***

Tuesday, we do Epcot



Get FastPasses for Soarin' (virtual hang gliding tour), Space Mission Orange or Green (Spaceflight simulator, orange pulls some Gs), and Spaceship Earth (dark ride history of communication). (all in FutureWorld)

Start in Norway, with some School Bread from the Kringla Bakery, and hop the Frozen Ever After ride while we're there and then visit the Stave Church for the Gods of the Vikings exhibit.  Pause in Mexico for a view in El Espejo de los Muertos (the mirror of the Dead), where you can become a skeleton from Coco. And then on the Test track and design and drive our own race car (if the lines aren't long)

Catch our FastPasses, and maybe Living with The Land (greenhouses and hydroponics), Journey through the Imagination and the Spectaculab science show.

Then, after a showing of O Canada, we walk on to the UK and have fish and chips at Yorkshire County. Then onward to Impressions of France and a snack from Halles bakery (the ham and cheese croissant or potato leek soup look good), Morocco and Japan. The American Experience may be worth seeing. Then Italy and Germany, and the Reflections of China.
Dinner will be decided by palate: the Biergarten has a buffet, the Moroccan pavilion has an amazing looking kebab dinner, or the Rose and Crown is always good.

We'll find a comfortable place and catch the IllumiNations fireworks show.


***

Wednesday is the bum around the resort and recover day.
Beignets at Port Orleans, and riding the monorail to check out the hotels if we want.
Soup of the Moment at the Mara in Animal Kingdom Lodge and watch the animals
Swimming
Whatever afternoon activities look like fun. (check the schedule at the front desk)
Basically, a day to rest up before plunging into Thursday.
Dinner is Quick Service, either the Contempo Cafe (mmm, Italian beef sandwiches) or Captain Cook's
And maybe a Disney Movie under the stars or the Chip and Dale singalong at Fort Wilderness.


****

Thursday, we hit the Magic Kingdom (query MK survive impact)
This takes more planning since there is a LOT I want to see and do.




We have FastPasses for the Haunted Mansion, Pirates of the Caribbean, and the Jungle Cruise
We start with the before-opening 0800 seating at the Crystal Palace Breakfast Buffet
(I want the Breakfast Lasagna: Waffles, pancakes and poundcake with pastry cream, drenched in custard and baked like French toast, sprinkled with fruit) Stuff ourselves silly on omelets, bacon, sausage, ham, potatoes, pastries and Mickey Waffles.

Since we're in before everyone else, we can make our way to the back of the park to Fantasyland, and catch Peter Pan's flight, the Seven Dwarves mine train (optional), and the Mad Tea Party before the lines explode. Mickey's PhilharMagic Concert finishes the visit.

Then, we head to Tomorrowland for the Monsters Inc Laugh Floor show (which I hear is hilarious on a bad day and side-splitting on a good one) and a bit of shopping at Merchant of Venus. The People Mover is also an option in this area.

Across the roundabout to Liberty Square for the Haunted Mansion, the Liberty Square Riverboat and the Hall of Presidents (optional).  Despite the enormous breakfast, we're probably getting peckish.

Adventureland is where we have two more fastpasses, and I want to watch the Pirate Academy show as I have a Dole Whip. The Enchanted Tiki Room show is an option.

Frontierland doesn't hold too much interest, although I want to ride the Big Thunder Mountain Railroad. Tom Sawyer Island is always a place to sit in the shade a bit. Dinner at Pecos Bill's for TexMex before we catch the Walt Disney Railroad back to Main Street USA. Or we can get something at Columbia Harbour House and catch the train in Fantasy Land.

There, we can catch Mickey's Royal Friendship Faire, Sorcerers of the Magic Kingdom or the Barbershop Quartet before the firework show (optional)


***

Friday is our last park day. This is for Animal Kingdom



We get fastpasses for Avatar: Flight of Passage, Kilimanjaro Safari and Dinosaur.

Breakfast starts unconventionally at Eight Spoons Cafe with pulled pork mac and cheese. And while we're there, we can do the Discovery Island trails.

In Dinoland USA, we catch Dinosaur, a dark ride trip to the past, and anything else that looks interesting. This area is mostly geared to the younger set. Maybe a ride on the Primeval Whirl. It is a roller coaster and neither of us is much for that.

Pandora is across the way and we have a fastpass for Flight of Passage, which simulates riding a flying banshee creature. This sounded amazing. The Nav'i River journey is supposed to be gorgeous.
Lunch at the Satu'li canteen sounds very adventurous with a grilled beef and chicken bowl that is seasoned with garlic and served over noodles or rice.

In Africa, we have a fastpass for the Kilimanjaro Safari, and the Festival of the Lion King show looks gorgeous. The Gorilla Falls exploration trail and wildlife express train look worthwhile.

In Asia, the Yak and Yeti Chicken Egg Rolls are not to be missed, and the Anandapu Chicken Fried Rice will hold us until a late dinner at Tusker House. The self-guided walking tour Maharajah Jungle Trek looks good, as does the bird show, Flights of Wonder. Kali River Rapids will get us soaked but is an option. The Expedition Everest coaster looks too exciting.

Our last dinner is at Tusker House Buffet, with the pass for the Rivers of Light show. Peri peri salmon, roast chicken and pork, curry and tandoori and a variety of side dishes. But chocolate chip cookies and brownies in among things like passion fruit spice cake and muffins with nutella.



On Saturday, we pack up, wipe out any remaining food credits (1-2 snack credits) for breakfast: Beignets and Dole whip for breakfast! (I kid) And fly home.




Facebook posts on the subject

https://www.facebook.com/nick.rowan.9678/posts/312050326006802

https://www.facebook.com/nick.rowan.9678/posts/329980497547118



Monday, August 6, 2018

The Sweet Science of Bruising

If you enjoy this, you can get the rest as a serial at my Patreon, only $1/mo

https://patreon.com/NickRowan



The Sweet Science of Bruising
or

An Erotic Steampunk Melodrama in Three Acts

Nick Rowan



Act One

Chapter One





Lillian swallowed hard and closed the door of her house soundlessly behind her. She made her way across the backyard, heart thudding, and froze when the dog down the block barked once.

Silliness, pure silliness. She wasn't a skulking runaway to startle at every shadow. She was off on an adventure, a dangerous one, but still an adventure. Besides, she decided as she set her hand on the gate and let herself out of the yard, a man wouldn't sneak. He'd be quiet but he'd walk as if he had every right to be out and about.

And tonight, she was a man. She had cut off a good foot of her long black hair and burned it in the stove. The pants and shirt she wore, bought cheaply from a passing trader, made her feel immodest and half-dressed, as if she was going about in her underthings. The band that compressed her breasts chafed her ribs and the serape that concealed the rest of her shape made the night almost too warm. A trickle of sweat ran down the back of the band and itched abominably. The money pouch felt too heavy and she wondered if she should have brought less than five dollars.

But her driver, Elliot, had said the entry bribe was three dollars, a hefty price. The fight was illegal, bare-knuckle boxing being a violent affair, so they had to pay off the proper officials to even hold it. She had given Elliot his own three dollar entry fee, and another dollar to place a wager for her on whomever he thought likeliest to win.

No women were allowed at the illegal boxing matches. Most didn't venture abroad after dark. It was unseemly and dangerous. Abilene had been a cow town for many years, and even appointing Wild Bill Hickok as the Marshal hadn't totally salvaged it from the drovers and attendant low-lives. The streets were safer now, but decent folks stayed in. Unlike cities back east with street lamps and electric lights, the prairie nights were dark.

She stepped carefully, the fat orange moon lighting her way. It would be easy enough to step in a prairie dog hole and break her leg. That would be a fine way to be found in the morning, A lantern would have been a wise idea, but it also would have given her away.

In her long life of odd behavior, this would certainly set tongues wagging if word got out. It was no secret in Abilene, that the late Artemus Shaw had wanted a son and that he had raised his daughter to be as eccentric as he had been. He was a man ahead of his time, and because of him, her house was the most modern in town, with gaslights, indoor plumbing, including hot water, and even a telephone.

She'd heard the saying that curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought him back. In Lillian's world, that proverbial feline was nine times dead, despite reviving, and she was working on the rest of the cat colony.  And tonight, she would have a world of her curiosity satisfied.

Then perhaps she could invent for a while before being spurred into something new. Her insatiable curiosity drove her to read and invent and tinker. It broke up her sleep, waking her with half-formed ideas until she had taken to keeping a pencil by the bed. Let her maid, Flossie, complain of the scribbled-on sheets, she had no intention of losing ideas by waking completely or falling back into dreams.

She had improved both the kitchen water pump and the stove. She had rerouted the gaslights to something a bit less dangerous than an open flame on a tube of gas. But her prize was the soother.

Lillian was not married at the age of twenty-eight and never intended to be. Nor could she take a lover. She had begun inventing these shortly after her parents died, basing it on the drawings in an anatomy book, and did a small underground business among the ladies of Abilene. But her inventions lacked a certain verisimilitude. Gossip had it the men boxed naked. Ever the perfectionist, Lillian had taken matters into her own hands.

She made her way out of the little town and to the place where a caravan was parked, with a much larger drayage wagon near it. It was a long walk and the moccasins she had bought had thin places in the soles that didn't match her feet. She kept walking, carrying herself as tall as she could.

Tonight, she was a man, she reminded herself. She had pinned her braids tightly to the top of her head, hoping very much that the darkness and excitement would keep most men from looking too closely at her.

Men didn't really see women anyway, she'd found. For the most part, they saw dresses and bonnets, tipped their hats and went about their business. They recognized buggies or wagons or horses before they recognized a woman in a new dress or bonnet. She'd learned that years ago. At fourteen, she had worn her mother's favorite striped day dress outside on errands, and every man she passed had called her Ruth, her mother's name. Only the bank clerk had recognized her face. She planned to use this knowledge to her advantage.

A large black tent had been put up, and two big men stood at the door. Lillian held onto her bribe and marched up, like the young man she was pretending to be. She named herself Ben, after the recent president, and was prepared to say it if asked.

Ben wouldn't be afraid, even though the men were bigger than he was. He walked right in, slipped the bribe into the hand of the guard and took a place not far from the double ring of stakes and ropes that marked the fighting area.

The tent filled quickly, with white men from town, Chinese and black men from the railroad camp, rough looking men who had holed up at the abandoned fort, and Cheyenne from the local tribe. Each kept to their own group. Lillian felt small and a little scared as the men pushed in around her. They surrounded her, leaving her with no way out of the tent. She almost couldn't move. She didn't dare elbow for more space, politeness too ingrained even a decade after her mother's passing.

The interior was painted with scenes from Greek mythology, with spacers of the various Greek goddesses. They stood arrayed around the edge: regal Hera, stern and forbidding with her peacock's neck curling lewdly up her leg; martial Athena, in amazonian armor that left one breast bare; athletic Artemis, bare to the waist as she lifted her bow, the crescent moon on her brow; wanton Aphrodite, naked on her seashell. Between each, nude men competed in races, at throwing javelins, hurling discus and wrestling. The art surprised her, and set a much different tone than she had expected of such a disreputable event.

She was very near the ropes, just outside the outer rope barrier. Horse and sweat, coal and tar, tobacco and alcohol filled her nose. She couldn't sneeze, that would be disastrous. She had a squeak of a sneeze that could be mistaken for nothing other than a woman.

Someone passed her a lit cigar and she passed it to the man beside her, Mr. Jordan from the bank, she realized.  He barely noticed her with his eyes fixed on the ring, but took the cigar and puffed it as he waited. A flask came her way and she rubbed the mouth with her sleeve. She meant to take a small sip, just enough to give her some courage but, by trying not to touch the opening, she wound up pouring a healthy slug into her mouth. The cheap whiskey burned all the way down, but she managed not to sputter. She passed that on to Mr. Jordan as well. He made a disgusted face and passed it to the next man.

The men kept pressing. She saw many faces she knew, but kept her own hat pulled as low as she could and trusted her shorter stature to keep her from being recognized. Just when Lillian thought she would have to sneeze or shove or do something untoward, a bell sounded.

An older man in a vest and shirtsleeves, wearing a bowler hat over his mutton-chop whiskers, came out and stood in the middle of the ring. He looked over the crowd and nodded before vanishing. Lillian thought he looked at her a little too long. Then another man, a little younger, in a frock-coat and top hat with a sinister thin mustache came out and held up his hands. The crowd quieted. Lillian tried not to giggle. He looked like a melodrama villain, like the one she had seen last year when the traveling actors passed through. She doubted he would be tying anyone to a keg of gunpowder though.

He held up his hands and the men quieted. “Gentlemen, welcome to this evening's entertainment.” His voice was sharp and accented like something back east. There was a nasal sound to it and an edge as he launched into the announcement. “Tonight for your pleasure and edification, Turlough McGuire, the Belfast Assassin, will perform pugilistic feats never before seen by human beings. His opponent, your own Mr. George McKenzie, must last one full half of an hour or knock him out to win.” The man beckoned to someone backstage. When no one emerged, he continued. “Big George McKenzie, from Great Bend, able to lift a yearling calf from the ground or wrestle a steer barehanded, tonight will take on the undefeated Belfast Assassin in a match to the humiliation.”

Lillian watched avidly. George McKenzie was a roustabout and drifter, forever in trouble in the town. The big blond man would work for a month, or two months, on a ranch, and then come into town, drink and gamble away his earnings, get into a fight, spend a week in the jail and start it all over. It was said no woman was safe when he was around and that he stole chickens when no one was watching the hen house.

George came out, wearing nothing whatsoever. Lillian managed to keep her mouth from hanging open. Her own near-nakedness in the men's clothing was uncomfortable and odd. His was just shocking. She reminded herself this was why she had come tonight. He was a tall man, with sturdy muscles from much hard work, but a soft area around his middle. A dusting of chest hair thickened on his belly to a deep golden triangle.

She stared at her first sight of a man's penis. It hung, soft-looking, like a tube the size of a couple fingers, between his legs. Darker shapes moved behind it. She studied it, comparing it with her own devices at home, invented for the prevention of nervous hysteria. Her designs needed some serious revisions. She hoped to market the single most realistic, most effective device ever made for gentle ladies.

The men around the ring applauded. She wondered why he was naked.

“As we stand within this temple of sport, gentlemen, you will see on the walls, depictions of the Olympics, in which the competitors were always naked, displaying themselves in full view of their gods. And also to keep any women from slipping in on the sly.” An appropriate laugh met this. There could be no doubt that everyone in the ring was very male.

“Our man, Turlough, has fought fifty different men inside these ropes. And he has taken down every one of them. He puts them on the ground, and, like the Spartans of old, he fucks them into the dirt. Because that is his prize!”

Big George McKenzie looked a little worried at that statement, although he had to have known the stakes when he had signed on for the fight. Lillian watched curiously to see what the visitor would look like, too startled to even be horrified at the crude words.

“Straight from the Auld Sod, born in a bog and weaned on poteen, sent to America for killing a man with one blow of his mighty fist, Turlough, the Belfast Assassin!”

Another man, leaner, more scarred, but just as naked as George, came out from the curtains, followed by the man with the mutton-chops. He looked around the tent and his eyes settled on her. His scarred face crinkled and she saw a flash of white in amid the small, closely trimmed beard he wore. He was smiling, smiling at her. No, that was ridiculous, nobody knew she was a woman. She met his gaze and gave him a defiant sneer. When his attention turned, she stole a look down and saw the rather smaller cock between his legs was starting to grow. As she watched, it got noticeably longer and rather thicker.

He smiled, letting it turn vicious, his mustache and beard making it seem broader, and his badly scarred face—his cheeks shaved to show it better—wrinkling in odd ways. It went to a complete grimace, his crooked, sharp-looking teeth bared at the crowd in defiance, as if daring them to comment on his nakedness, on his tastes. He coupled it with a growl. A couple of the men stepped back from the ropes. Lillian kept looking, memorizing the relative size and shape. He gave her a wink and stepped to greet his opponent.

The men shook hands and went to their corners. The crowd got very quiet and the growing tension in the tent made Lillian's neck hair stand up. The fight was about to start. She wondered what was going to happen. Would one of them be hurt? Would Turlough really... She couldn't even think the word. The wait was interminable and her adventurous research was almost more excitement than she could bear. The man with the mutton chops hit a bell with a hammer and the fight was on.

Big George came out of his corner, almost rushing like a bull, ready to overwhelm his opponent with speed and weight. Turlough sidestepped him and Lillian heard a meaty thump as he punched George in the belly.

George gasped for air and landed one glancing blow on the side of Turlough's face, barely enough to turn the skin red. Turlough stayed in close and planted three more fists into George's belly in quick succession.

Lillian stood shocked at the violence and speed. All she had heard and read led her to believe boxing was a slow sport, in which the fighters circled a great deal more than they punched, for fear of breaking their hands. She thought about it. The blows were reasonable, going where Turlough would not hurt his hands, but where he would do damage to George.

The big local man landed in the dirt, wheezing.

“Get up, ya spawn of an English whore,” Turlough bellowed at him, aiming a kick at his shins. “Or go face down, just as your whore-mother undoubtedly caught you.”

George struggled back to his feet and Lillian could see he was looking at the way Turlough's cock had gotten harder with each punch and insult. The thing stood proud and dark now, looking like a weapon in itself. Thick and long, it was no wonder George didn't want it near him. Lillian wondered for a moment how they could possibly consummate the prize and then decided to simply watch and learn.

The fight didn't last much longer. Big George, winded from Turlough's early blows, stood and wobbled to the growing vocal disgust of the crowd. He got his defense up, but Turlough went through it easily, landing a hard haymaker to George's jaw. George spun around and went down on his face in the dirt. The men around Lillian jeered and shouted crudities into the ring. She felt her face flaming under the brim of the hat at their language.

“Aww, little boy never saw a man get fucked, did he?” asked the man who had passed her the bottle earlier.

“Maybe the pretty boy wants a taste of that mighty prick himself,” jeered Mr. Jordan.

Lillian's face flamed again, but she reminded herself that Ben would say nothing. He would stand. She stiffened her spine and watched as Turlough made a show of shoving George's legs apart and spitting on his rear. Once, twice and three times. The pure contempt on his face made Lillian shudder. George fought, squirming and kicking, not wanting to take what was coming.

Turlough grabbed his hair and slammed his head into the ground. “Welching on the deal, you great lummox. You lost and now you won't pay out your side of the bet?”

Then he drove his cock into George with a war-cry. George screamed. Turlough was nothing resembling gentle with him, and George yelled clear through, pounding on the dirt. He swung an arm back at Turlough, who caught it and shoved it up into the middle of his back.

Lillian decided that if this was what people did with each other bed, she wanted no part of it. She would stay with her devices. Much less chance of harm or pregnancy with things she controlled.

“Hold still, ya gob-shite.” Turlough seized the back of George's neck and held him still. He slammed his hips against the man's buttocks, making George howl. “A better fuck than your English mother,” Turlough announced.

He pulled away from George, and stood up. He walked the perimeter of the ring, his cock still hard and red, smeared with a bit of blood. He held his fists, also smeared with George McKenzie's blood, cocked and ready.

“Anyone dare to come in and face me?” he dared the crowd, looking into their faces and offering. He struck a pose in a few feet down from Lillian. “Come on, you lily-livered, pox-rotted bastards. Anyone who can stand in here for half an hour gets five hundred dollars, cash money.”

No one volunteered to duck under the ropes. Lillian felt an odd urge to do so rising in her. She squelched it with firm logic. Of course the deal was a fake. An outfit like this wouldn't carry that much money with them. Too, Big George couldn't fight this man. And she knew nothing of fighting at all. Still, thoughts of ducking in, punching him very scientifically—belly, groin, temple and ear, just as she had once seen in a drawing of vulnerable points in a book—and knocking him down amused her for a moment.

“But you're a bunch of water-hearted weaklings, not fit to try drinking with a real Irishman, never you mind fighting with one.” He called out the bigger men in the crowd. But when he reached Lillian, he paused and dropped the fists. “Here's a little boy come to see the fights. I wouldn't be asking you into the ring, lad, oh no. But I've a fine bunk in the wagon that needs filling.”

The men around her laughed and Mr. Jordan's hand shoved in the small of her back, slamming her into the ropes. She bit down on the gasp and made no sound. Instead, she looked up at The Belfast Assassin with as much fury as she could put in her eyes and her jaw set firm.

She elbowed back against Mr. Jordan, giving herself some breathing room, shook off and stood back. She gave Turlough a little incline of her head.

“He's brave enough. Come back when you've grown, son, and we'll give it a try.” Turlough swung a very slow, playful punch at her jaw and Lillian met it. He didn't hurt her, his hand barely grazed her chin. “Brave lad,” Turlough repeated and moved along, calling out the bigger men to come and fight him for real money.

His cock still hadn't gone down and he thrust his hips obscenely at William Tucker, who owned the livery stable. “Still got a few good blows left in me,” Turlough yelled, to the crowd's applause.

Finally, the mutton-chopped man caught Turlough's arm and tugged him out of the tent. Big George lay on the floor of the ring, moving gingerly, as if every part of his body hurt and had gone weak.

The announcer came back out. “Thank you gentlemen for coming to this evening's entertainment. We hope to see you tomorrow night.”

The men slipped out of the tent in ones and twos. Lillian waited until she could move freely and then stalked out into the night. She headed back for town alone, keeping well away from the few groups of men headed that direction. She grumbled at herself for not thinking to bring a lantern along. She took it carefully, wary of hunting snakes. Not even her best walking boots would protect her from snakebite, and if she made it the doctor's door, she would likely lose the leg at best. She walked slowly, not wanting to break her ankle in a prairie dog hole or cut herself on a sharp rock.

Her own dooryard looked better than anything she'd ever seen. Her heart pumped too fast and her breath caught at the memory of the match.

Lillian let herself in and hurried up the steps. Flossie would be in first thing tomorrow. Everything had to be in order by then. She hid the clothing in a dark closet corner whose cobwebs said Flossie often overlooked it.  She washed her hands and face, taking care not to get too much dirt on the towel. Then she brushed out her hair.

She caught sight of herself in the mirror, lit only by the streaming silver moonlight. Her black hair hung against her breasts, which curved pale as alabaster, pale as she had always wished they were. She cupped them with a gentle squeeze that sent sparks through her.

The men had been flat there, and she wondered what the boxer's chest would feel like under her hand. She liked the weight of her breasts in her hands. She liked the feel of her skin when she stroked it. She wondered if a man would be so nice to touch.

Turlough had been badly scarred. She wanted to touch the scars and wondered if he would let her. She imagined how the ridges would feel under her fingers. She squeezed her breasts again, tapping the stiffening nipples, pushing them in. She imagined the big, blood-smeared hand that had tapped her jaw doing this, the rough fingers pressing her nipples in until she felt all damp and swollen in her secret parts.

Lillian knew the words men called those parts, but all of them sounded so crude. She had held a hand-mirror between her legs more than once, looking to see what there was, in order to get her inventions right and properly placed. The look of it, pink and soft, wasn't awful, but she preferred to imagine it as a red velvet settee instead. It felt sweetly velvet-like under her fingers. And she imagined it would quite comfortable to any male occupant she allowed.

She preferred the devices. They could move and aid her fingers. She had heard hushed whispers among the ladies in the sewing circles and at tea about how some young man or another had ruined his health abusing himself for mere idle pleasure. On the other hand, the handsome young doctor who had just moved to town did an excellent trade in the prevention of nervous hysteria.

Women out here on the prairie were sterner stuff than their citified sisters back east. But some of the wealthier ones, the ones who didn't work all day and half the night, fancied themselves as delicate as any city flower. The banker's wife, Jessamyn, had fainting fits. Lillian suspected her corset was simply laced too tightly. And Margaret, whose husband owned the saloon, was given to pacing along the balcony of the house at all hours of the night with insomnia. Lillian unlocked the lowest drawer of her dresser, the one Flossie was not allowed into.

There would be no insomnia for her, no fainting or loss of appetite. She wasn't sure she believed in hysteria, but she did like her device.

Lillian climbed into the bed with her toy. She wound it up. She'd use the more elaborate one that was powered by the gaslights later. Gaslight was slowly catching on here, and the supply was chancy. Clockwork was much more reliable.

She wound the device and let it vibrate in her hand for a second before she laid it between her legs. It slid right in with a gentle push, since she was already wet from thinking about Turlough.

She imagined the big man above her, thrusting into her as he had pounded into Big George. Maybe he would be more gentle with a lady. Lillian shoved the vibrator in hard and fast. She didn't want to bleed but she didn't want him to be gentle either. She wanted him to fuck her.

She came as she thought the word and her eyes flew open. She tapped the hot little button at the front that usually sent her right off and spasmed again, her channel clutching at the vibrator. It kept buzzing and she gave another thrust of it and screamed.

Lillian lay panting amid the covers. She had never managed three so quickly. She hadn't even had to wind the vibrator twice. Twice was usually the limit on the first winding. Sometimes she had trouble even making one.

She tucked the toy under her pillow and nestled down under the feather bed. Turlough's scarred face giving her a smile and calling her brave was the last thing she saw behind her eyes before sleep took her.



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Sunday, August 5, 2018

Overheard in my life

1) I was working behind the register yesterday and waited on a pair of nuns, Benedictine in full white habit.

They got their things and went on toward the doors. The girl behind them tried putting her stuff on the counter, dropped some of it and let out with, "oh shit." And then looked after the departing nuns and corrected herself. I just laughed and said "It always slips out at the wrongest possible time."


2) Oli and I had gone school shopping. As we left WalMart, I stopped and stared. "Why is the Redbox blue?" I looked at Oli. "Did you land us in the wrong timeline again?" (the poor guy trying to rent a redbox movie was holding in laughter so hard his shoulders shook)

[Writing] On naming characers


The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter,
It isn't just one of your holiday games;


We writers face this conundrum with our books. Do we go simple and lose our characters' individuality in John and Mary? Do we go fancy and end up afloat in a sea of Lucians and Adriens?

When I write real world settings, I figure out what year my characters were born. Then I check the most popular baby names that year. And usually use something from the top 50. Hence guys in a contemporary will be Chris or Mike. Guys in a near future (2050 or so) might be Liam and Ethan. Guys in a dieselpunk would be George and Frank and Henry.  Women's names are more volatile, changing every year. Men's are fairly steady. Mudd likes to joke that in Renaissance England every Tom, Dick and Harry was named John.  Richard, Thomas, Henry and John accounted for over 50% of male names at that time.

If you're going for diversity, keep an eye on when the group started reclaiming traditional names. Many tried blending in for the first couple generations. In Kornbluth's "The Mind Worm,"a Hispanic girl tells her mother to not use her name, Dolores, but call her Dolly instead. Mama is incensed.
In the 1970s, Roots and the Black Panthers sparked the Back to Africa Movement.  My own great-grandfather was a Ernest, not a Liam or Sean or Brian.

When creating SF names, too many authors go for a lack of vowels and random punctuation. Think about your worlds. Think about their languages. Don't just make alphabet soup.

Don't go for the cutesy name. Nobody took Videodrome seriously because the bad guy was named Brian O'blivion. Sounds like a Bond villain. Ian Fleming is about the only person who can get away with names like Odd Job and Bambi&Thumper or  Any of the others.

OTOH, sometimes a shoutout to a classic is fun, like Dr. Saperstein in In the Mouth of Madness. Saperstein was Rosemary's satanic obstetrician in Rosemary's Baby, and here he's a sadistic psychologist who plays easy listening at his imprisoned charges.

And keep an eye on naming trends with sibling groups. Alphabetical can work, if you don't make it a plot point like Seven Brides for Seven Brothers but if you go with a group name theme, be careful. Julian May named the Remillard boys Matthieu, Marc, Luc and Jon. (the four evangelists)  I did this as well. Rafael, Donato, Michelino and Leo run the Men's Club in the Eight Thrones series.

In short, not everyone is going to be a Bob or a Mike. (however if they're 50ish in a contemporary, they are ALL Mike or Chris or Matt) You need some fun names here and there. But you're not Charles Dickens, so be sensible. Gabriel or Ishmael or Adlai work fine. You don't need to go with Sharpat or Shitrai or even Ebenezer.
(Fun fact, all six of those are Biblical names)