Standing in the middle of the shallow stream, wearing dark green waders and casting out his line, the Fisherman eyes me with a strange mixture of tired disdain and fatherly familiarity.

“You should listen to your elders and betters, ya know?” He speaks with seriousness and urgency behind the façade of friendliness. “My kids are about your age and they’re exactly the same. Always pokin’ their noses in where they don’t belong. Bitin’ of more than they can chew…”

Most public establishments had dual functions. Like the virtual disappearance of tobacco it wasn’t down to the law per se, but rather a combination of regulations and conventions that indirectly pushed things that way. Indigo Blue for example was both a coffee shop and a bar depending on what time of day you visited (plus its role as corporate meeting place for our company when Stu could wrangle it, of course) and Synapse was no different: nightclubs that doubled up as music venues had existed for decades, but that was an eaterie of semi-dubious repute in daylight hours and went through a metamorphosis into a club and live venue of equal local noteriety as the sun sank.

Another writing challenge from 2DT (highlighted in bold)

Former aniblogger and general awesome guy 2DT announced a little game over on Twitter that challenged us to write 300-500 words based a phrase written using fridge magnets. To make things easier for me, I went for the upper end of the word count and used a setting and two characters from my ongoing SF serial piece, so while it’s undoubtedly part of the story’s ‘universe’ it’s just a brief aside.

Anyhow, it was a lot of fun to write and I look forward to working it into the main plotline somewhere. Hooray for boobies!

My thoughts gradually drifted away from the accusation that I was helping someone play God with artistic expression as I made a mental checklist of what, amongst the ransacked junk that was left, I needed to bring from my flat. I thought of all this as being an open-ended working holiday, while simultaneously lying low in case I wasn’t being paranoid. I initially figured it was pure coincidence that I’d been beaten up and burgled within the space of a couple of days, but certain people around me were of the opinion that bad luck comes in threes. Or, if you were a bit more pragmatic about it, there was a pattern developing and its course wasn’t a pleasant one. My companion was pretty persuasive when she wanted to be, but there was also a feeling in my gut that I hadn’t seen the last of it.

This entire story arc (I’m implying that there are more than two, which right now I don’t think will actually happen) was in fact inspired by a blog post that Celeste wrote back in July. It got me thinking about the Vocaloid technology and where it’s heading, but I figured a fictional portrayal worked into the main storyline was the most effective way of getting my thoughts on the subject across. Just for the record, the old SF story called ‘The Ultimate Melody’ does actually exist: it was by Arthur C Clarke. Again, credit where credit’s due and all that.

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I wanted to write a bit of backstory to the female protagonist, but it wasn’t until I stumbled on a certain piece of artwork on Pixiv that I had an image in my head about how to go about it. This led to the short three paragraph excerpt below, with the full explanation behind it after the jump. I ought to add that the characters are purely fictitious (although the locations in this chapter aren’t). I wish I could personally thank the artist for his/her piece of work lending me such a helping hand though.

I’m not even sure why she kept this old photo in particular: visiting her father’s home has always been a rare event but even though that visit was so soon before the big ‘quake hit, I could never work out what sentimental value it held for her. I probably found myself just as attached to the image as she ever was – perhaps because I can imagine the circumstances under which it was taken so vividly.

I know where and when it was, at least. Pausing halfway down that narrow, well-known street, hemmed in by tourist-y stalls on both sides, something in one of them caught her attention…or more likely formed a convenient excuse for her to turn her gaze away from the camera and its owner. She pauses for a moment, deep in thought. That hardness to the lines of her eyes – the defensive glare that makes her gaze seem to retreat in to itself – wasn’t there back then I suppose. A lot can happen in a decade. Knowing the ‘her’ I know now, I can just about relate to that younger self in that photo. Appearances change but she may never admit that, deep down and out of the reach of a camera lens, she hasn’t changed all that much.

“I looked so different back then!” she’ll protest. No one can deny that. A decade has distanced her less than she would’ve liked, however… I wonder why she’s held onto this image that connects her so closely to the self she’s tried to leave behind.

The rain was falling harder while the traffic passed with effortless determination through the torrential downpour. Rising and falling, Doppler shifting, flanging waves of road noise accompanied the slowly moving vehicles as they passed us while storm drains gurgled as they struggled to carry away the flow. Pairs of headlights burned through the colourless transparent plastic of her bubble umbrella through a film of runnels; I felt like I was the only one who felt uncomfortable with the inclement weather.

I’ve no idea how far I’ll go with this, but here’s the beginning of a creative writing piece that randomly took shape in my head one day and, in a fit of boredom, I tried to set out in words. I have a pretty good idea of what I want to say, but right now the format that’s intended to get that across seems a bit vague. It’s an experiment really. Hope you find it interesting, anyhow.

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