The City

[I'm Murrin]

Not as good, and just a little scrap even compared to the above. It will probably find itself added into the continuation of the first piece above:

Overhead ran the sky-rail, cables suspended in long, low arcs which stretch from tower to tower across the city. A web of steel lines stretched outward from where the terminal lurks at the centre, the nexus, the hub. Every three minutes precisely the car drops gently out from the distant tower and soars along the wire, sweeping over the bustle of the boulevard below, building speed and rushing, zooming outward and down until it reaches the nadir, the minimum and is racing at its greatest velocity. Then it begins to curve up, ever so gently, up, and begins to slow, glides upward and slows and finally alights, smooth and silent, upon the waiting platform. The journey takes thirty seconds. A minute passes and then it's off, downward and gaining speed by the moment, following its course in reverse, over and over in perpetuity. In exactly two minutes it will arrive once more. Like clockwork.

I've made a rough attempt to place some kind of rhythm or pace to the line describing the arc of the car, but I think it may all just be in my head because that's how I expect it to feel, the sensation I want to convey.

[Loredoctor]

Very very very good. One of the sentences is a bit too long, but great.

[I'm Murrin]

That sentence - the journey from one tower to another - I made it run-on on purpose. Doesn't work? I'll have a look at it then, see what I can do.

Okay - I've found a pause (conveniently enough, at the mid-point) and broken the sentence in two. How's that work?

[I'm Murrin]

I was just starting on this when I was interrupted. It'll wait for another time for continuation.

Fuck the fucking city, Simon thinks - this is beautiful. Dropping the half-smoked cigarette to the ground and grinding it under his heel, he steps out into the street, pulling back the hood of his coat to let the rain touch his face. He stands for a second, eyes closed, head lifted to the invisible night sky, then turns and heads edgewards along the street.

[Loredoctor]

That sentence - the journey from one tower to another - I made it run-on on purpose. Doesn't work? I'll have a look at it then, see what I can do.

Okay - I've found a pause (conveniently enough, at the mid-point) and broken the sentence in two. How's that work?

Works well!

Like the second exerpt, as well.

[I'm Murrin]

what do you think of the word edgeward? I've been playing with the idea of the city as a circle or wheel - the Hub, the Radii, the Perimeter - but I had trouble with a word that was the opposite of "hubward".

[Loredoctor]

Edgeward works, and I would probably use the same. You could also use 'rimward' - but sounds odd. But you could also make up a term.

[CovenantJr]

Edgeward works, and I would probably use the same. You could also use 'rimward' - but sounds odd. But you could also make up a term.

Pratchett uses "rimward" on the Discworld. Whether that makes it a word to use or avoid is up to you, Murrin.

[Loredoctor]

Never knew that - thanks.

[I'm Murrin]

Pratchett's world actually has a rim, the Circumfence, which makes it a perfect word to use. I'm not fond of 'rimward' for Del-phi though.

[Avatar]

Then it begins to curve up, ever so gently, up, and begins to slow, glides upward and slows and finally alights, smooth and silent, upon the waiting platform.

Personal idiosyncrasy, but I think that the word "slow" was used once too often in that sentence.

--A

[I'm Murrin]

Bah. The repetition is part of the flow of the sentence.

[Avatar]

Personal preference. Duplicate words, especially so close to each other, always seem a little jarring to me.

(Love the cuniform btw. )

--A

[I'm Murrin]

Personal preference. Duplicate words, especially so close to each other, always seem a little jarring to me.

It can be the same with me, just depends when and where they're used.

(Love the cuniform btw. )

--A

Alas, I couldn't find better images. At least I can be reasonably sure it does actually say 1 - 2 - 3.
(Reading Hal Duncan recently seems to have sparked an interest in Sumerian/Babylonian history and myth.)

[Avatar]

Read Robert Silverberg's Gilgamesh The King. Excellent rendition of the myth.

--A

[I'm Murrin]

Y'know, I think maybe I should read some version of the Epic of Gilgamesh. I don't think I really want my first experience of it to be Hal Duncan's proposed project, described as "a combination of The Epic of Gilgamesh and the furry fetish scene".

[Avatar]

Well, the Silverberg book, although excellent, is merely a historical fiction/fantasy interpretation. (It is very good though.)

If you want a version of the original, I suggest asking LuciMay...she just studied it, might be able to point you to a good version, online or elsewhere.

--A

[I'm Murrin]

Scraps and fragments begin to come together, and a story is forming in my mind. I expect I'll continue to write it in this manner - skipping around, writing a bit here and a bit there, but it is starting to take on substance. To fit the new piece below with the older one (the rain one), I'll have to rework the second part of the old to fit my new impression of the character, and I'll probably tweak this new part a bit to fit the image of the city. But it's coming on, and it's seeming more promising than usual.
Note: you might not understand the end of this piece, because it follows from an earlier part of this scene, which I haven't actually written yet. The end of this little bit actually inspired the bit that leads up to it, heh. Because I don't often write much action or inter-action, this is a little less polished than usual. As I said, I'm going to rework bits as I go.

Suddenly he found himself dangling from the side of the bridge by one hand, the rain falling past him into a vast darkness the span's single light could not penetrate. He swung his weight over to the other side and reached out to grab hold of the metal railing with his other hand, then found that he could not move himself further. He could feel his fingers slipping on the wet metal of the rail, and let out a cry as he found his eyes staring down past his feet at the darkness below. He quickly lifted his gaze, fixing his eyes on the rail above him. Sara stood looking over the edge at him dangling there helpless, an odd look in her eyes. She seemed to reach a decision, then reached out and took hold of Simon by the wrist. A single pull brought him far enough to get a hold on the bar, and he dragged himself over and onto the bridge's platform. He lay there for a few moments, shaking, trying desperately not to think of the great distance from the bridge to the floor below. Gradually he realised that Sara was standing over him again, with that same strange expression on her face. It changed as soon as he noticed it, and she asked, calmly, "Aren't you going to thank me?"
He just stared at her, unable to speak.

[I'm Murrin]

A little messy, some playing around with tense, very rough.

Shit. Shit shit shit.

He'd been there an hour before he found he note. It was tucked underneath the alarm clock in the bedroom, a page torn from a book, which she'd folded into a neat square and scrawled his name across in red pen.

Oh fuck.

She'd written it in a hurry - the words were rushed and crowded into a corner of the page, her familiar scrawl more ragged and frantic than usual.

This is bad. This is very, very bad.

She didn't say where she'd gone. The message was vague, avoiding detail, but he knew what it meant.

He takes out his pad and tries to call her, but gets a recorded message in response - The ident you have called is currently unavailable. Please try again.

This wasn't like her. She wouldn't just-

No. This is exactly like her. He has known it all along, knew it would come to this, and now it's too late for denials. He just hopes she hasn't gotten in too deep. Pulling on his jacket he runs out of the door, forgetting to lock it behind him. He rushes down the street - hubward, always hubward - and tries to work out who could help him find her.
Why today? What could it be, that has to be done today?

Simon-
Heard from Jacob. Something going down. Something big. He wants my help. Keep your eye on the newscast. xxx

[I'm Murrin]

Digging through old posts for no good reason.

Avatar, you were right about the repetition of the word "slow", I can just excsie the "and slows" and the sentence works better.

I still want to do something with these ideas. I've flirted with the idea of this city without actually writing anything down for years. I've had new thoughts reading this: The scene on the bridge is a different character, and is an opening scene. The scene in the street below with the rain follows after it. Of course "Machines" takes point on the whole thing. I don't know if it should be creepy and wonderful or horrific.

My biggest flaw remains. I still need a damn plot.

Though something from this other topic of mine has promise: Light. The idea in the final post, that the character could be released with false memories, has some interesting resonances with the utterly devastating treatment I've always intended to give my "Machines" character.