I was working diligently away at my task, ignoring all who passed by me at a distance, while a distinct symbol hovered over my head. Three would be ranger class munchkin adventures came up to me clutching their bags of holding, out of which stuck various maps and furry companions that they had acquired at the shops that dotted the street. In the background hovered the magic lake, filled with symbols of power where ancient spirits once battled. The three adventurers said nary a word but stared at me with expectant and nervous smiles until I stood up and granted them a quest. 

Apparently I am an NPC when in uniform.
​

 Stasis  noun  unchanging. In a state of complete lack of movement. 

Stasis is one of those mundane words that became a staple of science fiction.
What was your favorite use of stasis in a story? 

Things I Am Working On At The Moment

​Humans are Weird Shorts: “Mother Earth” is trying to KILL us and has been since time immemorial. This has made humans different than the other species out there. It’s not that they don’t like us, we are just a bit terrifying.
The Superman Protocol: So you find a bunch of super-powered infants who are prophesied to grow up and destroy you. What’s a modern country to do? Adopt them out into patriotic, wholesome, stable families of course. Granted they are dragons and not aliens of course but Clark Kent turned out okay.
They Also Serve: They prided themselves on their warrior culture. They were the most aggressive, physically powerful, quickly reaction sentient species known in space. Even the powerful humans considered them terrifying to look at with their claws, giant mouthful of needle sharp teeth, and giant ebony eyes….and the war started. The real war. It nearly broke their culture when they realized that they were all but useless on the front lines, save as scouts who returned to the medical units, broken within a few months. When the humans in the medical wards asked for help with a project the ex-scouts volunteered eagerly. Apparently terrifying looking furry predators who wouldn’t actually eat you had a special power for humans. A special place in their hearts. It was confusing but they could see that it worked.
“You are terrifying, so we will send you in to comfort the wounded soldiers! You don’t mind letting them pet you right?”
Discovery: A prequel to “Dying Embers”. How did the  aliens arrive, how did they get involved with the McCarty clan. Ect.
Possession: They have everything. The population is wealthy beyond imagination. Their are immortal, healthy no matter their vices, offered intellectual challenges  if they so desire. Yes, humanity has achieved utopia. So why is Bob so uneasy? Then he discovers the bodies. Then he runs.
Second Contact:We all know what the Department of Defense will be doing when the aliens show up. But what about the Department of the Interior? What about the one agency that is actually specifically designated to deal with invasive species? *hint they are not happy*

Humans Are Weird – Forgetfulness
“Hey Twitch buddy,” Private Jones called out from the next room, the salutation interrupted by a yawn.
“Yes, friend Jones?” Quilx’tch responded without altering his posture. His secondary legs were tapping lightly across the bottom of his abdomen, triggering the keyboard that was projected there. He might have used the data processing station in the center of the large communal room but that would require running around the edge of the human sized space. The pathways that the humans had built into the walls were very useful to be sure. However Quilx’tch was tired after a long day of observing the base commander engaged in ‘hunting’ and had much data to process. He rather preferred to use his personal device and stay right here in the comfy hammock that had been made with his comfort in mind thank you very much.
“Do you by chance remember what I came in here for?” Jones asked.
Quilx’tch paused in the composition of his observations and slowly turned to face the door that Jones had stepped through. He tried to parse the words. “By chance” indicated that the human thought that the likelihood that the answer would be positive was low. Quilx’tch mulled hard over what they rest of the question could mean.
“Why do you think that I would know what your intentions were by leaving the room?” Quilx’tch asked.
“Eh,” Jones said, “maybe I said something to you…”
“You did not,” Quilx’tch said slowly. “But that is the room that houses the foodstuffs. Perhaps you were hungry and wished to procure food.”
“It’s always about food with you,” the human said with some amusement in his voice. “Oh! Right. Boot grease! Thanks buddy.”
Quilx’tch stared rather blankly at the door as Jones came back in clutching the canister of ‘boot grease’ and proceeded to get to the task of cleaning and waterproofing his foot coverings. Quilx’tch thought to ask why Jones had thanked him when his suggestion had been fruitless but the question of how the human had forgotten his intention between the couch and the door seemed both more pressing and less polite. Finally Quilx’tch shrugged and turned back to his report, making a high priority note to pursue this further. Such a sensitive topic as flaws in mental function might need something more in the way of diplomacy than a mere nutritional anthropologist could offer. 

​ 
Urban Noir - That Company
 
There is a company that takes pictures of roads. Most roads. They have fancy cars with cameras on top. They have fancy computers in the cars. And little black instruction manuals in very bottom of the glove compartment. The drivers have fancy degrees and are all quite clever. They have to be. This company is was dedicated to science. Not that it says so in the charter. That is just how they are. It is a natural product of how they select their employees. The old aunt with a trunk full of genuine juju charms would be welcome if she applied of course (as long as she had that degree) but she doesn’t, because they are were not that kind of company. They are shiny, chrome and white. They are sterile, grays and black. They are modern, sharp, cutting edge. Of course somebody got cut.
Every new driver is instructed on what kind of charm to hand on the rearview mirror. The instructions are tailored to each region. Some laugh, some think it quaint whimsy, most obey. The company refuses to insure those who don’t.  Not that it is wise to look in the mirror all the time. They know that now. The instruction manual, the one that no one quite seems to know who printed or researched. It had instructions about that.
The first time they were warned. They didn’t listen. Science after all. A horrible accident they said. The CEO herself came out to pat the shoulders of the driver’s girlfriend. No we don’t know how he ended up in that swamp. But not to worry, it is a car that takes pictures after all. Our techs will just review the pictures and tell you everything. Three techs went mad. Two died mysteriously. The pictures were scrubbed from the database and the server they were stored on was lost in a fire that the investigators ruled arson.
It is bad business practice, very bad business practice for your employees to keep dying. Or worse things as some folk say. The first driver who didn’t come back from that one swampy road they were warned about was found. Mostly. The second driver did come back. That was the day “don’t be evil” was added to the company rules. Insiders say it is a more practical rule than outsiders think, and then they grin falsely and laugh hollowly at the joke.
There were other incidences of course. The pictures of the moth wings dipping down over the sides of the car came with screaming. The strange hoof-prints around the car that was found empty with the camera wrenched off in Jersey. The driver that was found hunched over a car, wrinkled and aged decades in the few hours that he’d been driving on a back road outside of Dublin. And there were always warnings. They will always give at least the illusion of fair play, so pay attention. Bad business.
There is a company that takes pictures of roads. Their employees are very, very well trained. Their cameras are cutting edge. If there are roads, sections of roads, particular houses, that don’t appear in their pictures. Well, the employees are very well trained, and it is bad business for employees to end up anything other than fully alive.   

Animal Conversations - Is it Spring Yet?

​​“Well you really can’t complain,” Mr. Whiskers said sagely as he backed further into his hollow log. “This is what we have our fur for.”
A slightly miffed peep from the entry to his den caught his attention and Mr. Whiskers opened one eye to glance at Mrs. Skye.
“And our feathers,” he said apologetically.
Mrs. Skye fluffed out her feathers and settled back down into the dry patch in the entry of his den. Mr. Whiskers stared out at the unseasonably late snow and sighed as he curled back up and tucked his nose under his bushy tail. No, there was no reason to complain. But it was supposed to be spring. 

Desolation:  noun a state of complete emptiness or destruction
Be the genera fantasy or science fiction, desolation is a popular theme and idea in writing. Some stories start in a desolate place, some stories end there.
What is your favorite desolate place in fiction? 

​Humans are Weird IRL 2 - Raptors!

Under an ominous and cloudy sky the small heard of botanists work industriously at their task. This water soaked hillside is infested with dandelions and the invaders must be eliminated as much as possible. There is a grim undertone to the task. In the tightly packed, root bound soil it is near impossible to get the entire tap root out and most of the ones that they pull will sprout again soon enough. This will be a long battle. The mist drifts ominously through the dense conifer forest that surrounds them, hiding anything that might be approaching. Also it is raining and cold.
No one notices when one botanist breaks from the herd and wanders off into the dense forest. They do notice when a Speilbergian velociraptor shriek echoes through the woods. Gone is a collective half century of natural history. Sheer nerd panic rips through the herd and they stager to their knees, trowels raised to defend or throw. It doesn’t matter that every dromaeosaurid is well and thoroughly extinct. It doesn’t matter that these cold northern forests are far too cold to support such large reptiles.
No, the nightmare of their childhood has screamed its battle call from the depths of the forest and they are prepared to fight! No getting dragged off to be raptor food for them.
The missing botanist stumbles out of the forest giggling with far less dignity than a man of nearly three decades should possess and the rest of the crew proceeds to skewer him with murderous looks and the sheer absurdity of the panic that fuels their still pounding hearts sets in.
“You nearly got a dozen trowels thrown at you,” another points out. “I would have had to report the stupidest injury ever to the supervisor!”
“Worth it,” the unrepentant ‘raptor’ replies, bending back to his task.
Torn between shame and amusement the others follow suit. 

Last year's cones contrast beautifully with the burnt out husks of trees. This can offer wonderful photographic opportunities, if not much in the way of writing inspiration. Maybe it will inspire someone else? 

One wonders why things get their names. This perfectly respectable flower that looks like the peel of an aging banana is named the Chocolate Lilly (Fritillaria biflora). It neither looks nor smells like chocolate. 
What do you think it should be named?