oliviagordonwrites

[oliviagordonwrites]

What's interesting about this post is that the first sentence, though a question, uses a period instead of a question mark—perhaps indicating that the speaker does not want a response. Given the defensive tone of the statement, the period certainly seems to reinforce the idea of preemptively halting any reply.

And yet, the second sentence has no terminating punctuation at all. While it's possible that it is simply conforming to the standards of the medium, it would not be too much of a stretch to interpret the lack of punctuation as an invitation for continuation. A certain subtle attempt to request a reply, without shifting tone.

The repetition of "have you considered" also invites a definite tension to the post. Coupled with the punctuation of each sentence, the first is defensive, but the second is almost pleading. The speaker here seems to be saying "It's not my fault, but forgive me anyway."

Have you considered that I'm not a slow writer but I just have to stop every paragraph to perform extensive literary analysis. Have you considered that

[oliviagordonwrites]

Have you considered that I'm not a slow writer but I just have to stop every paragraph to perform extensive literary analysis. Have you considered that

#writing

[oliviagordonwrites]

[oliviagordonwrites]

My booping strategy is if I know you, you get between 5 and 100 boops whenever I see you, and if I don't know you, you get between 3 and 100

[oliviagordonwrites]

Rereading a series from early high school

#If I wasn't such a little freak I could have been radicalized much sooner than I was #This series Did Something to me #but unfortunately that Something was tenderly incubating my whump egg #whump #Exquisite torture scene in book three that I reread twice before returning it to the library #and even though I am now Aware of the political side of this book #I am still just looking forward to the torture lol

[oliviagordonwrites]

“Twenty?” Tzara Arello laughed behind her slender, silvery fingertips. The sound was all but lost in the bustling space dock, so she threw her head back to make her point. “Twenty hardly covers your weight estimate. I don’t take cargo for less than thirty, and I certainly don’t take it through the bandit belt for less than fifty.”

Her would-be clients blinked their wide, watery eyes at her, growing more restless as the translators in their ears caught up. They buzzed and clicked for a while—their language was notoriously long-winded. 

“Please,” Tzara finally heard through her own translator. “Twenty is all we have. We’ll sell everything when we arrive to cover the rest.”

Tzara waved her hand at the gold plated lettering on the side of her once-magnificent vessel, visible through the wide viewing window. AMARYLLIS, it read in a large, swirling font. Just beneath the name of the ship and in slightly smaller, incredibly more legible characters, it said PAYMENT UPFRONT in her own language.

#Doing a little writing..... #new story #very Star Trek inspired but instead of military adjacent explorers we have odd jobs in space #it's called #Here and There #collection of short stories probably....

[oliviagordonwrites]

omg I may have figured it out

#Giant Robots Fight in Space

[oliviagordonwrites]

Wake up sheeple the future is Tetris

[oliviagordonwrites]

Wake up sheeple the future is Tetris

#tetris

[oliviagordonwrites]

Paid version of Tumblr where they just never change anything ever

[oliviagordonwrites]

Egad! My meow meow hasn't whimpered in three whole pages!

#writeblr #writing

[oliviagordonwrites]

This is an opportunity to share something that you’re proud of, preferably in the last few weeks. You’re amazing and you deserve to be reminded of that!

uwu

Dirt getting his teeth punched out <3

I didn’t have a place for all the anger. It bubbled up, climbing my throat until it took over my body like plugging into the mech. It was stronger than all the hands grabbing at me.

I swung my fist. It came down like a meteor.

And it helped. It was like my hand held all the fire inside me, and I could finally push it away. Force it out of me and into something else. It felt good. It felt light.

The sight of blood dripping down Dirt’s face brought me back to myself in an instant.

I watched his eyes go dim as sticky blood dripped out of his nose, and all of his memories came rushing back to me. I remembered this, but from the other side. His side. I didn't have the Pashan words for it, but I knew what he was thinking, just like I knew what my team was thinking when I looked at them. Now there is nowhere. I watched the belief take root in his eyes: I am not safe here. I will never be safe anywhere.

I unclenched my fist, and I was shocked to feel it sting. I glanced down, and found it bloody and raw. Had I hit him that hard? How many times? His Pashan pain receptors must be screaming. 

Someone was finally able to pull me away from him. It was Murph. He stood behind me with his hands clamped down on my upper arms as if they were the only thing keeping my fists out of Dirt’s face. His expression was stony. Shocked—of course it was, I’d never hit anyone before—but there was something missing there that I expected to see.

The medic brushed past us. They approached Dirt, reaching out to inspect the damage, but Dirt flinched back until he was cornered against the mech again. The medic hesitated. “Where’s his translator?” they said, voice shaking almost as if they were scared.

It was quiet now. The crowd stilled as if they didn’t know what to do now that the fight was over. 

A confused expression momentarily broke through Dirt’s careful blank face. He reached deep into his mouth and pulled out the shiny white pearl of one of his sharp back teeth. He gagged, spitting a stream of bright red blood into his hand. He closed his fist as if to hide it.

“Help,” the medic said to him desperately, holding up their first aid kit. “Help.” They looked at each of us one by one. “Someone tell him I want to help him.”

But Dirt had built a wall around himself in the time between me landing one punch and pulling back for another.

#thanks so much for the ask!!!!!! #Very exciting to receive mail in this day and age #Giant Robots Fight in Space

[oliviagordonwrites]

The robots are fighting in space.

#It only took 36000 words to get here but here we are #Giant Robots Fight in Space #writing

[oliviagordonwrites]

LOL HAPPY PRIDE MONTH I GUESS

The rain fell in Burlington, Vermont more like an explosion than a weather event. The sound of the rain alone was enough to drown out even raised voices, and when the thunder rumbled in the sky, all bets were off—a piercing scream of terror wouldn’t rise above that. 

Michelle leaned forward over the steering wheel. The windshield wipers battled against the onslaught of water to no avail; she couldn’t see further than the hood of the car. “This isn’t exactly the birthday surprise I wanted it to be.”

“Is that house three different colors? I can’t believe how colorful everything is here!” River said. They had their blanket-draped knees pulled up to their chest, perfectly comfortable in the passenger seat.

“I wouldn’t know,” Michelle said. “I can’t see through—”

The next clap of thunder interrupted her. When the noise faded back to just the pounding of the rain on the car’s metal roof, she sighed. “We’ve got to park. I can’t drive in this, and you can’t drive at all.” Cars on either side narrowed the residential streets. Michelle pressed carefully on the gas pedal—surely, the stoplight was still green. “Find us a parking lot, please.”

River pulled up a map on their phone and navigated them to the nearby Target. Their eyes were glued to the streets around them, taking in everything and smiling broader every time they passed another teal and purple sign with the word “Burlington” proudly emblazoned on it in yellow.

“Look at all these lights,” River said. “Burlington was the first city in the United States to run entirely on renewable energy, you know.”

“Was it?”

Michelle pulled carefully into a parking spot—assuming she really was seeing the lines through the agitated puddles—and turned off the car. They were nearly out of gas after their three and half hour drive. 

“Thanks for the day trip, Michelle. Burlington is everything I hoped it would be.”

That was good news. River had been talking about Burlington, Vermont ever since they started planning their escape. They had done careful, detailed research to find a real home, one where they could bike instead of drive, plant a nice garden, not melt in the summer, always be within a reasonable distance of some decent performance art centers, and a million other tiny criteria that culminated in this one, “perfect” place. They had pinned all their hopes to Burlington, Vermont.

“It’s beautiful,” Michelle said. “I’m sure it will be even better when it’s dry.”

“And when it’s fall and everything is golden.”

“And when you live here.”

River ducked their head, a red blush creeping up their neck. They pulled the blanket up over their face. “Stop.”

“No, I mean it.” Michelle leaned closer to River; close enough to smell their powdery deodorant. “Everything is more beautiful when you’re around. When you finally move here, the golden leaves will pale in comparison! The great Lake Champlain will empty in shame! The mighty Appalachian mountains will crumble after millenia of standing tall because they simply cannot compete!”

River peeked out over the edge of the blanket. “One of these days I’m going to take you seriously.”

MIchelle’s chest tightened. River’s eyes were gleaming with joy; it made their whole face light up in a way that seriously affected Michelle’s heart. “You can,” she said.

At the same time another clap of thunder temporarily deafened them both.

“What did you say?”

Michelle settled back into the driver’s seat. “Let’s check the radar to see when all this will let up. It’s a long drive back.”

“Back to gendered pronouns. Back to a name I didn’t pick.” They leaned against the window, gazing longingly out into the Target parking lot. A Burlington parking lot. “I don’t want to go. I hope it rains like this forever.”

“But then Burlington will be completely underwater. How will you live here then?”

“How will I live here?” Their voice suddenly weakened. Michelle could barely hear it over the rain. “How am I supposed to get here at all? I have nothing, they keep—” They struggled for a moment to find the words. “They keep taking it all away.”

Michelle wanted to say, You have me. You always have me. Instead, she held up her phone, showing River the dark blob of green and red being consumed by blue and purple. “Text them,” she said. “We can’t drive home in this.”

The crinkly near-tears look on River’s face melted into something open-mouthed and dumbfounded. “What are you saying?”

“I’m asking, Mx. Burlington Expert, if there’s a Holiday Inn here. My dad has free nights we can use.”

River started to smile. “We’re staying the night in Burlington, Vermont?”

“If there’s a Holiday Inn.”

“There is,” they said. Because of course they knew that, too. Their smile became a full-wattage grin, their voice rose in volume and pitch. “Thank God for a colder than average March! We’re staying the night in freaking Burlington, Vermont!”

They whipped out their phone to text their parents, feet wiggling in joy.

Michelle turned the car back on. “I’ll make sure you get to stay here for more than one night, River. I’ll make sure you can stay here forever one day.”

“And you’ll visit me, right?”

“Of course.” She hoped they would live here together. She hoped she could make herself a part of River’s dream home.

“Of course,” River repeated. “Since you think I’m so beautiful.”

“Since I’m totally and completely head over heels in love with you, obviously.” 

River smiled, and just as Michelle opened her mouth to say, I mean it. For real. I love you, the sound of the rain became harsher, heavier—sleet and ice. “We better get to the hotel fast.” Michelle’s heart started to pound at the thought of a night alone together.

River turned to the window again, another look of longing settling on their face. “Before we leave tomorrow, let’s stop by the library,” they said.

“Anywhere you want, River.”

“It’s the largest library in Vermont, you know.”

Michelle wanted to say, I love you, River. Instead, she said, “Is it?”

#Writing #writeblr #short story #flash fiction #original writing

[oliviagordonwrites]

Fact that all vampires hate garlic is actually a myth. It's just one vampire, but she's been very loud about it since 1764

#dracula daily #be aware guys

[oliviagordonwrites]

PART TWO

He looks around the bus as if to figure out who’s filming this on their phone. “Go away.”

“Believe me, I would like to. But you’re my only option. I don’t know what else to do.”

He slides away and looks out the window. But ignoring doesn’t work on me; it never has. I wouldn’t be everything I am today if I gave up that easily. “Just hear me out,” I say. I try to think of anything that will convince him, or if not convince him, at least make him listen. But the situation is too unbelievable. Almost as unbelievable as the tall gray men—he was adamant they were not green—that probed this guy in middle school.

Aha.

“I saw them too,” I whisper.

He finally glances my way. Just his steely blue eyes. His face remains pointing to the window. His shoulders tense, though, and not just because the bus is stopping again—I have his attention.

“We’re dealing with the same kind, right? Huge, gray skin, and the time-control thing. Please, Graham, I need your help.”

I think he can tell I can’t fake the level of desperation in my voice, but still, four years of the entire student body avoiding him like the plague must have left him suspicious, because even though he finally turns toward me, all he says is, “Where?”

“What?”

“Where did you see them? How many? Did they touch you?”

He had told his story to anyone who would listen as many times as they would listen, but I couldn’t remember any of the details beyond the alien’s abilities with time. But I have to convince him, if only because I’m sure he’s studied the weirdest sciences since then. And he’s the only one deranged enough to believe me.

“Two,” I say at last. “Two of them came to my house, sort of last night but not exactly. They were huge, and—”

He was already shaking his head, face curled in anger. “Get away from me. They always come alone.”

Always? I didn’t know he’d seen them more than once, but honestly why would he tell anyone after what we started saying the first time. I take a deep breath. Forget convincing, I just need to ask. There’s no harm in it, after all. The next three days have absolutely no harm at all as long as I’m trapped in them. “This is the third time I’ve been through this day, Graham. I went to sleep two days from now and woke up on this day. Again. As in category-five science fiction event happening in what I was sure was reality. But everyone has deja vu, right? Until the third time I don’t wake up on Friday morning. Then it’s something to talk to the alien abductee about. You’re the only subject matter expert I can think of.”

He stares at me long and hard, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed. I don’t dare pull my eyes away from his, no matter how fierce the glare. He has to know I’m serious.

“I don’t know what kind of messed up prank this is, but I’m not falling for it. Just leave me alone, okay? What’s the point, anyway? No one even cares about that story anymore.”

“Story?” I repeat, louder than I should have, and a feeling like a sob clutches my chest. “You made it up?”

His eyes drop to his military combat boots. He always dresses like he’s expecting a fight. “No,” he says softly. “I didn’t make it up.” Then he sighs, and looks out the window again. “They slow down time. They don’t cause time loops.”

Did he have to use such cheesy words like time loops? I was in the middle of one, and even I can’t admit to something like a time loop. But maybe if he can say it so confidently, it means he knows something about them.

I clutch my bag to my chest. “At lunch, Nadine Berry is going to projectile vomit all over the cafeteria floor. Will you believe me then?”

He nearly laughs. “Sure. If that happens, I’ll believe you.”

The three worst days of my life began, predictably, on a Tuesday. Tuesdays have historically been my worst days. My dog died on a Tuesday. My dad died on a Tuesday. My first period was a very public, white-shorts Tuesday in summer. The list goes on. 

But this Tuesday—specifically this exact Tuesday—takes the cake. At least until Friday, when it’s Tuesday again. Specifically, this exact Tuesday.

I’m determined not to let that happen. I’m not going to live through these next three days a fourth time. I’d rather die. And since social suicide is better than actual suicide, I’m just going to do it.

I’m going to talk to Gray McPherson. 

The bus will be twelve minutes late. That’s how I’ll know for certain that it’s not an extreme case of deja vu. I take the time to curb at least one of today’s upcoming tragedies by packing a lunch. If the bus really is twelve minutes late, then I need to avoid the cafeteria at all costs.

With a bagged sandwich shoved into my shoulder bag, I step out into the winter cold at precisely 7:17 (twelve minutes later than usual). When I step over the last mountain of snow, the bus is just pulling up to the stop.

I take a deep breath; when I let it out, it fogs my glasses. Oh my god this can’t be happening.

I climb up, kick the slush off my boots, and turn to face the inside of the bus. I squeeze my eyes shut, just briefly, and when I open them I’m ready to face anything. Even Gray McPherson.

I march directly toward him. He doesn’t look up as I approach. Of course he doesn’t. I’ve never spoken to him. No one ever speaks to him. But when I set my bag down next to him, he eyes me suspiciously through his hair.

“So, Gray—Graham.” I wince. Not the best start. I can feel the eyes of everyone on the bus on me now. I lean closer. He leans away.

Screw it. If I get it wrong, I can try again next time.

“The aliens that abducted you in seventh grade—you said they could control time, right?”

#writeblr #writing #original writing #blah blah time loop blah aliens something something friendship blah

[oliviagordonwrites]

THEY ARE LEARNING ABOUT GUNS

“Me first!” Hila said, and she took on the pose of some character in one of the old Earth-made movies she loved so much, taking aim at the target.

Reese raised a finger. “Oh, there’s something called recoil that—”

Bang. The sound rang suddenly in my ears. Hila cursed as she stumbled backward, bowling into Murph and taking them both to the ground. 

“Sorry, sorry!” Hila said.

Dreya burst out laughing. “You missed!” she said, pointing at the undamaged target. 

Murph said, “Please get off my pancreas as quickly as possible.”

I started laughing along with Dreya as Hila scrambled off of Murph’s lap. I couldn’t find the bullet anywhere. Was it possible to be that off?

“It must be easier with natural gravity,” Hila said, cracking a smile even though her face was bright red.

“Oh yeah,” Dreya said. “Our gravity is the issue here.” We were both gasping for air now. 

Murph made it back to his feet, rubbing his elbow, and allowed a soft chuckle to escape his lips. After everything, it felt like us again.

“Let me try again!”

Reese jumped in, “It may interest you to know that while these are blanks—” He held up a shining bullet. “Blanks are actually dangerous enough to do significant damage. My apologies, I should have encouraged you to exercise more caution earlier. Let me just—” He gently took the gun out of Hila’s hand. “Demonstrate a safer posture.”

He showed us a few approved ways to stand, and insisted we use ear and eye protection. Dreya took the next shot, yelping a little when the gun fired. She managed to hit the edge of the target. We applauded as she did a little victory dance. “Beat that,” she said.

Murph beat her by a lot. His bullet hit dead center. He took a shallow bow to acknowledge our perfectly harmonized “Oooh.”

“And that’s why you’re our offense,” Hila said, patting him on the shoulder.

“Yeah, and I hope you stick to handling the shields,” he returned. Then he turned to me. “It’s easy. Just think of the target as a Pashan.”

Easy.

They all cheered encouragingly as I lined myself up and raised the gun like Reese had showed us. I aimed for the center of the target, took a deep breath, and imagined a Pashan glaring right at me. Hands bloody, eyes glinting with malice. I put my finger on the trigger, but when I blinked, the imagined Pashan became Dirt—still the only Pashan I’d ever seen in person—and his hands weren’t bloody. His eyes held no malice at all. The clearest face my mind could give him was that terrified, bright smile he always had on. I could practically hear him calling out my full name as a single word.

"Torro?" Reese said, shaking me out of my thoughts. "Are you okay?"

I looked around. Everyone looked back expectantly. 

"Yeah," I said, and lined myself back up. "Murph’s a tough act to follow."

I aimed. I pictured another bloody-handed Pashan. I squeezed the trigger.

Missed completely.

"Better luck next time," Dreya teased.

#Sharing in the hopes that it will make me finish the scene #I have to twenty pages by April 5th for workshop lol I have like four #writing #writeblr #Giant Robots Fight in Space