Pico, Day 8

[elmey.livejournal.com]

Here's today's post for your snippets,comments, thought.

Comments

[kerravonsen]

I writted more, and here it is.

Noah's Ghost, Personal Log, Mission Day: 6

This isn't like finding a pin in a sand-dune, it's like finding a pin at the bottom of the ocean. If we'd been on pre-space Earth, it would have been a simple matter of scanning for alien tech; that stuff stands out like a bonfire in the dark, what with all the energy sources and radiation and anachronistic alloys and compounds - easy as pie. But here, we've got background radiation masking possible energy sources, and the fragmented remains of a civilization sophisticated enough to make spaceships out of Durallium, which means we can't just scan for Durallium and assume that it's a match. No, no, Ruby has to match the exact composition of our little fragment, which means we have to get up close to make deep scans of the possible matches. And of course none of them have matched so far.

This could take days.

Noah's Ghost, Personal Log, Mission Day: 7

Boring, boring, boring.

Noah's Ghost, Personal Log, Mission Day: 8

Bored. Bored. Bored. Bored. BORED! I'd have more fun cataloguing my stamp collection - if I had one.

Noah's Ghost, Personal Log, Mission Day: 9

The bad news is that our little fragment isn't the same composition as *any* the Durallium fragments we've found so far. Slightly different alloy. Or maybe that's the good news: it didn't originate in this system. Ruby nearly snapped my head off when I suggested that she'd made a mistake in her calculations and that the possibly-Dalek hull-bit didn't fall through the rift from here. Very unlike her. I'm the passionate one; she's the cool to my hotness. We make a good team, usually. But today, not. I wonder if she's getting enough sleep? Not that I wouldn't mind a bit of not-sleep with her, a certain kind of *vigorous exercise*... But alas, I'm not the guy for her. Or the woman, or the three-toed sloth. She remains one of the eternal mysteries of life.

Noah's Ghost, Personal Log, Mission Day: 10

Ruby's definitely not sleeping: she's having nightmares instead. Don't know what they're about, but when your partner screams and you burst into their room, sonic blaster at the ready, and they're obviously asleep, yeah... nightmares. Of course she's not telling me what they're about. We've only been partners for three damn years, that's all. Hardly any time at all. Hardly gone through anything together. Dammit. I know she has to be so cool and in control, that's her. But surely bottling it all up inside isn't going to help. But no, she's going to hold it all together until she falls apart.

Damn.

An Excellent Mystery

[wiseheart.livejournal.com]

First again? I managed to put the early hours to good use and typed up the page or so I'd managed to write yesterday. Currently, I'm in the process of typing up what I wrote for "A Matter of Time". So, Holmes and the Watsons did go to Birmingham, of course, and have just arrived to The Grand Hotel, where the missing persons were last seen ten years ago.

Excerpt:
The Grand Hotel in Birmingham truly deserved its name, Mrs Watson found a week later, as she carefully descended from the hansom that had brought them from New Street Station to the impressive building, using her husband’s eagerly offered arm for leverage. To begin with, she had not expected it to be so big. It occupied the greater part of a block bounded by Colmore Row, Church Street, Barwick Street and Livery Street, and overlooked St Philip’s Church and churchyard. Mary Watson found the Baroque church with its Italian traces very pleasing and made a mental note to pay it a visit later. At the moment, she was busily impressed by the hotel itself.

[stevie-carroll.livejournal.com]

600 new words today, helped by some of yesterday's research. I decided to fill out Rupert's attempts at archaeology a bit more:

He pulled the weeds more firmly out of the way to reveal a small, rusted metal sign, almost buried in the soil at the foot of the grave. Rupert moved to one side, so his shadow no longer obscured the remaining words, and made out part of a name –d FitzAlan-Howard, then below it more words –inquished to the earth and below those a date –ber 1927..

Rupert tried to make sense of his new find. This couldn't be a second grave – not even the grave of a faithful spaniel. The Dukes of Norfolk were Catholic, like the Dowager Duchess Margaret, and had once owned the moors he stood on. He wondered whether the family had found the grave, as he had done and recognised the name of its occupant. Perhaps they had cared for the surroundings until at last the land had been sold, and the grave relinquished once again to the wilds moorland.

[sallymn.livejournal.com]

200-odd words today, I'm trying to work out how to bring in the problem of bothing to eat or drink... and maybe have some decidedly, suspiciously not drinkable water in the room their trapped in :) May mean amending a couple of earlier bits...

[saki101.livejournal.com]

A few case details were decided upon and another mini-scene of 339 words written. The "it" being discussed is Kit's motorbike.

***

“It was the information you gave me which allowed us to locate it so quickly,” Sherlock said.

John looked up from dusting his hands off on his jeans, brows furrowed.

“Observation is crucial in both our professions,” Matron said. She pressed her lips together before she spoke. “He must have missed a payment on it by now. Should I call one of you if someone comes around looking to take it away?”

Sherlock held out a hand to John. He stared at it an instant before reaching inside his jacket for his notebook and writing both their numbers on a blank page. He ripped it out and handed it to Sherlock.

“The motorbike is his, free and clear,” Sherlock said, “and as soon as we are able to notify his next of kin, we will inform you so the young man’s name can be added to his records. I’m sure a relative will be following shortly thereafter.” Sherlock passed along the note. “However, if anyone seeks to visit before we have contacted you, please deny them access and call us directly.”

[espresso-addict.livejournal.com]

Finished editing the mini-chapter I was working on yesterday, and have split the next one and had a few rounds on the first half. Unfortunately my pruning shears seem blunt, as I haven't managed to cut out either of the bigger bits I was gunning for, and it's actually longer now than it was before I started shortening it. Sigh. Have a snippet of edited stuff...

The mirror seemed the best bet. ‘There,’ I said, handing over my improvised candle holder. The king’s scouts would have been proud of me. Except the thing was probably another one-off antique. Did ivory even burn? Most folk weren’t fool enough to stick the stuff near enough a flame to find out. ‘Don’t drip wax on your nice frock. And don’t knock it, whatever you do. We don’t want to find out your big sister’s let the fire premiums lapse.’ The modern commercial quarter was said to owe its existence to a hundred year old candle in a glove maker’s on The Gullet that had burned a moth hole in the old town a mile around.

[candidlily.livejournal.com]

I wrote 58 words tonight and filled the third of my 29 gaps! :)

[julesjones]

Yes! 6200 word first draft sent to beta readers last night!

Saw the call for subs on the morning of the 2nd, started composing it on the way to work, first draft done and with betas on evening of the 8th. I think I need to go back and add a little more detail, but the draft is there and close to submittable, even if it needs a little work.