The Journey - Log Entry #2

The Intro Section

I advertise this newsletter as (almost) monthly for a reason, but I did think I would be able to send at least 3 emails on time. Ha. Those who have been here long are UNsurprised.

Will Lori ever be able to send emails on time? Vote on your cellphones now.

Now, being on time doesn't make my emails any more or less cool and fun and whatever else they decide to be; or so I tell myself. These are literally me talking about myself in a digital void, hoping someone will see it in their inbox and click.... Hahaha, so comforting. It's the exact feeling of me recording and deleting a YouTube video for the thousandth time because no way you all are actually interested in this, right? *checks* Why are the 101 of you? Is my rambling actually funny and relatable, or are you just here because unsubscribing is too much work? Honestly valid, that's like... 3 clicks just to stop getting an email I never open anyway XD.

Anyway, that's what imposter syndrome looks like, in case anyone was wondering.

The Life Section

I was really sick a couple weeks back. Sicker than I have been since I had Covid back in 2021; maybe worse. I turned the corner before we had to go into the ER, but it was still pretty freaky. I think it was bronchitis. Always fun when you can hardly breathe and you're not even having a panic attack, but maybe you are because THERE. IS. NO. AIR. Oh, and the fever and chills and everything are great too. I had some WILD fever dreams so that was cool I guess. I watched a startling amount of TV over the 6ish days I was sick so that was also cool. Still, the 'am I dying?' thing kind of outweighs everything else, not going to lie.

So yeah, shockingly I was not very productive that week, or really the next because I was just sooo tired for several days afterwards. I really hate being all sluggish and foggy, but my body had just fought off death so I guess it was a valid after-effect. Sucks for me and my mountain of schoolwork though.

Sometimes it hits me that I am almost finished my 2nd to last year of school. Like are we all just... old now? I remember Small Lori looking at 11th and 12th graders like they were just... so cool. So put together. So grown up. 17+ year-olds, please raise your hand if you feel put together, grown up, etc. No? Yeah me neither. What do you MEAN people less than 2 years older than me are getting MARRIED??? I have a reaction of 'please yes' and 'heck no' at the same time.

My seasonal job at the local ski hill is over as of this weekend, so now I have a couple weeks to lock-in on school before the summer job season starts and I can hopefully become less broke. (Apparently being an adult is very expensive... Who knew??)

The Writing Section

Project Duplicate stats:

Word Count: 8300

(Planned) Death Count: 3

Frist Chapter Re-Written: 5 times

Being sick meant I had a lot of time alone with my thoughts (incoherent as they may have been), and I think I actually had a breakthrough or two for Project D. I've been 'working' on this project for like 8 months or something, but most of that has been brainstorming and figuring out my characters, themes, and overall plot.

After reading the entire released run of Martha Wells' MurderBot Diaries, I have a LOT of ideas. *cue readers shaking in fear*

Here's a snippet from the second half of Chapter 1:

I don't sleep.

Never really have.

Partly because the 36.36% of my body that is made up of metal paneling and circuitry runs on electricity, not resting time.

Partly because my breed of man isn't meant for sleep.

On the rare occasion that my human side manages to pull me down into oblivion, it's almost always filled with dreams. Fire and death and terror, fueled by a monster that can do nothing but ravage and destroy. Only, the monster is me.

So I stay awake.

I sit in my usual spot under the canopy in the cockpit, watching the darkness as we fly through it at unimaginable speed. I turn off my HUD overlay, hardly noticing as the streams of data informing me of every variable in my current environment slowly fade away, leaving only the Void.

Today marks 5 years since I left the monster behind. 5 years since I was jettisoned into the unknown, banished or forgotten. Perhaps both. Nearly 5 years since I joined a couple of strange Saturni kids and their weird android bodyguard on what was seemingly a wild goose chase across the solar system.

I twirl a stylus between my fingers, staring intently as it spins in time with my thoughts. There are only 5 more ships on the list. Once those are found, our mission is over. I always told myself that would be when I left. It was for their own good, after all. It's already been too long. I know this because every time I think about leaving, something inside me breaks. 5 years is a long time. Do I really have the strength it takes to cut ties and strike out on my own again?

"Archer."

I jump, dropping the stylus and leaping to my feet in a whirl to face my opponent, hands in fists, body tense.

"Dust above!" Ben takes a startled step back, hands raised. "Sorry, Arch, didn't mean to sneak up on you! I… didn't even know I could sneak up on you… You alright, Mate?"

I relax, the adrenaline fading, heartbeat returning to normal. "Yeah… Yeah. Sorry, I was just… Distracted… You caught me off-guard"

Ben doesn't seem to fully accept this answer, but there's something else on his mind. "Anyway, before you almost killed me, I was coming to tell you that we need to skip Rhea after the station and head straight into the core."

"The core? Why? What's there?"

"30 Million credits." Ben says, grinning.

I stare at him, incredulous. "You're kidding. That's a king's ransom! What in the world is worth 30 million credits?"

"A prince."

-Project Duplicate, Chapter 1, Draft 1, 2025

Here's a bit of Project D trivia to save for later: Archer is made of 36.36% non-organic material. This is a nod to CC-3636, aka Commander Wolffe from Star Wars: The Clone Wars, famous for his cybernetic eye (which Archer also has, though Wolffe's scar is cooler).

Quick sketch I did of Archer several weeks ago: