I hit a wall with my current novel’s outline last week and fell into a depressive episode for a few days. It seemed unsurprising – when I’m writing at a good clip I’m perhaps hypomanic. When my baby was having a scream day, I cheerfully bounced and debugged her, typing in between squalling.
In the immoderate (so we say) planet of Tymek, the stages of adulthood are two. In the first, one sets out to conquer the world. One overextends oneself, takes on ventures that fail, and makes reckless public promises, including oaths for marriages that will detonate in demoniac divorces.
A Thceyn birthing takes the inverse shape of ours. A new Thceyn forms as a thin, flexible membrane around the Thceyn world. Micrometers thick at first, it grows until it strains to hold the world in and the pressure hurts its taut, flattened organs. Its birthing organ starts spiraling into the world-barrier.
In the radioactive mantle of a nameless planet dwelled the kahaldans, who lived in an air bubble in the rock and coated its inner surface with glowing farms of fungi. They enjoyed making new kinds of sounds and naming things, and would have named their planet but for their total ignorance of what a planet was.