Sunday, November 27, 2011

Sunny Sunday, by crikey I think the weather has its shit sorted!

Good morning.
Elections are over. Key is no doubt a happy camper - Goff is possibly licking his wounds. I'm just glad the bullshit faze is over.

Yesterday went from okay to crap and settled finally on hilarious. The glorious Admins arrived with pate, bread, and Dolcetto. Kane popped over with another bottle of Dolcetto as an apology for the fireworks that nearly scared Romeo to death a few weeks ago. Turns out it was Kane who was letting them off. Thought he looked a tad guilty when I was ranting about the wankers who were terrifying my dog and who kept us awake all night! Mystery solved. :-)

I sorted the print spooler issue with the PC and can now print from both computers. Yay me. I just had to be in the right frame of mind to sort it... ie. Not angry at the world.

While I was dicking with fixing the computer I obviously had to test print stuff. So, I chose the first pages of Flashbyte, Soundbyte, and Pixelbyte (yeah still not sure about that one either). Last night the Admins read the first pages. General consensus is the first page of Flashbyte now rocks. First page of Soundbyte met with approval. First page of Pixelbyte also rocks.

Here are the opening lines from all the byte novels (so far) - published and as yet unpublished, contracted and not:

You’re gonna die – you bitch!
I looked at the words sitting alone on the expanse of white. A ridiculous thought occurred to me. The words were innocent. They had no volition. Just photons squirted out by a display system.


“Are you sure this is the alleyway?” I stared down the dreary lane, hoping Lee would say no.
The whole place reeked of urine and discarded syringes. With a sense of foreboding, I pulled my badge from my pocket and hung it around my neck by the lanyard. My eyes flicked up and down the close walls of the alley, looking for cameras. I spotted a bracket that may have once held a camera. How handy.


My phone chirped like a demented cricket. It was the second call in two minutes. Demented crickets are never good. I pulled over to the shoulder and stopped. Cars whizzed by me. The phone chirped again.


“You’re a smarmy piece of shit,” I murmured under my breath. My mouth was dry. I could barely swallow. Every nerve in my body was on edge.
I took a swig of water from my canteen. The cool liquid fought my tight dry throat until it won and forced its way down my esophagus.


“It’s late. We’ve got this organized?” I spun my chair to face my desk and stretched.

The face looking at me from my computer screen frowned and seemed to consider my words. “Yes, we’re all set at this end.”

I nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”


“Fuck you!” I stormed from the building before I did something irreversible. My hand strayed dangerously close to the grip on my Glock several times in the last ten minutes.
Time to leave.
 What just happened?
I had a tantrum. One any two-year-old would be proud to own. I couldn’t stay around for the rest of the argument because I had no idea what was going to happen next.

* * *

And with that I shall leave you to your Sunday. Hope it's a good one. We're heading to the usual place with the usual suspects to make two dogs and five kids very happy. :-)

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