But I Get Up Again

“This thing that we call ‘failure’ is not the falling down, but the staying down.” – Mary Pickford

Thanks to my darling daughter for that quote.

I want to apologize to everyone that’s endured my whining about not being able to finish NaNoWriMo. This includes my Sainted Spouse™, my Brilliant Children®, brandelion, picklejuice, speaker, busy mom and a whole bunch of lizards. And thank you to everyone who pretended to miss this blog while I’m off being stupid. (The check is in the mail.)

Someone opened the door in my head and the refrigerator light is now on. It’s not supposed to be Great Art that I am writing. It’s supposed to be fun. In spite of my dark funk of late, I am once more determined to finish this damned thing, even if I have to stay up 24 hours a day during my vacation at Thanksgiving and wind up the last chapter with the main character drooling in a bucket and saying “gsflajxwifajajyz” over-and-over.

Here’s an excerpt of the silliness I’m making, just so’s you have somethin’ to blackmail me with when I’m rich and famous.

Ben swore.

He swore at the view screen, because it showed him the three patrol ships still hot on his trail.

He swore at the controls of his ship, because they would not respond fast enough to his frantic commands.

He swore at Max, because . . . well, because he wasn’t there to help him out of another jam.

Mainly, he swore at himself, because he had been so easily caught off guard.

“Never trust a woman,” he said to himself. Then, glancing at Max’s severed head on the cabin floor, he added, “or a best friend.”

When the female voice of the ship’s computer sang out a message, it was, therefore, doubly irritating.

“Message from pursuing vessel, darling. Do you wish to respond?”

Instantly, the cold, granite voice of the patrol commander came crackling through the console speakers.

“This is your final warning, Benjamin Rasreth. Surrender your vessel at once or be destroyed.”

A childish grin formed on Ben’s lips. “Vera Flood,” he said. “Captain Vera Flood. What a pretty surprise . . . ”

“Cut the crap, Rasreth. You are in big trouble, and you know it.”

“Since when is it ‘crap’ to greet an old friend, Vera,” Ben said. “Especially when we’ve shared so many . . . intimate moments together?”

Ben could almost feel the fiery glare that now touched each member of Vera Flood’s crew. It was several moments before he heard her reply.

“Benjamin Rasreth,” she said. “You are charged with piracy and murder. Surrender, or you will be blown to hell.”

The transmission was severed before Ben could respond.

He chuckled. “Power’s gone to her head,” he said. Just then, the electric blue arc of a laser cannon nearly ripped a hole in his tiny ship.

“Ugly temper, too.”

Urgently, Ben attacked the controls, trying to coax a millisecond more speed, a centimeter more movement. He wanted to avoid occupying the same space for more than a fraction of an instant.

“Come on, you pile of junk! Who’s bright idea was it to steal this crate?”

He looked at Max’s head again . . . and kicked it.

“Damage report, sweetie,” the computer said. “It looks like we’re not doing too well.”

“No! Really? Tell me all about it.”

“Well . . . power systems are on emergency backup. Navigation systems are damaged. And now . . . I am afraid . . . the computer . . . is . . .”

“I’ll miss her,” Ben said, as he tugged at the emergency oxygen mask hanging from a panel above him. Suddenly, an explosion rocked the ship, throwing him to the floor. Just as his brain decided to join the ship’s computer in a bit of rest, he realized he was staring into the cold, dead eyes of Max.

Ben swore.