An Introduction

    To kick The Writer's Blog off with a proper start, I figured what better way to do so than by simply just talking about my writing in and of itself. For the best part of the last decade, I've been preoccupied with creating stories that have just come to me in my mind. Yes, a large portion of those have been my own Star Wars stories that have gone mostly unfinished, partly because I don't have the best track record with actually finishing things I begin writing and also partly because a part of me knows deep down inside that there's a very minor chance that such a story would ever get realized beyond myself. So rather than continuing to create my own ideas of stories in an established universe, I began to create my own.

    First, I wrote a "novel" (I use the word lightly) over the course of roughly two or three years, from 2013 to 2015, that clocks in at just over 100 pages, with about 10 chapters (plus a prologue and epilogue). It was about a band of young heroes who saves the world from a dragon (because of course it's always a group of teenagers who can defeat some magical villain), with the help of a proclaimed "chosen one" of some ancient prophecy, because that is a wholly original idea that has never been used before (here's looking at Star Wars again). But regardless of the countless fantasy clichés and tropes that were recycled in it, I'm still proud of that book because it was my first work and is actually completed and in semi-book form (it's just a three-ring binder with a rather ... crude cover, if you will, but hey, it's still a book, sort of).

    Then, about two or three years ago, I began to envision a rather expansive fantasy setting, creating a whole map of the world and mapping out a history, character bios, and the like for it. It certainly didn't rival Narnia or Middle-earth or anything, but it was definitely the most in-depth world that I had yet built. I began to make plans for a lengthy story I wanted the series to follow, and actually completed the first book. I still plan to revisit it at some point and polish the rough edges (of which there are a lot) and complete the story, but that will happen sometime down the line. Right now, there are other projects that I feel are more important to me at this point in time.

    Now we come to the point in time where I get to talk about the project that I've been hard at work at for the last couple years. Since I started taking my criminal justice courses in college I put a lot of my creative stuff on the backburner, working away when I had the time, of which I had very little. But now, with all my focus being shifted to this as my eventual career, I've been rereading the story and editing the rough parts to create an actually cohesive story. There are still some details that need to be refined and some major strokes that need to be added before it is completely done (heck, I still have to actually finish it), but it is very close to being done, at least in the initial drafting stage. If everything goes as I have planned and envisioned, I am hopeful that the finished product will actually be completed and released at some point this year. That's the plan.

    So, what exactly is this project? To be quite honest, I don't have a finalized title just yet -- I have a few ideas floating around, but the selection of a title is a process that is perhaps the most important in creating a story. After all, aside from the cover or a brief synopsis, it's what draws a reader in, so it has to be intriguing yet also make sense. So in lieu of an actual title, I'll just give a brief rundown of the summary of the story. It's going to be a series of short stories/novellas (the first one should clock in at just over 100 pages, so not a full-length book), probably four to five each volume, that will tell the story of a crew of mercenaries/bounty hunters seeking to live their lives out day-to-day, taking on odd jobs to make a living and survive in a dangerous galaxy. It's really, quite simply, a sci-fi Western, incorporating elements of both genres to create a world that feels both fresh but also lived-in.

    I would go into detail about the characters, but I think I'll save that for a more in-depth blog. I don't want to ramble too much, so instead of writing more, I'll leave you with a sneak peek at the story. So without further ado, here's the first chapter of my project. I hope you enjoy it, and by all means, leave your feedback! I'd love to hear all of it.

Note: A quick note concerning one of the characters in this story, Charka. He is a reptilian alien, hence the "hissing" effect of his speech signified by the repetition of S's and C's whenever he speaks. Hopefully it isn't much of a hindrance in reading!

CHAPTER ONE

“WE’VE GOT INCOMING!”

Mike Barrett rushed down the corridor of the Strider, hand gripped tightly around the cool metal of the gunnery ladder. The loud rumbling of the upper gun turret filled his ears as Charka thundered away at the control yoke of the cannons.

“How many?” Barrett ran a hand through his dark, shaggy hair as he came to a stop in the cockpit. Seated to the right of the captain of the Strider, young co-pilot Thad Nelson sat with his eyes wide open, scouring the depths of space before him as his hands flew along the ship’s control panel.

“I can’t tell.” Thad’s answer was not much more than a grunt, but it carried a somber, hefty weight that sunk Mike’s spirit. “At least three . . . or four. . ..”

Mike shunned a curse as he climbed into the pilot’s chair, his hands grasping the controls of the Strider. “I’ll take control,” he said, his eyes glued to the controls as Thad flicked a switch, sending several lights into a blinking frenzy of red and green color flashes before the two men.

Thad spun around in his chair, all control of the helm given to its captain. “I’ll check on Phelps in the engine room,” he said as Mike nodded, not really paying attention. 

“All right, all right,” the captain muttered, lifting his eyes to see the stars peppered across the black void. He grabbed the control stick of the old freighter as he yanked back, throwing the whole ship and her crew into evasive action.

Charka’s head lolled as the ship did a somersault in space. “Pissska . . . what’sss that fool human doing?” The reptilian Tuataran slapped the comm in his gunnery station, his forked tongue slithering across his scaly lips.

“Captain! What’sss happening up there?”

“It’s called evasive action, Charka,” Mike’s calm voice came through in response. “But don’t worry—it’s all fine up here.”

Charka uttered an ancient Tuataran curse. “Of courssse it isss. It alwaysss isss.”

The Tuataran gripped the controls of the turret firmly in his clawed hands, smashing down on the trigger as his inhuman vision tracked the skyriders as they tore through space, laser blasts shrieking as they glanced off the Strider’s hull. “That one wasss awfully clossse!”

“Yeah, it was—so keep shooting at ‘em!” Mike yelled at his gunner. “Either that, or we’re all dead meat!”

Charka yanked to the left, swiveling the gun’s canopy as he fired a volley of blasts. The skyrider’s wing suffered a glancing blast that tore off a sheet of metal, sending it careening into the dark abyss. Another blast tore through the main hull of the ship, leaving a streak of fire and a funnel of smoke trailing behind the fighter. The third blast left its mark as it carved through the skyrider’s cockpit, its pilot fried to a crisp.

“Yesss!” Charka hissed gleefully, a toothy grinning forming on his face.

“Great job, but there’s still a few more.” A few moments’ silence passed as Mike added, “By the way, how many more are there?”

“I count four,” Charka responded, swiveling the gun turret to face off against the next skyrider. “Whatever you did to Duncan, he mussst really be angry about it.”

“Trust me, you don’t wanna know. I came in to pay off my debts and wham, he sends his goons after me.” A sigh escaped the tired captain as he concluded, “I dunno, maybe I should just hang up my smuggling days for good.”

“Come on, Captain, what would you do without thisss job? Pilot a commercccial ssshipping freighter?”

“Better that than getting killed.”

“We’re not dead yet.”

“There’s always a first time—and a first is all that counts in that department.”

Charka sniggered as he let loose a spray of blasts, tearing through another skyrider. The ship exploded into a ball of flame as pieces of shrapnel flung every which way.

“That is, unless you’re a cat. Then you’ve got eight more—”

Before Mike could finish his quip, a shriek sounded to Charka’s left as he turned and saw a skyrider come swirling through space, firing its own blaster cannons. Charka threw up his arms over his face as the blasts thundered against the ship’s hull, letting out a shriek of his own.

“Phelps, how’s it going in here?”

Seventeen-year-old Nathan Phelps groaned as he hurled a wrench across the engine room of the Strider. “Could be better. This whole ship’s falling apart.”

“It has been for quite a few years now, and I’m sure it will for a few more as well. As long as our engineer keeps it in tip-top shape, that is.” The sandy-haired co-pilot flashed a grin to the teenaged mechanic, although Nathan groaned again as he ducked under a pipe, retrieving the wrench he had just thrown.

“Not if those skyriders have anything to say about it,” Nathan huffed, brushing his dark hair out of his eyes. “If they had it their way, we’d be dead now and they would’ve collected their bounty from Duncan or whoever it is that’s hired them.”

“Maybe so, but we’re still here and they’re losing guys by the minute. We’ll get out of this clean, just you wait and see.” Thad walked towards the ship’s piping as a fuse suddenly blew, sending a stream of mist into the air. Thad threw his arm back as the hot steam scorched his skin, letting out a sharp cry.

“As I said, everything’s falling apart,” Nathan said, turning to the pipe as he lowered his workman’s goggles over his eyes and went to repairing the damage to the engines.

Thad shook his head as a beeping noise came from his coat pocket. “Thad, pick up!” Mike’s angry voice sounded. Thad snapped up his communicator and held it to his mouth.

“Thad here. What’s happening, Mike?”

“Pretty much everything, plus a little more. What’s that nutjob Phelps doing, anyways? Has he got his comm switched off?”

“I dunno, let me check.” Thad thumbed off his comm, calling out, “Phelps! Is your comm turned off?”

“Oh, yeah,” Nathan said. “All that yelling was making me go crazy. Go turn on the room’s comm.” Thad grumbled under his breath as he stomped towards the comm, flicking it on as Nathan yelled, “Hey, Cap, what’s going—”

“Phelps, what are you, some kind of idiot? Why’ve you got your comm shut off?!” Mike was clearly agitated—and Thad knew exactly why.

“I’m sorry, Captain, the exchange was just driving me—”

“Yeah, yeah, tell me later. Look, the gun turret was just hit pretty bad and we need a repair on it.” Thunderous laser fire sounded as Mike added, “Like, now. Maintenant.”

“Maintain-what?”

“Never mind, just get up there and fix the guns. Charka needs them now.”

“Well . . . get Charka to fix ‘em! I’m too busy keeping the engines from falling apart!” Nathan tore his goggles from his face as he let them dangle, huffing as he stopped from twisting the bolt on the piping.

“I said you fix them. Charka’s too busy firing on those skyriders, and he’s only got one barrel on his turret. He needs the other one ASAP. That’s an order.”

Nathan opened his mouth to bark back some smart retort, but Thad shook his head and mouthed a “no.” Nathan sighed and let out a defeated “All right.” He snapped his goggles onto his forehead as he stormed up the ladder into the main cabin of the ship as Thad sighed, squeezing the bridge of his nose as he turned and followed Nathan up the ladder, shaking his head in exasperation.

Nathan crawled up into the gunner’s canopy as Charka turned to the teenager. “What’re you doing up here? It’sss cramped asss it isss!”

“Mike sent me up here to fix one of these gun barrels. Which one’s the wrecked one?”

“The left one,” Charka hissed, flicking his tongue as he swiveled the turret. As he did so, Nathan slipped and banged his ankle on one of the bars of the ladder leading into the gunner’s canopy.

“Hey, watch it!”

“Oh, husssh up. I need to ssshoot!”

“Well, can you shoot without throwing me out of here? I need to fix this gun turret!”

“You’re a mechanic. Figure out sssome inventive way to do it yourssself!” Charka chuckled as he fired at one of the skyriders, skimming its wing with one of the blasts.

Nathan reached up and slipped a screwdriver from his workman’s belt, quickly prying open a junction box on the inside of the turret. Nathan fiddled with the innards of the tech as he turned on his goggles’ light, examining the electrical wiring.

“This barrel’s completely shot, and I don’t have the kind of tech we need to fix this kind of damage. We’ve gotta stop at the nearest docking ring or planet or wherever we can stop.”

“Don’t look at me, I’m not the captain,” Charka shrugged as he sent one of the skyriders into oblivion, a ball of flaming shrapnel. “Barrett’sss the guy you’ve gotta talk to.”

Nathan gulped as he slammed the junction box shut. “Yeah. Right.” He slipped the screwdriver into his belt as he turned off his goggles’ light, raising them onto his brow. “I guess I’d better go ask him now.”

“Jussst don’t get in hisss way, kid. Barrett doesssn’t like it when he’sss interrupted, essspecially when he’sss about to be, well, blown up.”

“Thanks,” Nathan shot back sarcastically. He slid down the ladder as his feet pounded onto the deck, rattling the floor grating. He turned towards the cockpit as he paced down the corridor, spotting Mike and Thad in the pair of pilots’ chairs. Nathan walked into the cockpit and took a seat in the chair behind Mike’s. “Captain, the turret’s been damaged extensively. We’ve gotta stop at either a docking ring or a planet or we’ll be sitting—”

Mike yanked the control yoke to the left, sending the freighter vaulting over as Thad fingered the controls of the forward rotary turret. Mike glanced over his shoulder. “All right, fine. We’re gonna stop at the Duchess once we lose these jokers.”

Nathan nodded and got to his feet as Mike added, “Don’t make yourself scarce though, kid—I’ve got something I’ve gotta say to you once we get outta this mess. Y’hear me?”

“Yes sir.” Nathan gulped as he turned and walked swiftly down the corridor, climbing down the ladder and into the engine room, his personal abode in the Strider.

“We’ve got two more ssskyridersss!” Charka yelled out. “One’sss heading to the front of the Ssstrider!”

“All right,” Mike said. “Shoot down the one at your side. We’ll handle this one.”

“Will do,” Charka said, licking his lips with his forked tongue as he clenched the gunner’s yoke of his turret, keeping his well-trained predator eye on the last skyrider as he smashed his claws down onto the firing mechanism, watching with glee as the stars lit up with bright orange flame as the ship disappeared into nothing but a mass of contorted metal floating away into the abyss.

“My target’sss down!” Charka’s voice barked through the comm. Thad’s green eyes followed the blue stream the final skyrider left behind as it tore through black abyss of space.

“That just leaves yours, Thad. Take the shot,” Mike said. Thad could make out a sense of relief in the captain’s voice as Mike kept his eyes on the final ship, blinking more often now than he had in the rest of the excursion with the skyriders.

Thad trained the reticle of his rotary cannon on the tail of the skyrider as he bit his lip, squeezing the trigger tightly as a volley of blasts tore through the void, each shot tearing a hole into the rear of the ship. Within moments, the engine of the skyrider was decimated and it was no more, engulfed in a blistering firestorm.

The co-pilot let out a huge sigh of relief as he sank back into the cushions of his chair, grinning happily. “All hands, take your rest. All the threats have been eliminated,” Mike spoke through the comm, smiling broadly. “We’ll be stopping at the Duchess within the hour.”

Mike climbed up from his seat as he flipped a switch, turning control over to Thad. “You pilot her on into the Duchess.” He turned and gazed down the corridor to the engine room. “I’ve got a crewman that needs a lecture on obeying orders—and keeping his comms up and running.”

Thad gave Mike an easygoing smile. “Hey, just remember, I was the same way in my first year as co-pilot. Take it easy on the kid.”

Mike shrugged. “Hey, just remember that I gave you your fair share of talking-tos as well.” The captain threw up his hands as he paced down the corridor backwards. “Now look how well you’ve turned out.”