What Lies Within

I don't blog all that much, but there are a few traditions I should uphold when I do.

For those of you know are in the know, which may be very few, I am a writer. No, really, I'm a writer. Not a guy with talent who talks about it, but someone who is actually writing. A bit back, I was encouraged by a close friend to get off my ass and see where the writing thing takes me. maybe you would call it my new way of looking for a new job. and since my current job allots me nearly two hours of commute time as it is...

Well, I've been spending those two hours reading books, which I still hold to be a valuable use of that time. But at the urging of my friend, I went out and bought a tiny laptop (or notebook or netbook or whatever the term is these days) for the sole purpose of writing on the train during my commute.

So, here it is, six and a half thousand words later, the first fruits of my labor, a short story titled What Lies Within. I will be returning to my novel shortly, but I want to ramp myself up and get some practice in and some momentum from finishing some shorter works before I dive into the longer material (so probably one more short story after this).

I'm not actually going to put the story up on this blog, at least at this time, because posting it here can qualify as publishing it. For one, i've only finished the first draft. It will require some fine tuning and editing. For two, if I do decide to try to sell it, many markets won't accept material that's been previously published.

But I'm not going to leave you hanging. Here is the beginning. If you are interested in reading the full text, let me know, comment below or something. I'd love  for people to read it, at least after I tune it up a little bit, I just don't want to publish it here yet.

Without further adieu...

It was dark in my office before she turned the light switch; the only glow was from my fag, the burning ember at the tip of my cigarette, but it only extended a little ways before being swallowed up by the darkness. Sure, some leaked in through the windows, past the shades, extensions from street lamps and neon lights and the occasional high beams from cars reaching all the way up to my second floor suite, but they were just afterthoughts, framing the dim shadows at the edge of the room.

She was something else, though, like some sort of fire crafted into flesh, red and orange and white. I could see her shadow and silhouette when she opened the door from the bulbs in the other room, and the details filled in when the lights came on. I didn't know which one I liked better, but I liked them both.

“Your robot said you were still here, when I talked to him. I didn't expect you would still be, by now.”

“I make it a habit of waiting in the dark with a bottle for a pretty girl to walk through the door. First time it's actually happened.”

“I need your help, of course. I need to find someone; you're the only one looking who's actually person. They're all a robot, or a computer, or a plug, looking up credit card statements on their google. They don't actually find people, just footprints. I need to find someone, my moneyman. He's disappeared.”

 I have just discovered as I looked to see if there was a picture worthy of including in this post that my title, "What Lies Within," is also part of a quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson. This is not where my title came from; it actually came from lyrics to a song by the Silversun Pickups, which played a strong part in the inspiration for the story.

Though the Emerson quote is somewhat appropriate, I'll leave you with The Pit...