Now that's a great character for a role-playing game!

So, imagine you're in a used bookstore, and you pull out a copy of some science-fiction roleplaying game. You've found a copy of Shadowrun, and it's even a first edition! And the poor sap who abandoned it has left behind a loose character sheet for a psuedo-Corporate human type, and as your eyes scan down the ratty page with its many pencil marks, erasures, and even a coffee stain, you read:

Character objectives: Advocate for civilization, define civilization, teach the rules of civilization, arouse those who fan civilization, organize pro-civilization activists, leader (possibly) of the civilizing forces.

I would love to play that character.

Unfortunately, what I'm reading is actually Newt Gingrich's description of himself.

Writing: A small moment makes all the difference some days.

Just a little happy dance. To understand the story, you have to go back to the Sterlings premise: a group of people, who all look like women, have recently returned to join the Pendor/Terra civilization. They all look like women, but a minority of them have, er, male hardware under their skirts, and these women (they're always referred to as women) are called "Ys." Nefer is a power suit maintenance specialist for the University of Moscow. Banza is her best friend:

"Well, something about her makes you have eyes you've never shown for anyone else. Not even me."

"I thought you were mostly into guys."

"Oh, I am," Banza said, and smiled. Nefer was relieved to see neither guilt or wistfulness in Banza's expression. "I just felt that there had to be more to you than technogamy."

"I am not technogamous!" Nefer hissed. "I've just never been impressed with anyone else."

"And Miss long-face impresses you? Maybe you're hoping she's a Y."

"She's not," Nefer said. "I tried not to know, but I do the suit maintenance. I know what kind of fitting she uses."

"Gross," Banza said. "Hate those things."

Why is this a happy dance? Because after beating on the doors to my writer's castle for weeks, this is the first glimmer of Muse waking up and doing her job. This is the first time since I resumed writing that a story has suddenly gone in a creative direction, rather than just slogging. The bit about the fitting just came to me as the fingers flew.

I'm a miner of a writer. I write a ton of stuff and then throw out about half, mining the high points out of the chaff. I haven't hit a seam of decent creativity since picking up the pen again. It's nice to see that the skillset is still there, it's just become flabby with neglect. Maybe I can salvage my writing brain yet.