There were witches in my dreams last night. Not that nasty-ass witch Madison, who conked Misty on the head last night and had her entombed–yeah, right. If Madison had been there I’d have magically shanked her and fed her skinny ass to the gators. Don’t know if all this writing about witches, and then watching them slink about on television, had anything to do with the dream last night, but there has to be some correlation.
Anyway they let me into their coven and then sent me out on some kind of scavenger hunt, which involved mecha, which is another story all of itself, and probably better left for another story. Not that I haven’t had those dreams, but I’m not getting there with any story any time soon, so if you want some mecha love, you gotta look elsewhere.
Meanwhile I wrote. I was back in the writing nook a bit and managed a bit for my Transformation class–including a teacher who’s not only been around a while, but knows a little something about transformations on the geek side of life:
(Excerpt from The Foundation Chronicles, Book One: A For Advanced, copyright 2013, 2014, by Cassidy Frazee)
Franky Smith leaned towards the student in the cubical next to him. “What a shame; I was hoping to to see some Mystique action today.” His whisper wasn’t meant to be heard by others, but he failed miserably.
Jessica turned towards him. “Oh, you do?” In less time than it took for one to blink, Jessica’s skin turned a bright blue and her hair and lips changed to a dark crimson. “Something like this?” She approached Franky, her stark, solid white eyes pinning him to his chair. “Or did you have something else in mind, Mr. Smith?” She switched back to her actual self as quickly as she’d changed moments before. “Well?”
Franky was trying to get his brain to work, but he wasn’t having much luck. It was one thing to see something like that in a movie, where he knew they were using makeup and CGI, but to see someone actually change like that—and, worst of all, into her before coming at him with those dead, frightening white eyes . . . He took a couple of deed breaths. “I’m sorry, Professor?”
She wasn’t about to let it go. “Is that what you were expecting? What you wanted to do?”
“Yeah, but . . .” He turned his eyes away from her stare and cleared this throat. “I didn’t think you’d, you know—”
“No, I don’t know.”
“I mean . . .” He scratched his head. “I didn’t think you’d know who she is.”
There were many things the class expected Professor Kishna to do, but roll her eyes and laugh wasn’t one of them. “Oh, please. Do you imagine we exist in a pop-culture vacuum here, and have no idea what’s popular in literature and the movies?” She laughed again. “Ask Professor Salomon what my call sign is—it’s been my nickname almost since I started school.”
She leaned closer to Franky. “That said, if you speak out of turn again, I’ll see to it you don’t do it again. Understand?” He nodded slowly. “Good.”
As she stepped away from Franky’s cubical she addressed the class. “You are here to learn, children, not talk out of turn, not cut up and draw attention to yourselves.” She turned her head slowly to the left and right. “If you do, you’ll discover the sort of attention you’re drawing isn’t going to do you any good . . .”
She strolled to one end of the lab, almost stomping out the steps to the three white boards. “After Basic Spells and Formulistic Magic you now have an understanding of how magic works. After Formulistic Magic you have a better understanding of how exacting magic can be a times. Here you are going to discover how to use it in a precise way, for transformational magic demands this. When you are transforming anything—be it your closet doors into a desk, or a piece of wood into marble, or—” She stared at Loorea. “A person into a chair—you require a precise technique. You can’t afford half measures, for who wants to only half change something—or worse yet, half change someone?”
Jessica: if you don’t like who she is, wait five minutes and she’ll become someone else.
Plugged in almost a thousand words last night, with my total sitting just short of 98,300 words. Another thousand or so tonight will take me well over ninety-nine, and Saturday morning’s post will likely proclaim that’s I’ve passed one hundred thousand words. Yay, me.
Maybe all this witch stuff is wearing off on me.
Guess I’ll have to start wearing black on Wednesdays.