The flowers were gorgeous and purple and ruffled and quite unlike anything she'd ever seen before. And they were sitting in front of her door. Being the security-conscious type of person that the security chief should be, she disciplined herself and ran a full scan over the flowers to make sure they were clear of any toxins, poisons, explosives, psychedelics, or any other residues that might make it a trap. high level gang ring of rickletons had made her a little wary, since they were known for holding grudges and keeping high level scores of who was ahead and who was behind and sometimes they had the nasty little habit of evening the playing field by killing whoever was at the top. She had a wincing suspicion that doing her job had put her pretty high up on the list, and she was hoping that something else would rise up to capture their interest (and points) very, very soon. She also hoped that it wouldn't be on her station, because she'd had enough trouble for a while and all she wanted to do was relax. That wasn't enough for her caution to make her not pick up the flowers--they were lovely, and real biomass, not one of the scented simulacra!--but it was enough to have her arrange them in a lovely vase and then set them in her fresher. She'd be able to see them regularly, and if they happened to explode or do something else interesting, then the door would add an extra level of shielding.


Inspiration: The gorgeous purple and unidentifiable flowers that I got at the farmer's market. No idea what they are, except purty.
Story potential: High.
Notes: And somehow this is the first step in getting the main character in a dynastic marriage to one of those trouble-making, rule-breaking, score-keeping aliens. Also, not sure yet if the dynamic would be more interesting if it was a male main character (dealing with unusually aggressive females and ending up with the usual female dynamic) or a female (because more fun). I confess, this also made me think of B5 quite a bit.

They clipped my wings today. Allen protested that he didn't believe in outmoded traditions, and that it was unnecessary damage, and how could I do that to myself? I'm a traditionalist, though, and I thought it was important for him to know that I loved and trusted him enough to believe he would take care of me. Also, they grow back in 7 years time, though I didn't tell him that. Then I can decide again if I want to have them clipped. He probably doesn't know. I'm told that most men don't. The change is gradual and subtle, and as long as we wear the ornate wing-caps that cover our stubs, they won't see that the claw has grown back at the tip, signaling readiness to fly and cling to cliff faces where we hide our nests, or where we did in the old days, before we became human.



Inspiration: "Clipped" - Rasputina
Story potential: High
Notes: Could be interesting for a setting. Could also hit a little too close to sensitive subjects for me to necessary feel okay writing it as a light-hearted thing, which is the thing that it is.

Two months since Rudy did a flying Dutchman when his safety line snapped while he was out working on the external antennae array, way up high there where there were no safety net floating forty meters out, where the beacons were all turned off because otherwise they could interfere with the signal. He should have remembered that his beacon was off and flipped it on, but maybe he was hit by a piece of flying debris when the smaller array came loose and swung on him. If it had been turned on, it would have automatically started broadcasting a mayday when both his boots let the surface of the station for more than a 120 seconds, but it was turned off. Laura and Grant kept going, because what else do you do? You go to work, you come home, you comfort your surviving spouse when she breaks down in tears in the middle of dinner, you sleep in the bed and try not to think of how empty it feels with only the two of you in it.


Inspiration: Trying to think of story ideas for the 4th Street Fantasy storytelling circle, wanted kind of a retelling.
Story Potential: High.
Notes: And then the flying Dutchman ship comes to the station just out of reach, demands supplies, mysteriousness ensues, Laura goes over because she believes Rudy is there, Grant is stopped, finale later he does make it, on some other station, or at least that's the rumor. There needs to be other plot stuff here, too, to make it truly interesting. Like what makes the spaceship a flying Dutchman, and are they pirates or under quarantine, or what?

Buying the house crossed a line, and he knew it, but he couldn't stop himself. She never wanted him to be too involved, too greedy, too attached. She wouldn't wear a ring, she wouldn't sign on-ship as a dependent, she'd chosen him because his work took him away for months or even years. He knew that if he ever quit his job, she'd quit him within weeks. But he loved her, and he thought that she loved him, too, in her own way, which was more than he thought he could ever have counted on getting. But he bought the house. A smarthouse could watch over her while he was far away, he hoped, and it could send transmissions--

Inspiration: "I Walk the Line" by Johnny Cash, plus a real estate listing that popped up when I googled "reflection" from the image of The Bean.
Story Potential: High? Though I'm a bit worried this isn't original enough.
Notes: A story told in transmissions. A horror SF story. At first the house keeps tabs, but then its need to care for her is frustrated by her fear of attachment. So eventually it arranges things so that she can't escape, and it does something to her sense of time so that by the time he gets back, a century will have passed with her as its prisoner.

"I can't believe you told her you were planning on killing her." "I didn't exactly *plan* on telling her--it just slipped out!" "What, with the morning tea? Good morning, dear, anything interesting in the paper today, and oh by the way, I'm planning on killing you?" "Well, something like that, yes...." "Dear heavens. And what, pray tell, was the ladies response?" "She laughed and said that she'd poisoned the tea herself. Why do you think we're meeting in a hospital?" "And had she?" "No." "Ah. Well, perhaps we'll get lucky and she thinks you were just joking, as she was." "Although there is some trace amount of a biological agent that they couldn't identify." "What?!" "It may be contagious, that's why they're not allowing visitors." "And you sat there and breathed the same air--!"

Inspiration: Voices in my head. Except I forgot what they said, and so this happened instead.
Story Potential: Medium.
Notes: Meh.

Aiko had 4,627 husbands, and sometimes they drove her to distraction. One wanted her to have his shirts ironed, another wanted to iron them himself. One wanted to save the world by requiring all companies to abide by strict regulations, another wanted to become the CEO of a majorcorp. They all loved her. And it was her responsibility to love and support and encourage them all, even when they had different goals and needed different things. So it was almost as if there were also 4,627 Aikos, one for each husband--though in truth, the basic variations came down to only 60, with small reminders for daily routine differences. Men weren't that complicated. She loved them, she truly did, and they all loved her. So when she left them, without warning and without explanation, they all decided that something bad had happened to her and they set out to find their wife.

Inspiration: "Man in Japan Weds Video Game Wife" - http://www.boingboing.net/2009/11/24/footage-from-the-fir.html
Story Potential: High. Very high.
Notes: I don't know where the rest of the story goes, or even if she will leave them or if something else will happen, but I love this setup. Will definitely write this one (eventually).

Ralph froze up in the middle of the front door. It was a little awkward, when she wanted to have guests over. Especially overnight guests. They told her that he could tell; that he couldn't hear or see or think. They said he was just frozen there, as if nothing was happening. He'd had bad luck, they said, to find a hang. She took to telling friends and guests to go around the side of the house. Of course, Ralph might be able to see them through the windows. She couldn't remember how good his peripheral vision was, but she put curtains up just in case. She thought about closing off the front room, but it was a small house, so instead she hired a carpenter to come in and--

Inspiration: Firefox hanging. AGAIN. My computer is dying by inches. Very frustrating.
Story Potential: High.
Notes: I like the idea of sketching this out as a short-short. Need something to add a little punch to it, but still good.

"Thank you, husband!" she exclaimed, taking the delicately wrapped gift from him. He smiled, then gestured to all the porters behind him to bring in the goods that he had traded for. "It was a good trip, wife," he said, "our fortunes grow and prosper." He didn't see the quick turn aside that she made at the mention of his trip. To him, it was inevitable that they should part and go their separate ways for nine months out of the year--or sometimes even longer--as he plied his trade overseas and later brought home the results of his trading to fill the family coffers and to dress her and keep her in the manner that she deserved. They had--

Inspiration: Drinking tea *my* husband brought me as a gift, and pondering on how men are so pleased when they successfully hunt/gather something their woman likes.
Story Potential: High
Notes: She's without male company most of the year. It would be an interesting thing to take Beauty & the Beast and Persephone & Hades--but with the wife instead of a daughter. Of course, she probably has daughters, or other children. A woman settling reluctantly into middle age, perhaps. And with Italian influences, I think, though I'm not sure why.

It was only a small dot, a water stain that hadn't been taken care of by the dishwasher, but when she saw it she froze. The small dot, just at the base of the wine goblet that they'd used for their wedding toast. They'd been so proud that it was dishwasher-safe, that they were being practical as well as romantic.... She saw the small dot, and the goblet slipped from between her fingers. It bounced, once, and then shattered to pieces on the vinyl floor of the kitchen. She looked down at it. She should get a dustpan and sweep it up, she thought, but for some reason the smudge of the water stain lingered in her mind, and instead she untied the apron she was wearing, tossed it on the kitchen counter, grabbed her car keys, and walked out the front door. She didn't even pick up her wallet from where it sat near the door. That wasn't the point.

Inspiration: "dot"
Story Potential: I don't know. Medium? It would probably be marketable, that's a really strong chick-lit start.
Notes: Was thinking of something not sci-fi or fantasy, wanted to see what would happen. Answer is, apparently chick-lit. Kinda surprised by that.

Standing on the edge of the shore, he tilted his face up, letting the cold wind blowing off the lake dry the tears from his cheeks. In the distance, on the other side of the lake, he saw the glowing beacons of the harbor. Behind him lay the dark woods. He thought of going back to the boat and rowing back across the lake to safety, to a pint of beer in a pub and a casual chat with the same old faces that he'd seen for so long. He thought of the expression on his wife-s face before she stepped into the lake, the strange peace that had suffused her in the weeks before her suicide, the way that all the men of the town had held him back to keep him from diving in after her. The moon had ridden high in the sky, making the surface of the lake look like black blood in the night.

Inspiration: "Once in a Lifetime" by Wolfsheim
Story Potential: High.
Notes: At first I thought this was going to be a present-world, present-time story. Now I don't. Close, though; one of those other-side-of-the-mirror style of stories. Neat.