Writing

The Month of August, 2019

I’ve continued to write more than I have in awhile the past month or so — I finished a novella for a project that will be announced soon, I’m working on a short story for a contest, and I’ve submitted several of my best (in my opinion) short stories to magazines. No acceptances so far, but I enjoy submitting, so why not keep at it?

But in the middle of all this, I couldn’t let the month of August go by without some tribute to everyone’s favorite navigator, August Howitz! I thought I would a little exerpt from the upcoming Firmament: No Man, book six in the Firmament series — just a moment between Andi and August in a new environment.

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The doorway led into what looked like a giant warehouse, also metal, also full of metal shelves, also full of items of every shape and size.

“Is your house bigger on the inside?” August asked, raising one eyebrow.

Mr. Drake actually cracked a smile. It was an unpleasant smile, though, greasy-looking and showing too much teeth. “No, son. This part is built into the cliff behind the house. So,” he turned his attention to Book again, “You said you need tracking blockers? I’m guessing the proximal Axis cables are what you’re missing right now?”

The two of them strode ahead again, discussing business again, while August and the Doctor and I lagged behind, marveling at the sheer hugeness of the place.

“I wonder how long he’s been in business?” I wondered aloud.

The Doctor seemed about to make some remark, but a beeping caused him to glance down at his wristcom. That one glance caused his brow to furrow. “I’ll be right back. You two stay out of trouble.”

He turned and hurried back towards the doorway we’d entered by.

I tried to make light of the situation. “Stay out of trouble? What does he think we are, five years old?”

August smiled and entered into the brevity. “Well, we wouldn’t both be five. You might be five, but I’d be nine.”

“Oh, and surely a nine-year-old could never get into trouble,” I countered.

Trying not to think about what the notification could have signaled, I turned my attention again to the shelves. Parts I recognized from engines and computers mingled with things I couldn’t place at all. Sheets and coils of metals and chunks of ore filled in the gaps in varying colors.

“Do you know what Hectorian coils are?” I asked.

August shrugged a bit. “I assume they’re coils made from Hectorian ore. I don’t know anything about the properties, but I don’t think they’ve discovered much use for it. I mean, nothing unusual.”

I nodded, continuing to look over the shelves. So many pieces of so many puzzles, just sitting there, lonely, waiting to be used. Out of place. Lost.

“I miss inventing,” I said aloud.

“You should do it more.”

“I know. I just don’t have time.”

He didn’t respond to this, and we just kept standing there, looking. By this time, Book and Mr. Drake had disappeared into the maze of shelves and pieces that made up the room, and August and I seemed very tiny indeed in the huge, crowded space.

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