Have I mentioned how much I hate rewrites? Because I hate rewrites. This is why it takes me forever to write anything. I spend years carefully planning every nook, cranny, twist, turn, and character in a story, because there is nothing that will kill my momentum like realizing I have to scrap large pieces of a scene that are interwoven with the threads that I need to keep as I re-weave the scene into something better. “On the Corner of Pine and Meyer” will be all the better for it, but because I hate to redo what I feel has already been done, I am very, very good at coming up with other things to do rather than sit-down-and-write. Work provided a decent excuse, considering the hours I had to put in last week and the week before, but since then I’ve just been putting off what I don’t want to do.

Because I feel guilty, here’s a piece of something I am not currently working on, written like three years ago now because I have no focus. A story about space welders, which I’ll be tackling sometime in the next three years.

Data packets came every two weeks, when The Voltron made the trip to the outskirts of the farside. They received videos from home, missives from the company, and, in this last transmission, their six-month evaluations. Yancey had thought little of his (a five-page packet filled with inane questions like “What can we do to improve your experience?” as though he were on vacation or something), right up until he realized that he was the only one who’d received that particular form. Everyone else’s was a frank criticism of everything they were doing wrong, some rather pointed insinuations regarding their abilities, and an edict to pick up the pace or else. When they’d started grumbling about it (“Or else what? They’ll send us to the other side of the moon?”), Vladski had only laughed.

“Just wait until the year mark. That’s when they get really mean. Anyways, what you really don’t want is one of the happy packets.”

Someone had, like Vladski clearly intended, asked what those were. He’d proceeded to describe the exact form Yancey had received.

“If you get one of those,” he’d explained, “your psych evals aren’t exactly coming up roses. You might complete your contract, but you’ll never be back. Sort of the One Stop Shop guarantee.”

Yancey had sat on his hands and said nothing. He needed another contract if he wanted to keep his promise to his grandfather.


In other news, I found this quote on a YouTube video, which gives me a good laugh every time I read it:

my prince is not riding in on a white horse he must be riding a turtle


Grammar is true to form (or [sic], as the bracketed indication of correct quotation of an original goes). I couldn’t even tell you what the context for this was at this point. I had it copied and pasted it into the middle of Chapter 4 of Pine & Meyer so that I wouldn’t forget.

Finally, FYI: I just installed a spam blocker on my WordPress. I was getting absolutely pounded with this crap, so much so that I was starting to dread checking my website – which is not how I’m supposed to feel about TheStoryFolder. Please let me know if you have any problems leaving comments or if you run into any other issues.

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  1. Your Local Friendly IT Guy says:

    Hey, look. An update. Good to see you’re not going too crazy over there. 😛

    • Your Local Friendly IT Guy says:

      And looks like commenting isn’t giving me any trouble. So that’s good.

      • A.L. Schultz says:

        Oh good! I was hoping you’d comment (first because they always make me laugh, second so that I knew the spamblocker hadn’t eaten the legitimate stuff). It seems to be working great.

    • A.L. Schultz says:

      Nah, just crazy enough. Or something along those lines.

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