Well, it's the end of a very long day...got home from work about 20 minutes past ten, had the remains of the dinner I didn't get to finish before leaving for work..cold hamburger and chips, oh yummy, what a delight...but, waste not, want not. Lovely evening ringing up a bunch of totally miserable human beings--hardly anyone made any sales tonight, as most everyone called was grouchy as hell. I once again got a belcher...chavtastic! Discovered a terrible itch half-way through the night shift, and found a spider bite or something on the inside of my left elbow--itches like mad, and nothing for it but try to ignore it and keep working. Reckon I got it today, when I was sitting on the floor, sorting out the dirty washing and going through boxes in the closets this afternoon. It was warm in the living room with the sunlight streaming in the windows, so I was wearing only a tee shirt. Reckon the little bugger got mad at me for disturbing him or her.
It's a bit like when you're driving down a major motorway, in heavy traffic, and you get an itch on the bottom of your foot...or, if you are standing giving a speech or something, in front of an audience, and you develop an intense back itch.
Anyhow, came home, had dinner, petted the cats and fed them, and petted them some more. But I wasn't sleepy! I have to get up early to get ready for the job interview, and also to deposit my disablity cheque in the bank..and I'm just not tired enough to go to sleep. I hate that! Why is it when I know I have to rise early, that's when I can't sleep? When I don't have to set my alarm in the morning...I fall asleep early! We Yanks call it "Murphy's law"---if something should be black, it's white, and vice-versa.
So, I decided to write a bit...worked on my little Doctor Who story..actually finished the first chapter! Of course, internet writing is completely different than my usual writing---I had to learn to write in very short paragraphs, and equally short chapters. It seems one gets loads of complaints, when some people have to actually read more then a few sentences at a time, on the internet. I personally find it sad, but--it's indeed true. So, as much as possible, I accomodate them--but seriously draw the line at this one sentence at a time garbage...that's not a short story, that's a comic strip.
Mind you, I've nothing against comics, like to read them from time to time, myself. And certainly, a play or PSA (public service announcement) or whatever, is written in (usually) small bits like that--but that's because it's dialog, and it must be written that way--always good to leave loads of space for notetaking amd changes....but I'm old school, I"m afraid. I think a short story should look and read like a short story. But, that said, I do write shorter than usual--don't like it entirely, as it's goes against a lot of what I was taught in college, but...there 'ya go.
Anyway, here's my first chapter. Don't worry. It's not going to be a regular thing on this blog. I just thought I'd throw it out there...I've not written a single thing since late September, or early October, I think, in the way of a Doc Who story.
I'm just putting out this chapter, there won't be anymore forthcoming. Don't know if I'll even publish it or not--not unless it passes muster. It could wind up being really, really tedious and plodding and boring, for all I know...what you have in your notes, isn't always what winds up in the story. So, here's that first chapter, if anyone cares to bother with it..won't hurt my feelings at all if you don't...really, I'm just filling space, ha-ha. Writers are notorious for hating white spaces on the page.
Killing Frost
I.
The night was still and cold. In the park, the grass bore a heavy rime of white frost, and the trees glistened with it, their interlacing branches looking like giant crystals. Colourful flowers were bowed down with the weight of it. A light icy mist clung to the ground in some places. A skim of ice covered the nearby lake, as ducks and geese burrowed their heads deeper into their feathers as they slept. Suddenly, with a great squawk, some of the birds took wing into the night. A wheezing and groaning noise ripped apart the hushed scene, as a blue police box materialized under some trees near the lakeside.
The door opened and a thin man in a brown overcoat emerged, followed by a slender woman in a short brown leather jacket, jeans and boots. Looking around, the Doctor rubbed his hands together and frowned deeply. The woman looked at him askance. “A lovely stroll through the park, you said, to take in the spring flowers. If this is spring, I’d hate to see your idea of winter, Doctor. I’m going back inside where it’s warmer.” With that said, she stepped back into the Tardis. But the Doctor barely noticed her going.
Looking around him, his every sense told him this was wrong, very wrong. It was late May in Cardiff, it should be sunny and warm--or at least, if it were rainy, not nearly so frosty. He glanced about, puzzled. “This isn’t right,” he muttered to himself. “it should be broad daylight. The park should be filled with people strolling about, children playing, birds singing. Why’s it so cold? Scratching his head, he shrugged and followed Martha back into the console room. Maybe he had gotten the date and time wrong. He’d better check.
Martha was seated on the console’s chair, arms folded and looking slightly cross. The Doctor rushed in and shrugged out of his coat. He flung it at Martha. “Hold this, will you?” He asked absently. She shook her head. “Well it’s always nice to know that at least I’m good for something.” Martha muttered under her breath. The Doctor spared her a brief grin, then frowning in concentration, he began stabbing at buttons. He glared at the monitor. “This is definitely not right.”
Leaving the coat on the chair, Martha walked over and stared at the monitor screen…not that she had a clue what she was looking at. “What is it, Doctor?” She asked wryly, “Was the weather report wrong? Or have we landed in the wrong time and place again?” Looking fiercely serious, the Doctor stared at the monitor. “Neither. It’s the right place, the right time, only…” Rubbing his chin, The Doctor’s voice trailed off as his mind began doing complex calculations. Martha leaned over his shoulder. “Only what, Doctor, what is it?” She asked anxiously.
