Welcome to the home of MetaTalks Podcast. This weekly podcast is a continuing open conversation and dialogue between two friends, 
A bit more on the In Media Res writing style, the writing exercise submissions read, and the four books to vote on for the May bookclub reading.
Book Club Vote Off:
Wuthering Heights
Choke
Making History
Little Brother
(I've decided not to put a poll up because I'd like an identity behind each vote to keep things fair. Please send a twitter to @metatalks for your vote or email us at podcast@metatalks.com! Thank you!)
Writing Exercise Submissions!
@Rishal_BP:
Dyllin scrambled upright, staring in amazement at the smoking fissure that just
appeared in the ground. Mouth hanging open, he realized the combatants surrounding
him had stopped. The sky above the battlefield was an angry red, with unnatural slashes
of green and purple. The air was hot enough to burn Dyllin's lungs, which he barely
noticed it until a great wracking cough broke his reverie. His next few breaths were
harsh, rasping in his chest as he looked around.
Bodies lay strewn about the fissure. Some were charred remnants, smoldering
piles of blackened flesh and melted armor. The unlucky few to be in the path of the
blast had been sheared in half. One grotesque figure scraped the dirt with its hands for
a moment before falling still. There was a wider swath around the edges where still
figures lay, their armor melted into their flesh. Dyllin heard a raw, primal scream and
was amazed to find it coming from his throat. Across the field, voices echoed his own.
Those of sterner constitution were already regrouping.
The man opposite Dyllin shook himself and raised his sword and shield. Dyllin
stumbled back, trying to bring up his own weapon, but he didn't have the time. His
opponent rushed forward, disarming him and pressing the point of his sword to Dyllin's
throat. "I surrender," he croaked. The last thing he remembered was a blow to the side of
his head. After that, it was blank.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
@TheMcfluffy:
Dennie struggled to his feet and stumbled towards the Inspector. He
couldnt figure out where the pain was coming from, only that it was worse
than any pain he'd felt before. But that wasn't important right now
though, the Inspector needed him.
The short distance to where the Inspector was lying that should have taken
mere moments seemed to be taking an age. It seemed like everything that
could have been thrown on the floor had been. The pain was getting worse,
it was getting harder and harder to navigate amongst the debris. It
occured to Dennie he couldnt even feel the shattered glass and splinters
that he was stumbling over.
Finally reaching the Inspector it was quickly apparent something was
wrong, he wasn’t moving, he felt cold and limp. Dennie licked his face to
try and get a reaction. Nothing. nuzzling him first gently then with as
much force as he could muster Dennie tried to get his master of 10 years
to wake up. Nothing.
The pain hit a new level, Dennie's legs gave in causing him to collapse on
the unresponsive Inspector, he knew he needed to get help but it was too
late, he could no longer move, and everything was starting growing dark.
All he could do was bark in the hope someone would hear him and come to
investigate. Even that proved impossible, a whispered yelp all he could
achieve before the darkness consumed his consciousness.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
@Bidcar:
Here is my submission, I don't think I hit the mark, but I don't have any more time to work on it. I think it wanders off into the contrived. By the way this is Bidkar, but my name is Ron. If it sucks too bad, just skip over it..
Looking at the door, thoughts peddled in his mind as life continued on without care for the anxiety. Above, a television coughed for the banality meant to entertain the old and the young, thus capering for no one.
A woman stood at the desk with her care in arm, making demands. Explained to her that others were first made no difference, she could not wait, had no time. Insistence changed nothing, but her words still wafted in the air, seeming selfish, but really not. Her worries weren't his worries, but worries still valid in her world.
Others sat about waiting their turn, one couple laughing over a screen of a phone, sharing in it's remote wisdom. People gathered in their groups, whispering their conversations as a secret.
Time continued on unchanged, growing shorter in it's temper, seeking resolution. Time is short. Those words have been uttered by all for a millenium. Sometimes for the good, more often for the bad.
It was a small bit ago when life seemed like it lay before us, we had all the time in the world to laugh and play. A day seemed as infinite as the sky's patience, waiting for the creation to live the life given. Now, though, time diminished. He could feel the fact shoved in his face, even though with all the might he had, he denied the thought. Time would go on as it always had, nothing changing.
A lie believed is a lie nonetheless. An eagerness to believe a lie cannot be turned away. He clung to hope, a hope proffered for the betterment of life is better than the possible reality. Turning his head toward a sound, he saw the door open.
appeared in the ground. Mouth hanging open, he realized the combatants surrounding
him had stopped. The sky above the battlefield was an angry red, with unnatural slashes
of green and purple. The air was hot enough to burn Dyllin's lungs, which he barely
noticed it until a great wracking cough broke his reverie. His next few breaths were
harsh, rasping in his chest as he looked around.
Bodies lay strewn about the fissure. Some were charred remnants, smoldering
piles of blackened flesh and melted armor. The unlucky few to be in the path of the
blast had been sheared in half. One grotesque figure scraped the dirt with its hands for
a moment before falling still. There was a wider swath around the edges where still
figures lay, their armor melted into their flesh. Dyllin heard a raw, primal scream and
was amazed to find it coming from his throat. Across the field, voices echoed his own.
Those of sterner constitution were already regrouping.
The man opposite Dyllin shook himself and raised his sword and shield. Dyllin
stumbled back, trying to bring up his own weapon, but he didn't have the time. His
opponent rushed forward, disarming him and pressing the point of his sword to Dyllin's
throat. "I surrender," he croaked. The last thing he remembered was a blow to the side of
his head. After that, it was blank.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
@TheMcfluffy:
Dennie struggled to his feet and stumbled towards the Inspector. He
couldnt figure out where the pain was coming from, only that it was worse
than any pain he'd felt before. But that wasn't important right now
though, the Inspector needed him.
The short distance to where the Inspector was lying that should have taken
mere moments seemed to be taking an age. It seemed like everything that
could have been thrown on the floor had been. The pain was getting worse,
it was getting harder and harder to navigate amongst the debris. It
occured to Dennie he couldnt even feel the shattered glass and splinters
that he was stumbling over.
Finally reaching the Inspector it was quickly apparent something was
wrong, he wasn’t moving, he felt cold and limp. Dennie licked his face to
try and get a reaction. Nothing. nuzzling him first gently then with as
much force as he could muster Dennie tried to get his master of 10 years
to wake up. Nothing.
The pain hit a new level, Dennie's legs gave in causing him to collapse on
the unresponsive Inspector, he knew he needed to get help but it was too
late, he could no longer move, and everything was starting growing dark.
All he could do was bark in the hope someone would hear him and come to
investigate. Even that proved impossible, a whispered yelp all he could
achieve before the darkness consumed his consciousness.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
@Bidcar:
Here is my submission, I don't think I hit the mark, but I don't have any more time to work on it. I think it wanders off into the contrived. By the way this is Bidkar, but my name is Ron. If it sucks too bad, just skip over it..
Looking at the door, thoughts peddled in his mind as life continued on without care for the anxiety. Above, a television coughed for the banality meant to entertain the old and the young, thus capering for no one.
A woman stood at the desk with her care in arm, making demands. Explained to her that others were first made no difference, she could not wait, had no time. Insistence changed nothing, but her words still wafted in the air, seeming selfish, but really not. Her worries weren't his worries, but worries still valid in her world.
Others sat about waiting their turn, one couple laughing over a screen of a phone, sharing in it's remote wisdom. People gathered in their groups, whispering their conversations as a secret.
Time continued on unchanged, growing shorter in it's temper, seeking resolution. Time is short. Those words have been uttered by all for a millenium. Sometimes for the good, more often for the bad.
It was a small bit ago when life seemed like it lay before us, we had all the time in the world to laugh and play. A day seemed as infinite as the sky's patience, waiting for the creation to live the life given. Now, though, time diminished. He could feel the fact shoved in his face, even though with all the might he had, he denied the thought. Time would go on as it always had, nothing changing.
A lie believed is a lie nonetheless. An eagerness to believe a lie cannot be turned away. He clung to hope, a hope proffered for the betterment of life is better than the possible reality. Turning his head toward a sound, he saw the door open.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
@Thelonious_Mac:
08:40PM. Staring at twin 17” MacBook Pro screens, black background, green text flowing by, comparing what should be to what is, and then I finally see it. Son-of-a-bitch. Here’s the fucking leak. Script buried within a script, buried within a script, activated each time the CEO sends or receives email. It sends a copy to a blackberry BIS account. Exchange servers. Bah. They insist on using this ‘Microslop’ because it makes them feel like pros, well, whatever. They do pay on time and that makes them a priority.
The BB BIS account is registered to some stupid yacht company in the Netherlands. I search, nothing for them but a stupid web server. I probe, softly, not too deep. Doesn’t take much to get it to open the kimono. It’s a Windoze server. Good, about 80 different ways to get it wet. I spot a folder in the admin directory called “Arsenal.” It’s full of skiddie hacks. Seems this shit likes to play hacker. Seems he’s got a thing for law firms in Los Angeles also. I check through the server’s logs and find that whoever is using it is doing it remotely from, you’ve got it, LA. The yacht company probably has no idea.
There’s lots of folders filled with documents from numerous law firms. I spend the next 30 minutes copying the evidence, when suddenly the link goes dead. Simultaneously a snitch window pops up on the twin MacBook. Someone is trying to back hack. I could play games but I decide to go decidedly low tech. I get up from my desk, walk over to the cable modem, and unplug it.
Not good. Not good at all. Not much I can do about it tonight though. I copy the files onto an iPod shuffle. Leave it hidden in plain sight. No one ever looks at iPods. I’m tired. Don’t know if I can sleep. I decide to try listening to a podcast, that gamer chick. She’s unusual, a thinker, and fuck, what a voice. Sometimes she’s sad, so goddamn sad. I drift off listening to her.
11:56PM. iPhone rings. Scares the shit out of me for some reason. I grab it, answer. No one there. Had a feeling I’d fucked up earlier. I take the hint. Get dressed. Grab my go bag. It’s got MacBook AIR, WiFI hotspot, and a crap load of other shit that I might need, including a sub-compact 9mm Glock 26. I’ve never hurt anyone in my life, not even in Somalia, but you never know. I snatch the iPod, stuff it into the backpack. I’m out.
I decide to leave the Mini Cooper and take the Ducati. I hit the streets of downtown LA just in time to see a black Ford SUV pull up outside my building. Somehow I know it’s me they’re here for. I call Bruno, the doorman and tell him I’m not expecting visitors. No one should be given my loft number and that if they insist, he might want to call the cops.
I head for WiFiTini. It’s a bar/club that caters to LA’s cyber underground. It’s vibrant. Blasting trip hop tonight. Place is full of everything from venture capitalists to some of the most gifted hackers on the west coast. Ton of bandwidth, damn good martinis, and I’m “friendly” with the owner. Nicole. Tonight though I need to see Manfred. Gonna need a place to crash and maybe a whole lot more before this is over.
@Thelonious_Mac:
08:40PM. Staring at twin 17” MacBook Pro screens, black background, green text flowing by, comparing what should be to what is, and then I finally see it. Son-of-a-bitch. Here’s the fucking leak. Script buried within a script, buried within a script, activated each time the CEO sends or receives email. It sends a copy to a blackberry BIS account. Exchange servers. Bah. They insist on using this ‘Microslop’ because it makes them feel like pros, well, whatever. They do pay on time and that makes them a priority.
The BB BIS account is registered to some stupid yacht company in the Netherlands. I search, nothing for them but a stupid web server. I probe, softly, not too deep. Doesn’t take much to get it to open the kimono. It’s a Windoze server. Good, about 80 different ways to get it wet. I spot a folder in the admin directory called “Arsenal.” It’s full of skiddie hacks. Seems this shit likes to play hacker. Seems he’s got a thing for law firms in Los Angeles also. I check through the server’s logs and find that whoever is using it is doing it remotely from, you’ve got it, LA. The yacht company probably has no idea.
There’s lots of folders filled with documents from numerous law firms. I spend the next 30 minutes copying the evidence, when suddenly the link goes dead. Simultaneously a snitch window pops up on the twin MacBook. Someone is trying to back hack. I could play games but I decide to go decidedly low tech. I get up from my desk, walk over to the cable modem, and unplug it.
Not good. Not good at all. Not much I can do about it tonight though. I copy the files onto an iPod shuffle. Leave it hidden in plain sight. No one ever looks at iPods. I’m tired. Don’t know if I can sleep. I decide to try listening to a podcast, that gamer chick. She’s unusual, a thinker, and fuck, what a voice. Sometimes she’s sad, so goddamn sad. I drift off listening to her.
11:56PM. iPhone rings. Scares the shit out of me for some reason. I grab it, answer. No one there. Had a feeling I’d fucked up earlier. I take the hint. Get dressed. Grab my go bag. It’s got MacBook AIR, WiFI hotspot, and a crap load of other shit that I might need, including a sub-compact 9mm Glock 26. I’ve never hurt anyone in my life, not even in Somalia, but you never know. I snatch the iPod, stuff it into the backpack. I’m out.
I decide to leave the Mini Cooper and take the Ducati. I hit the streets of downtown LA just in time to see a black Ford SUV pull up outside my building. Somehow I know it’s me they’re here for. I call Bruno, the doorman and tell him I’m not expecting visitors. No one should be given my loft number and that if they insist, he might want to call the cops.
I head for WiFiTini. It’s a bar/club that caters to LA’s cyber underground. It’s vibrant. Blasting trip hop tonight. Place is full of everything from venture capitalists to some of the most gifted hackers on the west coast. Ton of bandwidth, damn good martinis, and I’m “friendly” with the owner. Nicole. Tonight though I need to see Manfred. Gonna need a place to crash and maybe a whole lot more before this is over.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
@Jeppy:
He was swimming upward through viscous waters the surface of light close then far. The metronome of his heart beating the strokes.
Darkness. Heat. Pain.
Consciousness crashed upon him and he greeted it with a rusty voiced moan.
Questions of where and why and how instantly demanded answer but were met with stubborn blankness.
His senses all screamed panic his muscles briefly fought and he fell back beneath the surface.
Seconds minutes hours later awareness again returned but this time slowly and prepared.
The answers still did not come. Memory skipped and darted just beyond his minds grasp. The harder he tried the more they eluded him.
He opened his eyes and found only more darkness. localising the pain to his forehead he lifted his right hand to examine and the left came too. Momentarily confused he tried to separate them and felt plastic eat into his flesh.
He stopped all movement and lay still. He was on his side in a foetal position. He tried to stretch his legs and almost instantly met resistance discovering at the same time that his legs were also bound. He again lay still.
He felt sweat slipping down his skin smelt hot metal and the sound of his own heart thrummed in his ears. He took a deep lung full of air and felt gladness that it appeared plentiful.
His heart beat slowed and made way for another sound. Familiar. His mind sought and found the word. An engine. The pieces fell together as to where. Tied up in the trunk of a vehicle but the whys and hows still taunted him from a distance.
The engine stopped. He heard doors opening feet crunching and doors slamming shut.
A bright burning light invaded and his eyes shut in quick defence as he felt several hands grab and lift him. One minute rising then falling. Pain shooting though his body sand scorching his skin.
He raised his head and allowed his lids to slit but saw only silhouetted figures. Again lifted his bindings were cut and a canteen thrust into his now freed hands. He drank. The canteen was taken and something else was placed more carefully into his hands. Glasses. His glasses. He put them on and the world around him darkened.
Raising his head the silhouettes took on distinction and a voice purred.
“Well Captain Winters you seem quite the little trouble maker”
Memories suddenly stampeded through his mind let lose by the voice and now the face.
He dropped back into the waters of unconsciousness.
@Jeppy:
He was swimming upward through viscous waters the surface of light close then far. The metronome of his heart beating the strokes.
Darkness. Heat. Pain.
Consciousness crashed upon him and he greeted it with a rusty voiced moan.
Questions of where and why and how instantly demanded answer but were met with stubborn blankness.
His senses all screamed panic his muscles briefly fought and he fell back beneath the surface.
Seconds minutes hours later awareness again returned but this time slowly and prepared.
The answers still did not come. Memory skipped and darted just beyond his minds grasp. The harder he tried the more they eluded him.
He opened his eyes and found only more darkness. localising the pain to his forehead he lifted his right hand to examine and the left came too. Momentarily confused he tried to separate them and felt plastic eat into his flesh.
He stopped all movement and lay still. He was on his side in a foetal position. He tried to stretch his legs and almost instantly met resistance discovering at the same time that his legs were also bound. He again lay still.
He felt sweat slipping down his skin smelt hot metal and the sound of his own heart thrummed in his ears. He took a deep lung full of air and felt gladness that it appeared plentiful.
His heart beat slowed and made way for another sound. Familiar. His mind sought and found the word. An engine. The pieces fell together as to where. Tied up in the trunk of a vehicle but the whys and hows still taunted him from a distance.
The engine stopped. He heard doors opening feet crunching and doors slamming shut.
A bright burning light invaded and his eyes shut in quick defence as he felt several hands grab and lift him. One minute rising then falling. Pain shooting though his body sand scorching his skin.
He raised his head and allowed his lids to slit but saw only silhouetted figures. Again lifted his bindings were cut and a canteen thrust into his now freed hands. He drank. The canteen was taken and something else was placed more carefully into his hands. Glasses. His glasses. He put them on and the world around him darkened.
Raising his head the silhouettes took on distinction and a voice purred.
“Well Captain Winters you seem quite the little trouble maker”
Memories suddenly stampeded through his mind let lose by the voice and now the face.
He dropped back into the waters of unconsciousness.
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