For the blog, that is.  So here’s a bit of something from Dreamdarkers.  No, it’s not really finished, but it’s better than nothing.

My own heart felt little more than primitive fear. For me at least, having no information crippled my ability to cope. The dreams had driven a fright-forged blade deep within me without having to threaten me directly; the failure of technology to keep me updated and informed drove the blade deeper than I thought possible. Life for me had been swimming in and out of dark places since Beth died, yet in twenty-four hours, I came to realize that did not compare to the dark malevolence stalking about in the unimaginable realms where we dared not look before, those places inherently evil and shielded that suddenly were poured into our souls and over the world. Breaking our technology, throwing a bit of mysticism at us, and tinkering with the weather formed the perfect triumvirate over man’s downfall. As far as recipes were concerned, it made for a nice apocalyptic casserole.

I glanced at Dad as he held my mother closely and tried to comfort her with reassurances he himself did not believe, then I turned and looked at Old George, Helene and Margaret who stood clumped together in the doorway like a tangle of wires, and I immediately conceded my own point. Six human beings of strong character and will had been reduced to scared troglodytes hiding in our unnatural cave hoping the storm would blow over and the predators would grow disinterested, eventually moving on to hunt elsewhere. Our fire had been taken away from us. It mattered not whether that happened by will or accident, for it only mattered that it had happened. Our only comfort came from stones and sticks, and two dogs who seemed rather unbothered by the carryings-on.

My thoughts immediately became self-deprecating. We’re nothing but scared savages. Just look at us. We’d spent so much time hiding behind our scientific wizardry and electronic devices that we can’t survive without them. We’re barely out of the wilderness and animal hides and already think ourselves masters of the universe. Now we’ve been thrown back to our primitive roots by nothing more complicated than taking away the things we used to separate us from the big bad world: information and technology. If we can’t explain it, it must be metaphysical or worse. If we can’t scan it, report on it, catalog it, categorize it, dissect it, and otherwise study it, we won’t face it. Panic leaped into my throat at the realization of our predicament. I myself felt so dispirited and overcome with fear that I was not thinking clearly despite nothing befalling us that was more threatening than a few bad dreams and a communication blackout. We would be our own undoing if we allowed such mentalities to prevail.

“Okay, listen. They said the storm is moving around 20 miles an hour. If that’s true, and if one is forming over Shreveport, it’ll be here soon. Why don’t we just ride it out here and let it blow over?” My own voice seemed somehow alien to me. I heard the words and felt my mouth forming them, but they would not have convinced me of anything if someone else had spoken them. It was nothing more than filler to break the silence and I knew it. I hoped they did not know it as well. I was so frightened I worried I might pass out, yet standing in stunned silence only made it worse. Doing something was better than doing nothing.

“Daddy, we should go home,” Helene suggested as she looked up at George, “Please? Can we go home?”

He looked down. Tears and panic had swollen her face. Red eyes stared back from under her beautiful brown lashes. Even her lips pressed together in a show of will I thought was meant to hold back tears or keep her from screaming hysterically, or both. He brushed his hand gently through her hair and pushed it behind her ears, then he rubbed her cheeks in a failed attempt to dry tears that would not stop. After kissing her forehead, he looked at Margaret. Her face appeared solemn yet struggled to hide the evident terror hidden behind her eyes. Although she too had cried a bit, her age and self-control did a better job of covering the effects. After a quick glance at my parents and me, she shook her head only as much as needed to indicate she did not want to leave. Strength in numbers, eh, Margaret? Besides, who’s to guarantee you’ll even get home? Did you think of that? I had to scold myself for the mocking cynicism running through my head. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t want to leave, eh, Dave? Did you think of that? Now’s not the time to get uppity, Mr. Lloyd, so shut the hell up!

While I’m on the subject, and because it’s not shown in this excerpt, some of the names are changing.  The original names I used were hasty creations that now seem a tad commonplace.  Here’s whose names are changing and what they’re changing to based on recent thoughts:

Joe (owner of Kingswell’s General Store) is now Eli Perenson
Kingswell’s General Store is now Perenson’s General Store
(Old) George (McCreary) is now (Old) Stu (Stuart) McCreary
Richard Lloyd (Dave’s father) is now Sam (Samuel) Lloyd

All other names are the same.  Some of these changes were in response to redundancy (e.g., I had two Richards: Richard Lloyd and (Richard) Dick Weston, Dave’s rep from Penguin).  Other changes were to erase the pedestrian name usage that tasted of hurry and lack of imagination (e.g., Joe and George).