It’s #WIPpet Wednesday again!

The purpose of  K.L,Schwengel’s brainchild  is to encourage writers to move their WIPs (works-in-progress) to publication by posting excerpts related to the date.

WIPpet Math:

Today is July 31, 2013. (Don’t panic; the paragraphs are short!)

  • For Today’s offering, I’ve added the digits of the month, date, and year. (7+4+3+1+2+0+1+3=17).
  • Then I added 3 paragraphs, because this is my birthday week, and three is my favorite number. So, there’s a little gift for all my readers!

Throughout July, I offer my current NaNo effort, Trueborn Genesis WIPs, The Stars are Fire (Niaan), and Perchance to Dream (Spock),loosely based upon the26 flash fiction piecesI wrote for the2013 Blogging from A to Z April Challenge.

This week, we will begin at the beginning with my Star Trek fanfic, Perchance to Dream. I am so looking forward to exploring Spock’s childhood! =D

Finally, after sharing excerpts told from T’Pol and Amanda’s points of view, I get to the star of the novel – Spock, who is, at this time a child of seven.

Since this is the opening of his first scene, I’ll let the except do the talking.

Note: As with all of this month’s WIPpets, this one is NaNo-raw. I fixed a couple of obvious typos; nothing more.


I moved along at the base of the obsidian cliffs, keeping to the shadow, aware of the chance that a child alone upon the Forge in the light of T’Khut at her fullest would attract a sehlat or a le-matya.

Although, I thought, either might be preferable to the future Father had informed me of, this afternoon.

It was an illogical fantasy, and yet, here, alone in the desert, I did not care. I embraced it, allowed myself to imagine being shredded by a hungry sehlat, or poisoned, then devoured, by the fangs of a le-matya…

But I would not be alive, then, to enjoy the reprieve from the certainty that Father had delivered.

I was to be Promised to a girl named T’Pring, whom I had never met, and would not, until the day of our Promising, at Koon-ut-kal-if-fee, where we would be drawn again when the Burning came, and there was no choice but to mate.

It was the Vulcan way; and yet, something within me recoiled, urgently demanding that I not be so bound, with my mind locked to the mind of a girl I had never met. To consider mating with someone I did not know.

There was little logic in coming to the Forge to escape what I already knew was inevitable. I could bring no rational argument; only my certainty that I found the notion of arranged pairing repulsive and restrictive. But my emotion had never swayed Father to any action beyond more control, and surely it would not now.

I had lost my control, already, when he informed me. I had not held back my angry protests, and he had only responded that he would entertain only logical and controlled responses. My fury had built, triggered by the too-common sensation that I had been trapped in a life I could neither tolerate nor change. I had yelled, then screamed, and then the tears had come -the proof that I was not truly Vulcan, that I had never been enough, and never would be, to satisfy Sarek.

Once more, I wondered why he had married a human woman, and why, after doing so, he chose to have a child with her, to father a son forever tainted, forever inferior because he was half human.

I could not be what he wanted, and I could not resist his implacable will.

And so, when the tears marked me inadequate, yet again, and I knew the next command would be to control them, which I was utterly unable to do, in that moment, I had fled – fled Father’s office, past the kitchen where I could smell Mother’s plomik soup, and feel the pain of her silence, and into my own room, throwing myself down upon my bed as the door slipped closed behind me – both shelter, and trap.

I could not remain here. Either Mother would come, her human maternal instincts and emotions ruling her, wanting to help, but only being able to do so in a human way. I always longed to respond to these efforts, in the way I had when I was too small to know that it was one thing to be human, and another to be Vulcan – and that I was some as-yet unnamed third thing, neither one nor the other, able to pass as neither. My appearance marked me as not human, and my manner just as clearly proved me less than Vulcan.

I was an aberration, belonging nowhere.

I had waited until they were settled for the evening meal…Mother had come once to my door, to tell me the meal was ready, but I had not responded, and then had heard Father’s voice.

“Perhaps he is in meditation, to perfect his control.”

“Sarek. He’s not meditating. He’s seven years old, and you’ve just informed him that you are sentencing him to a lifetime commitment to someone he doesn’t even know yet. He’s angry with you, and it’s justified.”

“He will learn to control such emotions, and to meditate upon them until he finds a peaceful resolution.” Perhaps Mother did not know that I could hear them, but Father certainly did, and there was yet another directive in his words.

Had I told him that meditating had no effect on my emotions but to add restlessness to them, and a tendency for various parts of my body to itch in succession, he would have insisted that I was tending to the matter with “Insufficient effort and attention to achieve the desired goal.”

No, I could not say it. But that made it no less true.

Meditation only led to a deeper sense of being entrapped. The Forge, however, was solitude and sanctuary, and space enough to simply be myself, with no concern for how it would be perceived.

Come on – you know you wanna play, too!


There we have it – the very first twenty paragraphs of Spock’s story arc.

And now – release the comment hounds ! =)

Want more WIPpets? Click the cute little blue froggy to read what other #WIPpeteers are writing, or to join in yourself!