Early Fiction Blogs

Want to see some of my old 'blogs?' Too bad. Because here, exclusively transcribed for the first time, are, some of my old 'blogs.' Ta-da!

I'd just turned fourteen when I wrote this. I couldn't swear to it that the main character is named "Smith," but he could certainly be called "Captain."

At the time, I liked to write in first person. I've left the mistakes intact.


The Experience I

It is May 30, 2700. On my home planet, Earth IV they will be preparing for harvest. There are soft, cool gentle breezes blowing through the ripening grain, and farmers pulling unsightly weeds.

But I'm not on my home planet. I'm on my little freighter the Experience, carrying a load of zargon explosives and three irritating passengers which I wouldn't have taken unless I absolutely had to have the money to pay for gas. It gets higher every year from all the taxes and it's too hard to buy illegally so you just have to pay them.

There's this person named Julie Ann Dithers who's going to visit her wealthy parents. She seems to be either always laughing or always crying. She couldn't get a ticket on a cruiser, and finally decided to risk going on the Experience rather than wait a whole year for the cruiser. She's got this little hairy, yippy dog who hates me. The feeling is mutual. At night I dream of 2 things: getting enough money to give the Experience a new coat of paint and get her fixed up, and giving Arfy a good swat with a magazine when he attaches himself to my leg every morning.

TO BE CONT.

Bob Bradford II

Another passenger is Bob Bradford. He's this really nutty comedy writer, who's always cracking unsightly jokes which aren't at all funny and laughing like a hyena at them. I can't stand him.

He comes up to me with this obnoxious grin so I know he's up to something. "The Experience, huh?" he says, "Sure looks like it's had a lot of experience!" He laughs.

I am very angry. I set my jaw and say quietly, "Look here, bub--"

"Bob."

"If you wouldn't like to be set adrift in the middle of nowhere, I suggest you keep your wise cracks about my ship wisely to yourself."

The engine gives a loud, appropriatley placed cough. Bob walks off laughing at his own joke. I glare darkly after him for a moment, then turn and start polishing the engine.

"What a jerk," I say to my ship. She gives another loud cough. "I quite agree," say. (I am used to talking to my ship, after all, you have to talk to someone when you're away from people for months at a time, traveling. A ship's always ready to listen, too. It never tells you to shut up or any thing.

TO BE CONT.

Pancar Beljew Smiy the Fifteenth III

My last passengers name is Pancar Beljew Smiy XV. Although I have tried to figure out what he does, I have been unsuccessful. He comes from a wealthy, high-falutant family and he always wears a tail coat and top hat and talks as if he considered everyone below him and as if you are wasting his time when you talk to him. He considers me lower than a Moralian Slime-Pit, and he doesn't even know my ship exists. His reason for being on my ship is the same as Miss Dither's.

When I get up to the sound of my timed clock buzzing, stumble half-asleep around dragging Arfy behind me to the coffee pot sitting on the engine bubbling, I invariably have Pancar Beljew Smiy XV to critique my every move. I am too half-asleep to combat him properly, though. Fortunatley, I have a very loyal ship, who can make all kinds of horrible noises when she wants to.

Coffee is the one thing I splurge on. I must admit, I like it very strong. My recipe is a cup of coffee grounds to a quart of water, brewed overnight. The longer into the day, the stronger it gets. By night, it has turned into sludge and I eject it and start a new batch.

TO BE CONT.


The story continues to about 24 entries. After this part, they crash land and, I believe, meet some aliens.

I certainly had fun with this stuff.

But then, I had to.

There was always Math, waiting.