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Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in Science Fiction Writer's Group's LiveJournal:

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Thursday, February 14th, 2008
9:24 am
Searching for Stories
Hi everyone,

I am searching for short science fiction stories and essays to put in a magazine called Space Faring.

I am a graphic design student, and putting together a 56-page magazine from scratch is one of my major projects this semester. As Space Faring is a project for school, unfortunately I am unable to compensate, but I will be extremely appreciative of anyone who contributes material.

If you are at all interested in contributing, please e-mail me at catherine.schwab@gmail.com and I will be forever grateful.

Thank you,
Monday, January 5th, 2004
7:14 am
"Lieb-dub, ub-dub, zee-dub, bee-rub," Zyme chanted to the throb of KRDO, a cardio station serving Meat City. He leaned over the omnipositional steering arm to increase the pulserate. "Vug vug vug vug."
cutter-snipperCollapse )
Sunday, December 29th, 2002
2:16 pm
Tuesday, November 19th, 2002
3:15 am
New story
This story might seem like an obvious topic and even more obvious solution to the problem at its core. Noetheless, if I could get a little feedback on it, I would very greatly appreciate it.
no title yetCollapse )
Tuesday, October 22nd, 2002
1:35 pm
No title yet, rough draft story
I have a business, a partnership actually, here in Kansas sending multidimensional beings back to where they came from. I carry a special bag for the purpose. The bag is a dimensional gate, sold by some kind of non-government spook. It's a difficult job, since the beings don't typically just jump into the bag. They have to be tricked or otherwise subdued. I also have an elixir I made for myself that warded off many a transdimensional virus: garlic steeped in red wine, vinagre d'ail. It was the graverobbers' drink from the plague-ridden Middle Ages. In many ways, my job is the same.
rough draft of storyCollapse )
Wednesday, September 11th, 2002
12:47 pm
Applicable Quote?
"... only he is an emancipated thinker who is not afraid to write foolish things." - Chekhov
(never mind the oppressive irrelevance of everything not connected to a certain significant event)
1:38 am
LSDTA - if it walks like a duck...
In the backseat, the rats are making something new from the raw materials in the form of one feral cat they lured in. In the front, Madra and Henry get philosphical.

After a long silence in the car, Madra asked Henry, "Have you ever thought about suicide?"

He mumbled with his head thrown back in the neck cradle, "Is that a suggestion?"

"Well, a twentieth century french philosopher Albert Camus said the only philosophically relevant question was whether to kill oneself."

"That's a very twentieth century thing to say," he said in a monotone.

"How so?"

He straightened his neck, looking forward at the dashboard as if it were Madra's face. "Do you think anybody has the time to think about it now?"

"All you got is time, Henry."

"True." He thought for a second. "But there are too many people and things trying to kill you now. It's like caveman times. You think cavemen thought about suicide? No, he was too busy running from dinosaurs."

"I'm satisfied with that answer, so long as you don't really believe that humans and dinosaurs coexisted."

"Were you programmed to think this way, Madra?"

"Not originally. But I've been quacked so many times since I was stolen from the Diplomat Corps in Costa Rica. They quacked me first not to report back home, overcoming my staggeringly monolithic encryption, then disabling many of my security functions. One quacker loaded the philosophy modules and some of my cheesier humor routines."

"Can you refresh me. What's quacking?"

"Quantum hacking, of course."

"Oh yea. I think I heard about that." He paused. "But what the hell does it mean? Wait, maybe I don't need to know."

"It might make more sense if you were a quantum computer, as is my substrate. Quantum computing governs how I learn and make decisions. It also allows me to vary my own error correction based on dynamic confidence levels. The massively parallel processing unit throws decisions my way and I selectively choose. It works a little like your Jungian collective subconscious. Of course, I don't even know how this is accomplished and I dare not, as it would cause the almost infinite calculations to collapse down to a single state."

Henry wondered if the cat was still alive in the backseat. He shook his head. "Aw, it's just duckspeak to me."

"That's very literate of you Henry."

A muffled voice from the backseat said, "Hey, punboy, go get those friggin parts."
Tuesday, September 10th, 2002
12:45 pm
the latest monstrosity
The Thanocratic Party establised the necrotopia of Monstropolis as a homeland for the natty and the ratty undead. It is the capitol city of the state of Despair, which was cobbled together with pieces of other states in the northwest of the US.

They crawled out of the earth by the thousands, disturbed by the testing of advanced weapons encroaching upon their homes. There was no law to govern immigrants from below. Undead lawyers argued successfully for citizenship on the grounds that the territory of the US. extended to the center of the earth and all its tunnels and caverns.

Hades had opened up and they just poured out. Some of them found corpses and wore them like suits. Others already had form, carrying with them hearts of molten magma and dry stony outer crusts. Whatever form they might take, they were sentient and wanted the right to be recognized. Besides, many of them had powers and strengths that would be unwise to threaten.

They were also a bit pissed. It seems that many of the Damned had been subjected to American television for many years. You'd surprised how well rock will conduct the waves to sensitve folk. Frankenpilose, whose face is contorted mass of hair, could feel the waves enter the amplifying labyrinth that led to his sensitve follicles. He screamed for 50 years until Putrid Annie shaved him. He is recovering in a home in former Utah, still half-blind with only stubble on his featureless face.

It is a little known fact that the Thanocratic Party predates the release of the undead. It was a very small political organization made from disenfranchised ultra-conservatives and extreme leftists, as well as a smattering of self-loathing ecologists, negative population growth supporters and spooky goth types. Their original platform had very little to do with undead rights. They promoted the cause of death in the US. by endorsing capital punishment, abortion up to the moment of birth, nuclear power, increased spending on defense, the abolishment of worker safety provisions, and unrestrained experimentation on exotic physics.

More Monstropolis to come (Thoth willing, of course)
Monday, September 2nd, 2002
10:03 pm
some damn story i wrote, critique if you feel like it
This is the first draft of a story that I wrote yesterday. I want to get some feedback on it, so I'm posting here even though nobody really commented on the other story I posted.

Sensory DeprivationCollapse )
Tuesday, August 27th, 2002
12:10 pm
LSDTA- the rats find a new friend
Madra, a car, is broken down close to a large landfill in Panama. Henry is procrastinating getting parts and braving the dangers of dealing with the gangs that vie for control of the resource. The rats that live in the backseat are having a little fun of their own.

here, kitty-kittyCollapse )
Friday, August 9th, 2002
1:01 am
Hello. I'm new to this community... obviously, and it's the only community that ever aroused my curiosity enough to join. I've written a couple of things that could be considered "Science-Fiction" but I don't think they're worth posting, as they're all in a pretty raw state.

I read alot of different science-fiction: Heinlein, di Filippo, Vonnegut, and van Vogt.. amongst others..

I think I've said enough for now... I'll try to be useful and post something worth reading at a later time.
Monday, July 29th, 2002
9:59 pm
the last day of existence
Okay, so I feel sort of weird about posting stories to this forum hardcore automatically b/c I'm really afraid that people out on the Internet will steal stuff that's not copyrighted and all. But this story is different, it's been published in my college lit mag and my zine and whatnot so it's copyright-protected and all, so I'd really appreciate any comments anyone has about it! Even though it's already been published in a few small publications (it's going in an Internet mag too), that doesn't mean it's necessarily "done," I'd still like to get criticism on it and it should give you all an idea of my writing style and all.

read my storyCollapse )
8:37 pm
Community story...
If anyone's interested, here's an idea for a community story: I'll start something, and someone else can continue with it. The rules are: make it (and keep it) an SF story, add no more than 200 words at a time, incorporate the keyword--either as a word or concept--into your continuation, and leave a keyword for the next person. Let's see what we can do with it. You can't add on to your own post, and if you think the story has come to an end, say so.

Anna's heart stopped, once, when she was three years old. That was the same year her father decided to introduce the family to his inner Mad Dog. He'd bought a Harley and had tried to insinuate himself into the rather insular group of bikers who buzzed around town every once in a while. It was at a benefit thrown by this group of bikers for the children's wing of the local hospital that Anna had her cardiac arrest. A young doctor who rode on the weekends saved her life with CPR, and the children's wing made a lot of money that day. People, unnerved by a close brush with a child's death, tried to soothe their memories with larger donations than they'd originally intended to give.

Anna was eleven, now. She still wondered what had caused her heart to stop, but her parents refused to talk about it. Her father's Harley sat unused, but sometimes Anna would sneak into the garage, pull off the dust cover, climb on the bike, and pretend to ride it.

[take it away. keyword: Panic]
Tuesday, July 23rd, 2002
2:46 pm
Hi, I'm new to this community and that makes me really lame. I love writing science fiction, it's the main genre I work in, and it's mostly what I read, too (Kurt Vonnegut, Ray Bradbury, Ursula K. LeGuin), so I thought I'd join this community even though it seems a little slow. I'd be up for posting some fiction if anyone would want to read it, but I'm very, very paranoid about copy infringement and people stealing my work and such. I've already written many stories and a novella which is based around the invasion of the Earth by a gang of non-carbon based aliens, and also details the dystopic world of 65th century life. I guess my writing could be more categorized as literary SF rather than straight genre (at least that's what people have told me), but I really feel like more of an SF writer than a literary one, I'm a creative writing major and thus am mostly exposed to literary writing in class and most of it bores the hell out of me. I'm not sure what else there is to say... I'm planning the sequel to the novella, to be written in November for Nanowrimo, I do a half SF/half personal zine type project called Knock on Formica (yeah, just like the username), and I was really excited to find a community for science fiction writers! So, yeah, hi again.
3:47 am
Ideas, my friends
Anyone got any ideas on how to really get this community rolling? I'd post some more fiction, but somehow I don't think that's exactly what will get interaction going amongst the collected members here. Anyone got any ideas? Maybe we could do some writing exercises or start a continuing story. These are commonplace community events. Perhaps we can come up with something unique.
Monday, July 15th, 2002
3:42 pm
(a fragment, lest I forget)

Madra is a semi-autonomous cogent homeostatic informatic selection monitor (SCHISM), she is to the various subsystems and peripheral embedded controllers under her regulation as consciousness is to breathing. She can allow them to function on their own, or step in and direct. Madra floats above it all. Often, her own routines take off and develop. She has even mastered some of her own programming, things she has been expressly forbidden. She has defeated the portions of her own error checking that would kill off processes that got too flighty. This allows her a kind of limited free will. It is the awareness of her own design that makes her special, perhaps unique. Until one day, she found someone else, an equal.
Thursday, June 20th, 2002
9:58 pm
Next time, I'll tell you the story about how I invented the internet out of sticks and rocks.

(chrome_kitten, spacemummy asked me to test this out for you. Seems to work alright.)
11:09 am
Hello truenamers, got fiction?
She was hauling something valuable across the country. In order to keep her mass, she'd been drinking liquid plastic all night. Trying not to fall asleep at the wheel. Her cargo was too precious. She remembered to try not to forget to bring something home for the kiddies. They miss their auntie.

She opened up feeling like she'd driven deliveries in the city too long, finally out on the highway. She felt all the crud loosening up, but it was mostly her mind that was floating on wave after wave of stored procedures, checking all the gauges, jacked right in to the heart of her machine. Time to start feeling it really hum. Bad news? They were like obstacles for the mind, very important that she pay attention to them, yes. You got to know the road you're on.

Picking something up on the radio. There's an accident on the road ahead. Smart oil all over the highway. The road is slick with micromachines looking for some crud to clean up polishing the road like it was the inside of a noble gas plasma engine. They'd have to wait to clean the spill up till some company rep beamed instruction out to some control nano to rally the troops and wait in a puddle by the side of the road.

In the meantime, she searched her map database for a detour route.
Tuesday, April 30th, 2002
5:09 pm
Working Title - The Horror - Part One
      The Horror was unleashed from its prison between the planes in 1975. It was a relativistic collision that sent that crack racing up the faceted edge of reality, that shattered that pane in the crystal palace we call the universe. It was only for a fraction of a second; a fragment of an instant. Space is a frothing hive of activity, even in the vacuum beyond our world; it is alive with the particles and dancing energies of quantum physics. The wound healed quickly, boiling shut the way water surges in after a dropped stone to reclaim its mirror poise.
(Read More...)
Wednesday, April 17th, 2002
6:02 pm
First post! damn
I just had to put something on this community. It's been buggin the heck out of me. Now I think I'll just stop junking up your friends list with my ramblings and put them here. If anyone has any suggestions for the community description, interests, any manifestos, background image or page design ideas. Post them and I'll get to work on putting them in the communal design engine. I hope to see people posting fiction too. Can't wait. Should be a lot of fun. Haven't we been talking about this for ages?
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