Misappropriated Creativity

Confession time:

I haven't worked on my novel in such a long time that I'm ashamed to even guess how long it's been. Except for a small section that I'm not even sure will make it into the book, I haven't touched it in probably close to two months.

I'm not necessarily suffering from writer's block, (which was my first suspect) because I am writing.

I'm just not writing my novel.

I think I'm going to call it misappropriated creativity (and if that term is not copyrighted already, I claim it!).

During my Google image search for "claim" 
I found like 45 books with "claimed by" in the
title with about a third just called "Claimed."
This is the most PG cover in the bunch.
I wouldn't recommend reading the others in public.
I'm sorry I googled it in the library.

I've been working on writing prompts for writer's group, editing a short story to enter into a writing contest, writing blog posts, trying to figure out how to make the second part of a novella work, jotting down book ideas that pop into my head but don't actually have time to work on, networking, and trying to improve my author social media platform.

Not to mention the non-writing-related stuff I do like work, Facebook, reading, my teacup-sized social life, and Netflix.

The me from a few years ago would say "Hey, chill out. You're still working on writer's stuff, that's good enough." The problem is, it's not good enough. November 2nd will be the one year anniversary of the last book I wrote, Love Drunk and Dragon Tears, going live on Amazon. It's been a year since I published a book. A year since I've finished writing a book.

It kind of hurts the pride a little bit.

I know that writing a novel, especially in a genre I haven't really written in before, takes more time than writing a novella with a fairly simple story-line, it's just hard to gauge how much writing I'm actually doing when it is scattered across 20 projects instead of focused on one.

Which makes me feel like I'm not doing much work and failing at writing... even though I'm not. Such is life.

Picture from Sparklife
That sounds about right.

Now that I've identified the problem and confessed it to the world, what am I going to do?

Probably go finish editing that short story, work on the writing prompts for next week, cruise Facebook, and call it a night.

What Happens at Writers Conference Goes in a Blog

This past weekend I had the pleasure of attending the Nebraska Writers Guild's 2016 Fall Conference and it was fantastic! I have never been around so many writers in one place before and was in complete awe. I'm sure it showed on my face, too, but I'm like 87.2% positive I didn't make too much of an ass out of myself.

One thing I want to say right off the bat is, I am absolutely blown away by how much talent there is in my little corner of the world. Friday night of the conference, there was an open mic event where you could come and spend seven minutes reading anything you wanted (I read the opening section of Love Drunk and Dragon Tears and got a number of compliments so I was pretty happy). While everybody who got up did wonderfully (even the lady who was absolutely terrified of reading in front of us), a few stood out.

The first person to read was a guy who looked to be about 16 years old, but when he started reading, I forgot how young he was. He painted a picture with his words so vividly that I can still see them nearly a week later. I was blown away and I hope great things happen for him.

A gentleman got up and introduced his reading by saying he was a poet and he primarily wrote about his wife and their journey with her dementia. He used his poetry to keep the woman he loved alive and well in his mind. His words were beautiful and loving and even now, make my eyes well up with unshed tears.

The last woman to read started by showing us a picture that she had painted of a little Ponca girl, curled up in the fetal position. The girl's name was Water Willow and her story was what we heard. As soon as the author started reading, I was taken back in time to America's most ancient story-telling tradition, that of the Native Americans. I felt like I was there with the man on the shores of the stream waiting for his daughter's arrival and watching the star shower above. It was beautifully written and told and brought me to tears.

Saturday started with breakfast and networking then a presentation by New York Times Best Selling author Victorine Lieske on BookBub. BookBub, something I had never heard of before the conference, is a newsletter you can sign up for and it will let you know when e-books in your chosen genre(s) go on sale or are free.

It is probably something I should stay away from considering the number of physical books I have yet to read and I know I probably have twice the number waiting for me on my iPad.

But Victorine spent most of her time talking about how writers can utilize it for getting word of their books to the masses. There is a significant application process and high rejection rate, but she said it is well worth it to try.

The second presenter was Carrie Pestritto, an agent from Prospect Agency. She spent the first part of her presentation talking to us about how to create our 'brand' which is essentially who we are as an author to our readers. She also had great tips and advice for authors looking for agents and what happens after they find one. The second half of her presentation was just answering any questions the group had about the agent/publisher side of the business.

The part that scared me was that she recommend different pen names if you write different genres to help your readers keep your books straight. I understand that, but I write in nearly all the genres... that's a lot of pen names.

After lunch and more networking time, we finally got to hear from the featured New York Times Best Selling author, Taylor Stevens. The woman is just as fascinating as her thriller/suspense novels are (I'm assuming, since I'm only halfway through the first one and I am loving it!).

Katherine,
So happy to meet you :)
 Keep on writing and keep kicking butt :)
[Taylor Stevens]

Due to her background, (she's very open about it and you can read about it on her website, so I'm not going into it here except to say "apocalyptic cult") she did not get into writing by any traditional path and therefore has a very unique view of books, writing, and the publishing business. I love her rules for when you get a publisher: 1) Do what they tell you to, 2) Don't be crazy!

Our final speaker was Sabrina Sumsion, author, former publicist, and social media expert (I don't know if that is one of her actual titles, but she sure deserves it if it isn't). Her presentation was all on the dos and don't of using social media as an author. She really emphasized how authors need to treat their social media presence just like a business does: know your target audience, don't make every post about you and what you're selling, be entertaining, and DO NOT bring in politics and/or religion unless that is what you write about. "Retain dignity and grace no matter what."

As an author who primarily uses social media to connect with my readers, this was exceptionally interesting to me and I definitely learned a lot.

Overall, I learned so much from both the presenters and the other writers I met. It was amazing to find out how much I still have to learn and how much I didn't know that I didn't know. If you are a writer, I definitely recommend finding a local (or not so local) writers conference and attending. It is wonderful to find a community of people from all walks of life who have this one thing in common with you.

I'll tell you one more thing, I can't wait for spring conference!

Strength in Sisters

A while back, I was working on a writing prompt for my writer's group: "She stood there just as shell shocked as I had been. Then, she went for the gun on the wall." The short story that resulted from my chosen prompt was a story of three sisters supporting each other through a hard time. It was partially inspired by the relationship that I have with my three sisters. 

Oh the shenanigans we have gotten
into over the years.

I never shared it with my writer's group because I worried the subject matter might hurt one of the people in my group... then I realized how stupid that was. Art is supposed to invoke feelings in the viewer. 

So, I've decided to share it with you all.

She stood there just as shell shocked as I had been. Then, she went for the gun on the wall. “Nobody messes with our family!”

I beat her to the old pump Remington shotgun that had belonged to our father. I grabbed it and held it against my chest as I turned my back to the furious woman trying to snatch it out of my hands. I’ve never been so thankful that I kept it unloaded. “Ruth, calm down and listen to the rest of the story.”

“I don’t need to hear the rest of it!” Ruth grabbed the stock just behind the trigger guard and I twisted to keep it out of her hands. “Esther! Look at her face! That man has to pay!”

“I did look at her face!” I turned and put a hand against Ruth’s chest while I extended the arm that held the shotgun in the opposite direction. “You need to hear the rest of her story!”

Ruth snarled at me but finally calmed enough to listen. She tossed her honey-brown hair back over her shoulder. “Alright Miriam, what happened?”

Miriam glanced up at Ruth from her seat on the couch, an ice pack pressed to the left side of her face and a paper towel under her nose to staunch the bleeding.

Our baby sister had always been the beauty of the family, even though she had been sporting more makeup than necessary for the last couple of months. She was also the rebellious one.

Ruth and I had started quietly discussing Miriam’s condition when the cake make-up appeared, but we didn’t want to approach her with false allegations and risk losing her. The whole family knew Sid, her husband, was a jerk. Had known since they started dating, but there was no talking Miriam out of it. We all silently agreed to handle them with kid gloves and keep a close eye on the couple.

I wish to God we had at least tried talking to her. Then maybe this all wouldn’t have happened.

Or it could have sent her away from us forever.

Miriam and Sid celebrated their first wedding anniversary two months ago. Two days later, Miriam met me for lunch wearing a sweatshirt in August and heavy concealer that didn’t quite cover the shadow under her eye. I asked her about it and she brushed me off with a story about tripping and how clumsy she was.

Miriam was a lot of things, but clumsy was not one of them. For heaven’s sake, the woman had taken ballet for fifteen years. She could probably walk a tightrope en pointe with no problem.

I recruited big sister, Ruth, to help me find out what was going on. We “kidnapped” Miriam from work one day and had a sister day full of pedicures and mimosas. After a few drinks, we brought up our suspicions and Miriam denied everything. At one point, Ruth had jerked up Miriam’s sleeve to reveal nasty bruises that looked suspiciously like fingerprints. Ruth and I finding the proof only pissed Miriam off and she stormed out of the spa. She hadn’t talked to either of us, nor anybody else in the family, since.

We probably should have just called the cops, but the prospect of catching the bastard in the act was a little too appealing to pass up, not that we would have known what to do if we caught him. Plus, too many years of watching cop shows had me wanting to do a few stakeouts of my own. They are not as much fun as one would think, but it did let Ruth and I catch up.

We never caught Sid hitting our sister, but we did see him spending far more time at the bar than was necessary and a whole lot of drunk driving. Ruth suggested we ram him and call the cops so they could throw his ass in jail for DUI but we were in my car at the time. It might not be much to look at, but it was the only one I had.

Needless to say, I was more than a little surprised when I found Miriam at my door a few hours before. She was in tears, one eye nearly swollen shut, blood running out of her nose, bruises and scrapes everywhere, clothes and hair disheveled. If I hadn’t known better, I would have said she had been in a car accident. I got her cleaned up a bit and settled on the couch with an ice pack, then called for reinforcements.

“Ruth, sit down. You look like you’re going to eat her.” I put the shotgun back on the wall, then plopped down next to Miriam on the couch and pointed to the chair on her other side. Ruth rubbed her face, then complied.

Ruth took a big breath. “Miriam, what happened?”

“I left him.”

I have never seen such a beautiful smile from such a mess as I saw on my little sister’s face at that moment.

Ruth collapsed back against the chair. “About freaking time! But what happened?” She pointed at Miriam’s injuries.

Miriam checked to see that her nose had stopped bleeding and put the paper towel carefully on the coffee table with a shrug. “I missed you guys so much. I decided you were more important that my pride-”

“Damn straight we are!”

“Ruth.” I shook my head and nodded at Miriam. Ruth just shrugged.

Miriam smiled, even though tears were welling up in the eye I could see. “So I was packing a bag to come spend the weekend. I was going to call you both from the car to see if you wanted to go to a spa or a B&B or just have a slumber party all weekend at one of your houses. Sid came home early from work and saw me packing. He thought I was leaving for good and wouldn’t listen to reason. He’s never been this bad.” Miriam grabbed my hand then reached for Ruth’s. “Please, believe me, he has never been this bad.”

“Don’t defend him!” Ruth barked.

Miriam shook her head. “I’m not. I just feel so stupid. I swore growing up I would never be in a relationship like this, especially after watching Aunt Phoebe suffering, but after he hit me the first time, I was so embarrassed. I should have known better. I should have walked away that first time, but I couldn’t. Esther, I wanted so much to tell you the first time you asked. I just… I couldn’t.”

Ruth sighed and took Miriam’s hand in both of hers. “How did you get away?”

“I asked myself what my big sisters would do.” Miriam smiled through her tears.

I laughed. “Considering we just brawled over the shotgun, I am seriously hoping you didn’t shook him.”

“Why not? Bastard deserves to be shot.”

I shook my head. “Ruth, we don’t want Miriam to have to deal with the legal crap of shooting him.”

“Open and shut case if he’s dead.”

“Ruth!”

“Anyway,” Miriam interrupted. “He had me by the throat against the wall so I kneed him in the junk as hard as I could.”

“Atta girl!” Ruth cheered. I wrapped an arm around Miriam and squeezed.

“He let me go and I ran for the door. He grabbed my arm to stop me so I grabbed the first thing I could get my hand on. The baseball bat he keeps next to the door.” Ruth and I both cringed while Miriam chuckled quietly. “He’s going to have a headache when he wakes up.”

“I’m proud of you.” I kissed Miriam’s temple. Ruth reached over and pulled Miriam into her arms for a long moment. “We have to take you to the police-”

“No!” Miriam pulled away from Ruth and stared at me in shock.

“I agree with Esther.” Ruth stood and put her hands on her hips.

“Why?”

“If Sid files assault charges against you, it won’t look good if you didn’t report what he did to you. You need to go in and give them your statement. Tell them what you did and file charges of your own.”

“We should probably get a restraining order against the bastard, too, not that it’ll do much good if he’s determined, but sometimes it scares people off,” Ruth added. “A gun works better.”

I rolled my eyes at her gun comment but nodded my agreement anyway. “Then, we need to call Aunt Leah and start getting you a divorce.” I stood and pulled Miriam up beside me.

“Maybe we should call Aunt Leah on our way and have her meet us at the police station.” Ruth crossed her arms and eyes Miriam. “Too bad we don’t have pictures from before you got cleaned up.”

I grinned and held up my phone. “Oh, but we do.”

“You took pictures of me?!” Miriam screeched.

“You can thank me later.” I slung my purse strap over my head and headed for the door. “Ruth, you driving or am I?”

Ruth followed me across my front porch and down the stairs. “I will. Your POS is a death trap and I think Miriam has been traumatized enough for today.”

“Hey!” I swatted her with the back of my head.

“I love you guys.” Ruth and I turned to see Miriam standing at the top of the porch steps with tears in her eyes. She slowly descended and stopped between us. “I just- I love you. I don’t know if I would’ve been able to leave him if I didn’t have two strong sisters to turn to.”

Ruth and I pulled her in for a group hug, tears running down each of our cheeks.

“I don’t know how much longer we would’ve been able to leave you with him before doing something drastic.” Ruth’s voice was thick with tears.

“A week,” I mumbled through my own tears. “I had next Friday circled in my calendar. If you wouldn’t leave on your own, I was coming to get you even if I had to drug you and carry you out of that house myself.”

“Thank you for saving me.” Miriam loosened her hold on us.

I sniffed and wiped at my cheeks with the heels of my hands. “You saved yourself, baby sister. We’re just making sure you stay that way.”

This is Partially Your Fault

Not long ago, I had the pleasure of reading the first chapter of a friend's book. He has been chewing on the story for the last few years and finally buckled down to get it on paper.

It was worth the wait.

It is a fantasy tale stretching across at least three books and is very unique. I haven't been a hard-core fantasy reader since high school, but I haven't stumbled across anything really like it before.

He has quite a task ahead of him, though. I'm not going to go into much detail because it is his story to tell, but for his first book he has chosen to world-build, have characters jump worlds, and created a mythos that is nearly as large as our universe is wide.

Oh, and there's time manipulation. Did I mention that?

He has bitten off more than I'm capable of chewing as an author and I wish him luck.

Now, to the purpose of this.

Not only did he let me read the first chapter, he encouraged me to edit it. Poor guy didn't know what he was getting himself into.

I haven't done much editing of other people's work since high school (I had a friend refuse to let me work on her papers anymore because I essentially tore them apart... nicely, I'm not a mean person), so I enjoyed the challenge.

It took me nearly 2 1/2 hours to get through the chapter.

Now, it's not because it was terrible. Quite the contrary. He can set-build (don't know if there is an actual term for it in writing, but basically where the author builds the setting in which the action is happening) exquisitely. I wish I was half as good as he is at that. The action flowed fairly well and it did a good job setting up the rest of the book.

But he had a lot of mistakes that I made when I started writing: $5 words tossed in haphazardly, wooden dialogue, words tripping all over each other, and unnecessary commas all over the place.

From Authors Pay it Forward
Still better off than Yorick

When I think there are too many commas, that means there is probably three times as many commas as necessary... I do love my commas... and ellipses.

He and I are both guilty of writing how it's "supposed" to be written instead of using our own voices.

Most of those things will be fixed with time and practice. Some will take some research (hello, Google, my old friend), and a lot of it will smooth into his own personal style.

I love watching authors develop their stories, characters, and voices (especially when I'm not the one writing) and I hope he lets me stick around to help when I can.

The first thing I wrote on my comments sheet was "Everything I write is suggestion and my opinion. You can use or ignore anything you want. You won't hurt my feelings. You're the author and you hold the power!"

This is something I tell everybody. I don't want to make them feel like I hated their writing or that everything they're doing is wrong. Writing is so subjective that it is difficult to distinguish right from wrong (except spelling and some grammar rules, and even those are somewhat gray).

The very last thing I want to do is crush a budding writer, especially one who has an amazing story locked inside his head.

A story that I am desperate to read so hurry the hell up, man and get it done!!

Writing Prompt I: "I saw him. The boy I had to kill" (pt. 5)

Two nice humans, but I was ready to go home.

I needed to find the Bringer quickly so I could.

I felt my energy drop suddenly and staggered to a dark doorway. I crouched in the shadows as I pulled the cord from my chargecell and plugged it into my disguise’s bellybutton. I watched the humans walking by as my power was restored. Tonight, I learned that there were really bad humans but there were also nice ones.

This gave me an idea. Would they be able to help me find the Bringer? I had his picture. I simply had to ask. Somebody might know where I would be able to find him. I just had to locate some of the nice ones.

Not an easy task on this planet.

I unplugged the cord and stood. I pulled out my communication device and found the picture of the Bringer as I stepped into the crowd of humans. I walked a few feet, then stopped next to a male selling those large papers with tiny writing on them and thin, shiny books with faces on the covers. “Excuse me, might know you this person?”

The male frowned at me. “What?”

“You know him?” I held up the picture.

“What? No! Get out of here, foreigner.” The male lashed out with one of the rolled up papers with writing on it, hitting me hard on the forehead.

I walked away, confused by the male’s reaction. He was hostile when I asked about the Bringer. It made me wonder if he knew him and hated him. Surely, if I told him that I was planning on destroying the Bringer, he would be willing to help. I turned around.

“My apologize sir,” I held up the picture again. “But would you hate him for I must end him.”

“What? Jesus, man! Don’t go around confessing you’re going to kill people! Now I have to call the cops on you, don’t move!” The man ordered and turned his attention to his own communication device.

I knew from my research disks that ‘cop’ was the police and I needed to stay away from them. I waited for the male to look away from me so I could escape. When he did, I ran down the block and around the corner. I leaned against a brick wall until my breathing returned to normal. Sharing my plan with an unknown was a beginner’s mistake and I hoped that nobody in my unit ever found out. I straightened my back and stepped away from the wall. I needed to finish this mission without delay and with no more mistakes.

I walked a few meters down the street and stopped a female pushing a cart full of strange items. “Ma’am, might know you him?” I asked, showing her the picture.

“My baby! It’s my baby!” She screamed as she threw her arms around me.

She smelled terribly and I did not appreciate being accosted a second time that day. I carefully untangled myself from her grasp and walked quickly away. If she thought I was her offspring, I did not want any information she might have on the Bringer. It would probably be incorrect.

Suddenly, I recalled the old female the Bringer had bowed to. Surely she would know where I could find him. I spun in a circle-only getting hit by humans twice-to get my bearings, then set off in the direction I thought the small shop the female had occupied was in. After wandering the area for nearly an hour, I realized I did not remember exactly where the shop was located and that most of the businesses around me were closing.

I sped up my search. I did not know how long the female would be in the shop, but I did not want to be on this planet one moment longer than necessary.

I was just beginning to worry that I was lost yet again when a wave of smells hit me and I sneezed. I looked up through leaking eyes to find myself in front of the exact shop I was looking for.

The old female was at the front window turning a placard to ‘Closed.’ In my desperation, I pushed on the door. When it did not budge, I knocked, trying to get her attention.

The old female waved her hands at me so I waved again. She marched to the door, turned a knob and pulled it open a few inches. “I’m closed. What do you want?”

I was temporarily distracted by her garments. They were brightly colored and covered with small, shiny disks. She also had a piece thrown over her shoulder almost like what the humans with special abilities wore in the research disks, but hers was much smaller.

“What do you want?!” She nearly shouted at me.

“My apologize.” I held up my communicator so she could see the picture of the Bringer. “Might know you where I find him?”

“Why are you looking for Akhilesh?”

“I need him to find.”

The female frowned, her brown, wrinkled skin somehow became wrinklier. “You need him to find what?”

I stared at her, not completely understanding her question. “I must him find.”

“You need to find him?” The female glared at me.

I nodded. “Yes. I must him find. You know location of him?”

Her eyes narrowed. “What do you need to find Akhilesh for?”

I shook my head at the frustrating female. Why would she not tell me what I needed to know? “I must him find,” I repeated.

“Akhilesh is a good boy! I will not have him getting into whatever you are doing! Criminals coming around trying to get Akhilesh to carry their drugs or to steal things for them!” She waved her hands in front of my face before shoving me away from her door and slamming it shut.

I stumbled down the step and fell into the street. I heard a tearing sound and knew that I had ripped my newly cleaned garments. I turned to look back at the female. She was pointing a finger at me and looked very angry.

“He’s going to college! He is doing great things with his life! Go away!” She yelled through the glass hand waved her hands at me again before turning and disappearing into the dark store.

I carefully got to my feet, worried I had hurt myself in my fall, but thankfully nothing hurt too badly. I felt better than when the two men had accosted me earlier in the night.

This planet is not a safe one. It was a wonder that any humans survived more than a few days. I turned, not paying attention to where I was walking, I just knew I had to stay close to the shop. The angry old female seemed to know the Bringer and was trying to protect him from somebody called ‘Criminals.’ I would have to find him before ‘Criminals’ did to complete my mission so I could leave.

I was lost in thought when a loud sound coming from one of the human’s large transportation vehicles startled me. I realized that I had just stepped in front of it and it had nearly run me over. It will be a good day for the universe when the humans discover hover technology and stop relying on gravity and wheels for general transportation.

I backed onto the curb to wait for the traffic to subside when a male wearing a blue garment on his head across the street from me caught my eye.

It was him. The Bringer. I finally found him.

I closed my eyes and bowed my head, giving thanks to the Supreme Being for letting me find him and bring an end to this trip.

I looked up, half expecting the Bringer to have slipped away from me once again, but no, he was still there but he was moving away from me. I would not let him escape again. I felt an uncustomary rage build up inside of me at everything I had endured on this trip. All thoughts of a quiet kill burned away in my anger. I pulled my weapon from my pocket with my right hand and took ahold of the transcarrier around my neck with my left.

I ran into the street, dodging transporters and ignoring the loud beeps they were making. I plowed through the crowd, not caring how many humans I hit or angered. Finally, he was close enough that I could touch him. I raised my weapon instead.

“Bringer!” My yell was loud and full of hate. The humans around me stopped and stared at me, including the Bringer. “Bringer! You will not end my people!”

“What?” The Bringer looked around, as if I was talking to someone else.

“You will not end my people!” I shouted and pressed a button on my weapon. A blast of energy hit the Bringer in the chest and he vaporized. I activated my transcarrier and was back on my ship before the other humans could react. I stumbled to the navigation panel and slammed my hand onto the blue panel that would take me home. I collapsed to the floor as my ship broke through the roof of the police’s shelter and into the stars.

My people were safe and I was going home.

Home.

The End.

Writing Prompt I: "I saw him. The boy I had to kill" (pt. 4)

For the first time since I landed on this planet, I felt visible to every human I passed. Females were covering their noses and hurrying away, males were frowning at me, all avoided coming in contact with my filthy garments.

“Oy!”

I heard a man yell the unfamiliar word and assumed he was ordering me away from him, but he stepped in front of me and would not let me pass. “Excuse me, sir.” I attempted a second time to step around him but he moved with me, refusing to let me go.

“Boy, you reek to high hell.”

“Apologies.” I exhaled. I had never felt lower than I did and this human telling me I smelled bad was not helping. “I was accosted and my garments were ruined, but I have not money and males hit me.”

The man put a hand on my shoulder. “Robbed eh? Well, here, get to a laundromat- there’s one down the block- and get cleaned up.” The man put some scraps of paper in my hand and turned me to face the direction I had just come from.

I recognized the paper as Earth currency but I was not familiar with ‘laundromat.’ I turned to ask for clarification but the man was gone. I shrugged, much liking the human gesture and started walking. He was one of the first nice humans I had encountered and at that point, I was willing to trust somebody. I walked, trying to ignore the human’s reactions to my condition and stopped when I found glowing letters spelling ‘laundromat.’ I pulled open the door and was greeted by loud machinery and a clean, perfume smell.

I looked around and saw two females around my disguise’s age putting garments into a large white cube. An older male was pulling wet garments from a similar cube and putting them into a larger cube with a clear door on the front. I was far from the mood to attempt to figure out the machines myself to keep up my disguise.

“Might, please someone assist me cleaning garments.” The old male ignored me but the two females glanced my way. One laughed and shook her head, the other shrugged and walked over to me.

“Where is your laundry?” She stared at me for a moment. “You’re wearing it, aren’t you?” She exhaled and led me to a white cube in the corner. “It’s kind of private back here, strip down. Do you have quarters and soap?”

I frowned at her, confused. “Quarters of what?”

She pulled a handful of silver disks out of her pocket that I vaguely recognized as a form of Earth currency.

“Oh, I have not quarters.” I held up the paper the man had given me. “Will work this?”

“Sure, I’ll get you quarters… and some soap.” She pulled the paper out of my hand and walked to a machine near the door.

I carefully started removing my garments, hoping my disguise would still work without them. I was glad that I remembered a short research recording featuring someone named Mark who would go out with undergarments showing or I would not have known that humans wore clothing under their clothing. I had gotten a pair of undergarments like the ones Mark had warn. They were like close-fitting pants but stopped at the tops of the legs. Not the most comfortable things, but it was what humans wore.

I was embarrassed at being unclothed. It was my understanding that humans did not go out in public in just undergarments and my removing my outer garments did not follow their social rules. But I did not think I would fit into the white cube to wash my garments without taking them off.

A human had ordered it and I had no other choice so I did as directed.

I removed my shirt and pants and placed them into the large cube. Thankfully, my undergarment seemed to have remained cleaner than my outer garments during the incident and did not need to be cleaned. I pressed a few of the buttons on the cube, but nothing happened.

“Soap helps when you’re doing laundry or your clothes will just be wet and not clean.” The female laughed as she returned with an orange packet and silver disks. “Plus, you have to pay.” She ripped open the orange packet and dumped white powder on my garments inside the white cube, then closed the lid. She put four of the silver disks into a drawer on the top of the cube and pushed the drawer into the machine. It clicked and I could hear a rushing sound. She pushed two buttons on the control panel. “Wash your clothes in cold unless you’re doing underwear. It’ll keep your regular clothes from shrinking too much.” She leaned against the cube and crossed her arms. “This’ll take about an hour and then just put it in the dryer.” She bit her lip as she studied me. “Just call me over and I’ll help you.” She held out her hand. “I’m Daisy.”

“My appreciative, Daisy.” I looked at her hand, not sure what she was doing.

“Not from around here, are you?” Daisy laughed as she grabbed my hand and moved it up and down a few times before releasing it.

“No. I am from France!” I may have spoken too loudly in my panic because her eyes widened slightly.

“Cool. I spent last summer in Paris. It was pretty awesome.” She stared at me and I stared back at her, not sure what she wanted. “Alright, well, just call my back when this beeps.” She walked across the room back to her companion.

I stared at the white cube, unsure what to do next. The old man had finished moving his garments into what I assumed was what Daisy called a dryer and had sat down on a bench with a large paper covered in tiny writing. I had no large paper, but there was a bench nearby. I sat and made sure nobody was watching when I pulled my communication device out of my leg. I tapped the screen a few times and read about what was happening on Ooden. I was caught up in the news from my home planet that I nearly yelled when the large cube holding my clothes beeped loudly. I pressed my communication device back into my leg, stood, and walked over to the cube. I looked up to call Daisy but she was already walking toward me.

She opened the cube and pulled my shirt and pants from it. They looked cleaner and smelled better than before, so I approved of the cube.

“Now, for the dryer, it can be a little testy. As long as you don’t put your clothes in here for too long, you’ll be fine.” She pulled a door open on one of the larger cubes nearby and shoved my garments into it. She closed it, dropped three silver disk into a shelf like what was on the smaller cubes, pushed it in, and turned a dial on the front. “Since it’s such a small load, 30 minutes should be fine. A larger load will take longer. Don’t ever put wool in a dryer. Here.”

She ended her instructions with a smile as she dropped a handful of the silver disks onto my palm.

I held out my empty hand like she had done. “I appreciative this very lot.”

She took my hand and moved it like she had done before. “No problem. It’ll take some time and a few ruined bits of clothes to learn how to do laundry, but you’ll get there. Good luck.” She patted my bare shoulder then walked back to her companion. They both picked up large white boxes with holes in them full of clothing and left the laundromat.

Two nice humans in a row. Maybe this planet was not all bad.

I resumed reading about Ooden on my communication device until the dryer beeped. I was not as startled this time. I pulled my garments back on. They were warm and it felt good being clothed once again. I put my communication device in one pocket, the silver disks in the other, and left the laundromat.

Two nice humans, but I was ready to go home.

I needed to find the Bringer quickly so I could.

To be continued...

Writing Prompt I: "I saw him. The boy I had to kill" (pt. 3)

The smaller male put his face in mine, his nose nearly touching mine. “Hello, freak. We think you might have something worth something and we want it.”

I frowned, confused by his meaning. “I have no something worth something, sir.” I desperately pressed my communication device and weapon hard enough into my leg to be absorbed by my disguise. The two ruffians could turn me upside down and shake me and they would not find the last of my equipment.

This was not the way an assassin of the Xans was supposed to greet an opposing force, but Earth had caused me trouble after trouble and I just wanted to be alive to go home. If pandering to these two would allow that, so be it. Plus, they were not the ones I was sent to kill. My unit leader liked saying “An assassin who leaves a trail of bodies behind them is no assassin. They are a simple butcher.” It sounds scarier in my language.

“Come on. Give us your wallet.”

“What is my wallet?” I asked.

“What?” The male squinted at me. “You seriously don’t know what a wallet is? Do you know what money is?”

I nodded. “I do. It is currency used to purchase goods and services in an economic system not dictated by bartering or the exchange of goods for goods and services.”

The male frowned and shook his head. “Yeah. Whatever. Hand it over.”

“My hand, sir?” I held out my hand, not sure what he was asking.

“No, give me your money!” He shouted slowly as if I were without logic.

“Oh, my sorries, sir. I have not money.”

“You don’t have any money?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“How?” He stared at me with his mouth hanging open again. If he kept that up, something was going to get in it. Maybe it was his way of catching food. It seemed unlikely with all of the stores I had seen with human food in it, but humans were illogical creatures. “Whatever. Give me your cell.”

This next demand was not familiar to me. I could not possibly give him a cell of tissue, they are too small to extract without special equipment and may be toxic to humans, plus, my disguise made it nearly impossible to reach any of my tissue without removing the entire thing. I was also not large enough to carry a cell for locking a person up in. “I do not know this meaning of cell.”

“Your phone!” He shouted, pulling his communication device from his pocket. Two wires dangled from it, much like the ones I had seen on other humans walking down the street.

“These wires! What are for?” I asked, reaching for them. The male jerked them out of my reach.

“What?” The male stared at me, then looked to the larger male. The larger male shrugged and shook his head before the smaller male turned back to me. “They’re earphones.”

“Earphones?”

“Use them to listen to music.”

“Ah, I enjoy the music. Something called Gaga Deathpunch.”

“Gaga Deathpunch? What?! What is wrong with you?! Are you retarded?”

I gasped. The Agency had a list of words to never use for nearly every planet we visit. That was on the rather short list of words for Earth. “That is disrespectful word for to call persons! Apologize!”

“I’m not apologizing to you, twerp.”

“You are rude!” I tried to leave but the larger male pushed me back against the wall.

“And you’re dumb,” the smaller male said as he hit me in the face with his fist.

My eyes immediately started leaking water no matter how much I tried to keep them from doing it. The larger male hit me in the stomach with his fist and I doubled over, unable to breath. Oodenites can survive with lower concentrations of oxygen that what is on Earth but we still needed it to live. The smaller male hit me again and I fell to the ground.

“Check his pockets,” the smaller male ordered and the larger man complied. He grunted when he did not find anything. The smaller male hooked a finger under the chain holding my transcarrier and both of my hearts stopped briefly. He slowly pulled so my transcarrier was outside of my shirt. He made a strange sound and let the chain drop. “Junk. Nothing.” He swung his leg and his foot connected with my midsection, causing more leaking and less breathing.

I was nearly certain these two human males had just killed me.

I watched them walk away and continued to lay in the refuse in the alley until the light began to dim. It was embarrassingly long before I realized it was the sun setting and not my life leaving me.

I also began to realize that my midsection hurt less than it had and I was breathing easier. I slowly sat up and scrubbed the water from my face with the sleeve of my shirt. I looked down at my human clothes and was dismayed to see how soiled they had become.

Since my disguise manipulator had been calibrated incorrectly, it would not project clothes onto the outside of my disguise and I was left with no option when I arrived than procuring ones from a human store. I had taken a few sets of pants and shirts after nightfall, using the research recordings for reference. I was disappointed to see no capes in the stores I visited. I much wanted to look like the humans with the special abilities, but they must have a special store where they find their clothes.

Now, with my ship in police control, I could not return there for clean garments and must procure more from a store. It would be risky attempting it again. I did not want to get caught by the police.

I struggled to my feet and exited the alley, planning to find a store I could easily enter after closing to obtain new clothes.

            For the first time since I landed on this planet, I felt visible to every human I passed.

To be continued...