Posts Tagged ‘detective’


brains! (Photo credit: cloois)

Someone tell my brain it’s only allowed to work on one project at a time. It keeps insisting on coming of with more and more side-projects, and it’s making it very difficult to get things done… I guess it’d be cool if it could at least learn to prioritize, but, no, it simply believes in trying to do all the projects at once.

So far I have to finish at least the first book of ‘Ravenblood,’ and then I also have more side-projects cropping up… ‘Natural Selection’ keeps taking my attention, which is cool (sort’of, but part of my brain wants to do more with that too, which simply can’t be), but now a couple other things I was playing with are insisting that I play with them more, and I simply don’t have that kind of time. I did a BS excerpt using my detective character, a character I have had pretty much no chance to make use of yet, but that little bit got my head running on trying to figure a way to finish it–it wasn’t even meant to be finished, it was completely meant to be only BS.

More importantly, if I do come up with anymore side projects, it has to be at least something that could be possibly submitted to something other than simply posted here, which seems to be the issue with a lot of them so far. ‘Natural Selection’ is pretty much stuck here, I see no way around that, which is cool, as I said, gives me a web-comic writer sort of feel I guess (which also hints at something that my brain keeps telling me I should do with NS–thank god my drawing skills are badly out of practice–although I did at least try to draw Bahb once). But, yea, I could always use money as a possible motivator, and something that gets me out there a bit more than this blog and its cute little stories…

So, damn you, voices, one at a time, and wait your turn!

PS: I’ll probably be posting ‘Natural Selection’ soon, and… dear’god, if the voices don’t shut’up, also a ending and/or re-write to ‘Mist’…

Robert Mitchum as Jeff Bailey and Jane Greer a...

Robert Mitchum as Jeff Bailey and Jane Greer as Kathie Moffat (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I was asked by a writer friend of mine to tell her the story of how we met… except to make up the whole story. Many responses to this were interesting, mine for some reason conjured up my detective character. I have so far used him in a complete short-story only once, plus several unfinished works (with this one now being among those–I’ve just never found the flow for modern mysteries despite the many attempts… just too much damn forensics and crap these days). The character’s name wasn’t used in this because it was supposed to be me in this situation, but for reference, his name is Darc Lyte (in one of my incompletes there’s actually a story behind that name–some other time perhaps). Although I didn’t finish this–didn’t even technically plan to finish it–but after writing the bit that I did, it got my head running on how it actually would of worked out… and even though it’s not written, I have it all in my head how it happens. To amuse myself though, let’s see if others can figure out how it could have worked.

So this is the mission, read my short bit, and tell me how it all ends by responding in comment.

It was a dark and stormy night—a muggy early summer storm. I was sitting in my office, sorting away old case files, when my intercom buzzed.

Anne, or Beth, or whatever the new secretary’s name was spoke through the crackling speaker, “There’s a Miss… um… Mist… there’s a woman here to see you.”

I wasn’t expecting any appointments, and I don’t normally accept walk-ins. I was about to hit the respond button and have the secretary send the lady away with a threat towards her further employment in my office, but before I had the chance, the door opened and a well-endowed, full-figure, red-headed woman walked in, dressed in a tight Victorian style, with well placed leather—business is slow, I figured I might as well give her the chance to tell her case… just to see if it can make ends meet, and pay bills—that’s all.

She spoke with a sensual tone that created an allure only to be challenged by the fragrance of her perfume, “You are the private… dick… of this office?”

“Thank you, the complete discomfort I’m feeling answers why we don’t normally call it that anymore—but, yes, ma’am, I’m the private detective here. How may I help you?”

“Well, detective,” She went on, “This is difficult to explain, but I need you to solve a murder.”

“Oh,” I exclaimed, and almost regretted the required response, “Have you gone to the police about this yet?”

“Yes, of’course I have, but they turned it away without hesitation because… you see,” She paused in search for words, “The murder I need you to solve… is my own…”

I stared in shock and confusion, and if it wasn’t for the frightened composure and her visible attempt to keep from breaking down in tears, I would have assumed her crazy and had an army of white-coats taking her away.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” I said, “But you look a bit healthier than most murder victims I’ve seen—“

That’s when she lost her battle for composure and her eyes became faucets, “Oh, detective, I only wish you would be able to say that two days from now… but… I know I’ll be dead by then.” She got out with me trying to figure out if I translated the crying-woman speak correctly.

Before I could try at any level of rebuttal, she immediately got up from her seat, slapped a file-folder on my desk and stormed out of the office, back into the night and rain. I never saw her again.