IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 142

Each Tuesday, rather than a POSSIBLY IRRITATING ESSAY, I'd like to both challenge you and lend a helping hand. I generate more speculative and teen story ideas than I can ever use. My family rolls its collective eyes when I say, "Hang on a second! I just have to write down this idea..." Here, I'll include the initial inspiration (quote, website, podcast, etc) and then a thought or two that came to mind. These will simply be seeds -- plant, nurture, fertilize, chemically treat, irradiate, test or stress them as you see fit. I only ask if you let me know if anything comes of them.

SF Trope: “In 1953, Isaac Asimov published an article titled ‘Social Science Fiction’ in Modern Science Fiction. In that article he stated that every science fiction plot ultimately falls into one of three categories: Gadget, Adventure, or Social.” This week: “Adventure: The invention is used as a dramatic prop. It may be the solution to a problem, or it may be causing the problem itself, but the main focus is on the caper and how the invention's presence helps or hinders it.”

Current Event: http://news.yahoo.com/astronauts-poised-second-spacewalk-repair-station-020420313.html

Keven Mean floated free of the International Space Station and turned so that he could look down on the BA 330 module that had just been connected.

Beside him, following NASA protocol, his fellow cadet Brooklyn Kukk floated. She said, “They say it’s haunted.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Keven asked. He was self-conscious of his Brazilian accent and tried to imitate a Midwestern American one in his English.

“You must have heard about the accident when they were putting on the finishing touches down on Earth?”

“Accident?”

“Yeah,” she said, stopping to breathe for a few moments and move closer to the module. “They were working inside and a section of the floor collapsed – not that it would do anything like that out here in micrograv – but on Earth I guess it was a big deal. Killed him in a freaky way, too.”

Keven jetted forward, pushing his tether out of the way. Behind them, two regular crew of the ISS monitored their work. It was a simple maneuver – attaching a UHF antenna to a socket on the BA 330. Nothing could go wrong. He focused. Brooklyn made him nervous. Aside from the fact that she seemed to like him and was always putting her hand on him, she was also very dramatic. He wasn’t much, despite the reputation of his fellow Brasilias. His parents had been masters at hiding everything – their anger, their joy, their divorce, when they gave him to a state-run orphanage.

“You ever see that old movie, ‘Gravity’?” Brooklyn said suddenly.

Over their headsets, one of the crew said, “This is López, focus on your work, trainees.”

“I am,” Keven said.

López continued, “Good job, Mean. But just to calm your fears, the Skysweeper Act has done a good job of clearing out all the junk floating around out here.”

“What about the robots themselves?” Brooklyn said as they moved toward the socket. The antennae, delivered – ironically, Keven thought – by a robotic maintenance robot about an hour earlier, floated on its own tether nearby.

 

“As far as anyone has been able to tell,” López said with a laugh, “There have been no rogue AIs wandering near-Earth space preparing to rain a hail of death down on the governments of the planet.”

Brooklyn gasped then said, “You’ve seen ‘Skies Of Death’?”

López said, “It’s how we pass our nights and days here.”

“So there’s no chance that an AI could spontaneously become an intelligence?”

“This is the universe you’re talking about – there’s no assurances to apply for, none given.”

“So...”

López cut her off, “You have a job to do, Kukk. Please proceed.”

She snorted and jetted forward. As she did, she muttered, “This was supposed to be an adventure. I haven’t seen anything adventurous since I signed the contract…”

The edges of Keven’s helmet abruptly turned red, flashing on and off and a keening sound filled his headphones.

Names: ♀Canada (P.E.I.), Estonia ; ♂ Aruba, Brazil (Divine)

Image: http://spacearchitect.org/wp-content/uploads/2013/10/ISS-TransHab-NASA-1999-2000-Kriss-Kennedy-Constance-Adams.jpg

WRITING ADVICE: Julie Czerneda’s Writing Workshop! #8 Where In The Universe Will You BE?

In 2005, whilst perusing the shelves at the Hennepin County Public Library, I stumbled across CHANGING VISION by Julie Czerneda (say it: chur-nay-dah), an author I'd never heard of, and was intrigued by the aliens on the cover by artist Luis Royo. It didn’t matter that the book was the second in a series, the cover entranced me and so I read. The book was spectacular, I read others, and fell entirely in love with another series of hers called SPECIES IMPERATIVE for its fascinating aliens and superior characterization. A teacher deeply at heart, Julie Czerneda shares ideas and methodology wherever she goes. On her website, http://www.czerneda.com/classroom/classroom.html she shares ideas for writers. I want to share what kind of impact her ideas have had on my own writing.  They are used with the author’s permission.

“Setting: Science fiction is not restrained to any particular setting. Pick what works.”

I have a particular fondness for alien worlds. A year ago, I went with a friend of mine, to hear the project director of the Mars Curiosity program as well as get updates on the most current discoveries.

I held my breath as the Huygens probe dropped into Titan’s atmosphere and I’ve watched the videos a half-dozen times.

I have created stories on strange worlds – where characters walk or run or roll on various planets or float in atmospheres or on oceans.

During the summer, I teach a class to gifted and talented children called, ALIEN WORLDS. For those who continue to take the class again and again, I created ADVANCED ALIEN WORLDS. Not only do I restrict them (their worlds and life forms cannot be copied from anywhere, their worlds must conform to known laws of chemistry and physics and must adhere to what we know about the formation of star systems, stars, planets, and moons as well as what we know of Earth’s geology, hydrology, and meteorology. When creating life forms, they are not allowed to leap to Chewbacca, the Wookie. They have to create microscopic life forms, plants, and animals. We talk about biodiversity and whether or not there is any incontrovertible evidence that there is life anywhere but on Earth. I do not allow them to fall back on the (falsely attributed) Saganism, “If they be not inhabited, what a waste of space."  (Sagan delivered this quote during the symposium on "Life Beyond Earth and the Mind of Man", held at Boston University (20 November 1972), published in Life Beyond Earth and the Mind of Man (1973) edited by Richard Berendzen; Life Beyond Earth and the Mind of Man (1975) National Archives video. This is a paraphrase of Sagan quoting Thomas Carlyle, the beginning of the quote was: "A sad spectacle. If they be inhabited, what a scope for misery and folly…”)

At any rate, Julie Czerneda writes SF that takes place on other worlds or simply in space. She created her character Esen (from the Web Shifters series) in order to explore what a life form might really be like if it could take any form it chose. In the Species Imperative series, she wanted to explore “[How would] a variety of intelligent space-faring species interact...if one of those species begins to act according to an innate biological drive, an irresistible imperative that was incompatible with the survival of the rest? Or even of itself?”

She noted that the Species Imperative series is “Unrelated to any of my previous stories, much nearer in time to ours, and set, in part, on the northern coast of British Columbia.”

For whatever reason, this is the series of hers I am most fascinated by. I suppose, deep down, I love this because I can conceivable include myself in this future because it’s not that far away!

I recently finished a short story that takes place less than a mile (.8 km) from my house that is science fiction. It involves an older woman, at the end of her career who has ended up without fame or family (she has fortune, thankfully) because of choices she made long ago. Confronted with a startling discovery she makes while her estranged grandson is staying with her, she has to choose fame or family. “Fairy Bones” hasn’t been submitted yet – it’s in the cooling off phase before an edit to polish it up. While it does take place a bit in the future, I feel close enough to the story that it seems like “now”.

A bit ago, I finished a story that takes place on the moon of a “hot Jupiter” and gives a young man the choice of having to sacrifice his life for the good of another and thus win the everlasting respect of an alien society or continue on the selfish life path that his father has prepared for him. It’s not a decision to be taken lightly, nor should it be made in the heat of the moment – but Zahar doesn’t have the luxury of mulling it over. He has to chose what to do in an instant. Will he be selfish like Dad or be who he imagines himself to be?

Two very different places; two stories that are similar in tone (see http://faithandsciencefiction.blogspot.com/2013/11/writing-advice-julie-czernedas-writing.html) and both coming out of my study of Julie Czerneda’s writing and her workshop materials.

Once again, thank you, Julie Czerneda!

Image: http://www.techedon.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/03/The_Future_Earth_Look_Back.jpg

A PINE IN THE CITY, ALONE WITH A BOY 9

From where I sit on the back yard steps, I can see a pine tree we left behind after we first bought our house. There were four others, but they’d grown so close together, we had to have them cut down as they were killing each other as they competed for soil space, water and sunlight.

Where we live, at the intersection of Great Plains, Deciduous Forest, and Coniferous Forest, there’s a wild mix of trees and grassland. But what would happen if you went further south? What would happen if a migrating bird dropped a seed of, say, a Jack Pine in Oklahoma City? What if a little boy, from a near-destitute white family, discovered it, found out about it, nurtured it…and that’s what this is about.

On another hot day, the pine all alone,

Was sure it was going to die.
Then the hopping boy stopped, near the pine all alone,
And came over and sat down nearby.

Image: http://anthonypeoples.files.wordpress.com/2012/11/charlie-brown.jpg

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 141

Each Tuesday, rather than a POSSIBLY IRRITATING ESSAY, I'd like to both challenge you and lend a helping hand. I generate more speculative and teen story ideas than I can ever use. My family rolls its collective eyes when I say, "Hang on a second! I just have to write down this idea..." Here, I'll include the initial inspiration (quote, website, podcast, etc) and then a thought or two that came to mind. These will simply be seeds -- plant, nurture, fertilize, chemically treat, irradiate, test or stress them as you see fit. I only ask if you let me know if anything comes of them.

H Trope: Precognition of death/murder/execution

Current Event: Christmas Eve

NOT MY USUAL FARE, BUT SOMETHING FOR THE SEASON: Joseph, Mary’s betrothed and then her husband knew exactly what is going to happen to the Son he’d been charged with raising. Matthew 1:20-21 says it all: “But when he had considered this, behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream, saying, ‘Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife; for the Child who has been conceived in her is of the Holy Spirit. She will bear a Son; and you shall call His name Jesus, for He will save His people from their sins.’”

Joseph was Jewish. He KNEW that the atonement of sin was bought with BLOOD – of rams, sheep, doves…lambs. Whatever, atonement was a bloody business and the Angel of the Lord said in his dream that Jesus would save His people from their sins. So here’s my story:

Joseph lay in bed, staring at the ceiling while noises in the kitchen in the courtyard let him know that the women of the household – including his newly betrothed, Mary – were up and at work.

How could he tell her about his dream? He could be blunt...
 

“Mary? Can I talk to you for a second?”

She looked over her shoulder, arms floured and white to her elbows, almost masking the glowingly olive skin. “Can’t you see I’m busy, man?” She smiled to take the sting out of her words.

“I have to tell you a dream I had.” She rolls her eyes, smiling and blushing faintly. The other women in the kitchen who were studiously not listening to the conversation, snicker and make rude noises and motions. Joseph felt the heat rise on his face, only adding oil to their lanterns of lust.

Mary laughed, straightened and strode to him across the kitchen as she dusted the flour from her arms onto a hand towel. Placing her hand on his chest, she gently pushed him back into the hallway…

Joseph in bed noticed the ceiling was blurred and cool tears rolling down his face to his neck. How could he tell her that their Son – her son? his son?

The Son of God.

How could he tell her that once their Son was born, his destiny was not to grow old. His destiny was not to marry and father children and become a feeble old man with children and grandchildren running around His feet.

His destiny was to remain pure, without blemish, without sex...and to be given to His real Father as a sacrificial lamb. The Lamb of God.

The angel of the Lord had left it to Joseph, a simple carpenter, to tell Mary the Mother of God – that her Son was to be murdered to cover the sins of all men.

Joseph found himself sore afraid…

Names: ♀ Ancient Hebrew ; ♂ Ancient Hebrew  

Image: http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2080/2146696283_afc861ff00_o.jpg

Slice of PIE: Do I REALLY Believe In UFOs?



 

As a kid (like 13 and 14), I was an ardent believer in UFOs. I read every book I could get my hands on at the library...

 

There was no internet in those days, so everything I read was in the form of a book. I just knew aliens flew in the skies of Earth – and I wanted to meet one! More than anything in the world, I wanted to see a UFO.

I even dreamed about them and in the dream I would see the spaceship or the alien and be so scared I couldn’t speak, so I couldn’t let anyone know what I’d seen. That was a “bummer”. I waited for alien contact whenever I was camping in the wilderness (I “invented” camping in my family as my parents had both grown up in the heart of the city and my brothers and sister were more interested in sports having to do with balls, pucks, and nets.

I biked everywhere and taught myself how to camp out. I bought the tents, backpacks, propane stoves, and I bought waterproof ponchos and ground cloths. What I never let on was that camping was my bid to see a UFO. They rarely seemed to appear over cities (at least according to my research) and never abducted anyone from a crowd or a city park or a rock concert. I eschewed all the “city” things and waited in the wilderness.

When I became a Christian, I continued to read about UFOs, but their appearance took on a more insidious nature:

Forty-some-years-later, what do I think?

I still don’t know if UFOs are alien spacecraft observing Earth and Humans.

I do know that aliens floating around our skies and abducting Humans doesn’t make much sense – at least not from a Human perspective. I’ve heard it said that if UFOs really are alien spacecraft, then their behavior is not particularly intelligent. I mean, think about it: they constantly abduct people who have no knowledge of anything important; they cut up cows repeatedly; they fly over Washington, DC yet never land (What are they afraid of? If they have the ability to travel at speeds faster-than-light in teeny-weeny spaceships then by implication, they don’t spend much time cooped up in those teeny-weeny spaceships and must have some sort of teenier-weenier-sized power source that can hurl them over interstellar distances in the blink of an eye – and probably produce a super-duper-sized city disintegration ray that would make mincemeat of any kind of offensive weapon we could throw at them.

Even more likely, given that one of the main tenets of the “UFOs Carry Intelligent Life” religion is that they will be psychically more advanced than us. They should be able to take over our less-developed minds without difficulty (after studying us and practicing Human and bovine mind control for decades (or several thousand years if Ezekiel’s Wheels, the Pyramids at Giza, and the Easter Island Heads were the work of alien spacecraft equipped with tractor beams, antigravity rays, and dedicated study teams)) and make us walk, wholesale, into their alien abattoirs and do with us whatever their evil minds might conceive.

Of course, all of my observations are predicated on what would make sense to a Human.

 

Aliens, by their very nature, will be alien and most likely incomprehensible. The following science fictional aliens spring to mind:

 

HG Well’s Martians

Star Trek’s Horta

Babylon 5’s Vorlon

David Brin’s Jophur

District 9’s “prawns”

Larry Niven’s Puppeteers

Stanislaw Lem’s Solaris

 

I know there are others, but these are among the best known and best realized of what’s out there.

 

That being said, every one of these is comprehensible to us in some way.

 

Someone truly alien will be incomprehensible. By definition something incomprehensible is “unintelligible, impossible to understand, impenetrable, unclear, indecipherable, inscrutable, beyond one's comprehension, beyond one, beyond one's grasp, complicated, complex, involved, baffling, bewildering, mystifying, unfathomable, puzzling, cryptic, confusing, perplexing”.

 

We won’t get them. They might get us because they’ll have been around this part of the universe enough to have bumped into others aliens. We won’t even know what questions to ask: What does an incomprehensible alien look like? Act like? Smell like? Sound like? Think like? Sense like? Sex like?

 

I don’t know. And despite the fact that I saw two, glowing orange, box-shaped objects fly silently over my house on October 28, 2013 in a north-east to south-westerly direction and that I, personally can say are Unidentified Flying Objects – I still can’t say for sure if there are alien intelligences operating flying objects in our atmosphere.

 

I know what I’d like to BELIEVE, but the evidence that intelligences like our own are floating around over our heads is pretty much nonexistent.

 

Sorry, self.

Image: http://www.ufoera.com/images/ufo/ufo-photo_001.jpg

 

LOVE IN A TIME OF ALIEN INVASION 10

The Cold War between the Kiiote and the Yown’Hoo has become a shooting war.  On Earth, there are three Triads one each in Minneapolis, Estados United; Pune, India; and Harbin, China. Protected by the Triad Corporation, they intend to integrate not only the three peoples and stop the war that threatens to break loose and slaughter Humans and devastate their world.; but to stop the war that consumes Kiiote economy and Yown’Hoo moral fiber. The Yown’Hoo know about the extra-Universe Braider, aliens whose own “civil war” mirrors the Cold War. The Braiders accidentally created a resonance wave that will destroy the Milky Way and the only way it stop it is physically – the Yown’Hoo-Kiiote-Human Triads may be their only chance of creating a solution. The merger of Human-Kiiote-Yown’Hoo into a van der Walls Society may produce a stability capable of launching incredible expansion, creativity, longevity and wealth.

The young experimental Triads are made up of the smallest primate tribe of Humans –two; the smallest canine pack of Kiiote – six; and the smallest camelid herd of Yown’Hoo – a prime eleven. On nursery farms and ranches away from the TC cities, Humans have tended young Yown’Hoo and Kiiote in secret for decades, allowing the two warring people to reproduce and grow far from their home worlds. Grendl, Manitoba is one such place. No one but the Triad Company has ever heard of it and the physical plant goes by the unobtrusive name of Organic Prairie Dairy.

The Triads never hear of anything they aren’t spoon fed in their luxury worlds and have heard only rumors of the farms and ranches. Surrounded by a Humanity that has degenerated into a “duck-and-cover” society as the Big Boys fight their war, they don’t care about anything but their own lives. Oblivious, cocooned, manipulated, they have no idea that their privileges are about to be violently curtailed.

It was NOT overgrown, rather it had been plowed and cultivated! How had Doj not smelled this? Clearly Humans lived here...

A deep, gruff voice said from the darkness, “One move stranger and you’ll have a perforated ulcer – from the outside in.” The threat was emphasized by the sharp sound of the pump action of a shotgun.

I raised my hands in the air, a surrender move I’d seen in an old-fashioned flat movie from the middle of the 20^th Century called a Western and said, “Don’t shoot.”

“One good reason.”

“We’re trying to escape,” said Shayla suddenly. There was a sound I’d never heard before from her direction. It took me a second to recognize the buzz of nerve disruptor – not a military grade, but deadly all the same.

The person on the other end of the pump action shotgun snorted in laughter, saying, “Why don’t you come on in for a bowl...” he paused, sniffed the air, then added, “You and the rest of the Triad are welcome here.”

“What...Triad...” Shayla stammered.

“It’s obvious – and I can smell the Kiiote.”

“They don’t...”

“I met them fifteen years ago when they swarmed the colony at Cabeus Crater.”

“There were no survivors!” I said.

“I’m relieved to know I can let my garden go to seed now because I don’t exist.” There was a long pause, then he said, “I’m Lieutenant Commander Patrick Bakhsh, retired. Bring your Triad on in.”

I didn’t know what to say. Shayla was silent, too – maybe for the first time since we met when we were three. She suddenly said, “We need a place to stay before we leave.”

“From what I can see, you need more than a place to stay. You need to get out of this City.” He turned and opened his gate. “Tell the Kiiote to stay away from me. I’ve been conditioned to kill them. While I’m pretty sure I can control myself, I can’t guarantee it.”

“What about the Yown’Hoo?” From the shadows, the Herd Mother Dao-Hi stepped.

“I’ve no beef with your kind, Herd Mother. It’s just them,” he gestured to a tangle of brush hugging the ground.

The branches shook as Qap rearranged his bones and musculature so that he could stand. He said, “The Pack will stay in the garage, Lieutenant Commander.”

“The basement is warmer and more appropriate. I also don’t need any of my neighbors getting curious.”

“You don’t have any neighbors,” said Shayla.

“Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they can’t see you.”

“There are Humans watching us?” said a different Yown’Hoo voice.

“Why would that surprise you? People have been watching the Triad feed since the day they opened your house in the Old Metrodome.”

“They’re watching us?”

The gate swung open silently. Patrick said, “Let’s talk more inside. I don’t want your arrival to end up on rLife.”

Qap growled and yipped. The rest of the Pack followed as Patrick went to a separate doorway set into the side of the house. He palmed a lock and stepped back as heavy door slowly opened as a motor somewhere whined. “You can bunk down there. The others can access the room from a staircase inside.”

“How do we know...” Towt began.

Shayla snarled in Ki. The Pack hurried down the ramp. The doors closed. Patrick opened the back door and stood back. Shayla went in first – I’m sure to salve the wounds of her litter mate. The Herd Mother followed and I brought up the rear. Before I entered, Patrick snagged my sleeve. I stopped as he said, “They’re looking for you. Half the City’s convinced you’ve all been murdered. The other half think you’re going to bring the Hot War down on us.” He shook my arm and said, “What are you up to?”

I shook my head as I said, “I wish I knew what was going on. I just know we have to get out  of here and North is the only way to go.”

Image: http://i2.wp.com/media.globalnews.ca/videothumbnails/561/207/GNMORN091913prisoners_640x360_48907331733.jpg?w=670

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 140

Each Tuesday, rather than a POSSIBLY IRRITATING ESSAY, I'd like to both challenge you and lend a helping hand. I generate more speculative and teen story ideas than I can ever use. My family rolls its collective eyes when I say, "Hang on a second! I just have to write down this idea..." Here, I'll include the initial inspiration (quote, website, podcast, etc) and then a thought or two that came to mind. These will simply be seeds -- plant, nurture, fertilize, chemically treat, irradiate, test or stress them as you see fit. I only ask if you let me know if anything comes of them.

F Trope: Wu' means martial arts, which signifies action, 'Xia' conveys chivalry. Wuxia. Say it gently... 'whooshah'... and it's like a breath of serenity embracing you. Say it with force, 'WuSHA!', and you can feel its power…honourable warriors (侠 xiá) fighting against evil…wuxia stories are set in modern times, or even the future…Jiānghú (江湖 — literally "rivers and lakes")…martial-artists and monks, wandering knights and beautiful princesses, thieves and beggars, priests and healers, merchants and craftsmen…intricate relationships of honour, loyalty, love and hate between individuals and between communities in this milieu.

Current Event: “The Jade Warrior”

Ni Eyamba bit her lower lip as she stared down at the pre-calculus summative exam and sighed. What would the class do if she stood up and announced that she was a fusion of Atai, the mediator wife of Abassi, the creator god; and the Chinese “deity” of clan, nation, societal harmony, anti-individualism, and fulfillment of mandate still defines success. Contemporary Chinese, however, are unable to articulate the country's cultural DNA.

I am the articulation of the Chinese DNA of my mother melded with the gods and goddesses of my father’s home – the Dark Continent. I am...

Behind me, Jackson Jackson, my totally American best friend at Obama High School, poked me in the back with his tablet computer stylus and whispered, “Who do you think you are, Albertina Einsteinina?”

I rolled my eyes and got back to work. When we first talked, he asked me all about my families – not the shy one, I told him as much as he could stand.

Which happened to be an hour and seven minutes of constant talk – all through our relaxed study and into the fourth period of lunch. I’d intended to prove to myself that no one cared about me. Certainly Mom and Dad didn’t – why else would they send me to the US for schooling while they went to live the bright life in Espirito Santo, north of the capital of Brazil?

I was stuck in this...Jackson poked me again and I wrestled down an urge to turn and blast him with lightning. But then my only real friend in America would be a smoking pile of ash.

Of course I’d have to figure out how to immolate him without burning down both the school and turning myself into a pile of crematorium dust as well. Too bad my deityhood didn’t extend to omniscience. If it had, I would be able to ace this exam.

Also, the powers I’d supposedly gotten from the Efik side of my family tended toward creating things rather than destroying things. That’s why it had merged almost seamlessly with my Chinese blood. Most of Reunited China was in the throes of a materialistic orgy that made the 20^th and the first half of the 21^st Centuries of American excess look like…well…18^th and 19^th Century European excess…which made 16^th and 17^th Century Indian excess look like…well, you get the idea. Seems every dominating civilization seeks to outdo the previous dominating civilization...

“You gonna finish the test or just dream about graduating from high school?”

“闭嘴,” I said – Chinese for “shut up”, which is what Americans seem to say to each other a lot. Almost more than, “Wanna be friends?”

Behind me, I feel the rush of air past my ear as he breathes, “Wu xia.” He lifted the second syllable. Blood pounded in my ears. Said in such a way, he was doing no less than challenging me to a duel. I grinned, hunched over my tablet and raced through the rest of the test. I very much wanted to expend some of my angry energy by beating Jackson’s…

Names: ♀ China, Nigeria (Efik tribe); ♂ United States (#1, 2013), United States (#13)

Sources: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/tom-doctoroff/china-materialism_b_1222589.html, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Efik_mythology

Image: http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-G-32SI5FLjU/TxXw5ZDmC4I/AAAAAAAAAZU/_pOo-0QRKcg/s400/lou.jpg

POSSIBLY IRRITATING ESSAY: The Teen DYSTOPIA Obsession – The Only Reasonable Explanation I Have Ever Heard

People – mostly adult people – have been spouting meaningless justifications for enjoying the wanton slaughter of teenagers in books and on the screen for years now.

People – mostly adults people – have been attempting to explain just why they write books and produce movies in which teenagers are the targets of assassination, murder, bloodbaths, humiliation, and in which teenagers are used as the ultimate weapon in order for adults to escape condemnation and guilty feelings for committing genocide. I’m reading a new novel now that’s getting rave reviews and might well be an Andre Norton Award contender – it’s main premise is the “voluntary” cutting of the throat of a teenage male by an older woman.

Ah yes, artistic license.

“We don’t mean anything by it! It’s just a book/movie! There’s nothing deep or psychological taking place here! It’s just entertainment!”

Yeah.

Right.

And if you believe that (and most adults will), then I have a bridge in Brooklyn, New York I’d like to sell you. Just email me and make an offer and I’ll draw the contract up right away!

In all this meaningless gassing and passing of the buck and attempts to justify a deep seated hatred of anyone who is younger than us and more beautiful than us and more full of life and hope than us, I have heard a single voice offer the only viable explanation of why teens actually go to these horrendous movies and read these awful books (I’ve commented at length regarding WHICH books I’m talking about here:  http://faithandsciencefiction.blogspot.com/2013/11/a-slice-of-pie-weird-mix-of-events.html).

At Diversicon 21 (http://www.diversicon.org/), a panel led a discussion on how speculative fiction writers and readers might help at “Recapturing A Sense of Wonder” in the field. During opening remarks and discussion, panelist Katie Ferriera made this comment: “Kids grew up comfortable, so they are looking for bad [political and scientific] fails.”

Either she or someone else commented – though I am virtually certain that none of the other adults in the audience heard what she said nor did they catch her drift or understand how such an attitude could possibly have anything to do with them – that “dystopias = no hope; teenagers recognizing what’s wrong = We Survive!”.

Teens recognize that they live mostly a life of ease. Even children of black parents, Hmong parents, African parents, Ukraine parents, Mexican parents, Chinese parents, Somalian parents – AND I HAVE SPOKEN TO AT LEAST ONE TEENAGER OF EVERY ONE OF THESE DEMOGRAPHIC GROUPS – all have grown up with a life better than the one their parents had.

I am NOT saying that the civil rights movement has accomplished its goals and everyone is treated equally in America today! I am NOT saying that the women’s rights movement has accomplished its goals and everyone is treated equally in America today!

Please DO NOT PUT WORDS IN MY MOUTH!

What I am saying is that teenagers today understand clearly that their rows to hoe are both different and less difficult than the ones their parents did. Even the children of white privilege – like me (I am a big, old, fat, white guy – I AM the “establishment”, I have every single privilege our American society has to give) – have it easier than their parents did in terms of women’s right, gay rights, civil rights, educational rights, consumer rights, and any other kind of rights you care to name.

With the recognition that they have it easy, teens then seek to enter a world where teenagers DON’T have it easy; where teenagers are in fact hunted, tortured, executed, and expected to murder others. In other words, they voluntarily want to enter the world their parents lived.

They feel GUILTY.

And we adults, instead of pointing them in a direction that might lead to the next generation experiencing even more freedoms; instead of encouraging them to fight for more rights, more medical treatment, more LIFE...we blindly facilitate their guilty wallow.

I feel for this, only shame.

Image: http://webpages.scu.edu/ftp/BRebboah/Pics/Dystopia.jpg

MARTIAN HOLIDAY 49: Paolo Enroute

On a well-settled Mars, the five major city Council regimes struggle to meld into a stable, working government. Embracing an official Unified Faith In Humanity, the Councils are teetering on the verge of pogrom directed against Christians, Molesters , Jews, Rapists, Buddhists, Murderers, Muslims, Thieves, Hindu, Embezzlers and Artificial Humans – anyone who threatens the official Faith and the consolidating power of the Councils. It makes good sense, right – get rid of religion and Human divisiveness on a societal level will disappear? An instrument of such a pogrom might just be a Roman holiday...To see the rest of the chapters  and I’m sorry, but a number of them got deleted from the blog – go to SCIENCE FICTION: Martian Holiday on the right and scroll to the bottom for the first story. If you’d like to read it from beginning to end (35,000 words as of now), drop me a line and I’ll send you the unedited version.

Paolo Marcillon slowed the marsbug to a crawl. The sun was rising and he had to glance at the control panel’s chronometer to discover that five days had passed since fleeing Robinson.

Wan Martian sunlight dribbled across the desiccated dunes. For a moment, he felt that he somehow stood – in this case sat...a snort escaped him. He shook his head. He felt that the weight of the world rested on his shoulders – in the form of an inverted pyramid. Had the apostle Paul ever felt this way? He sighed then threw the ‘bug into gear, rolling forward. Flicking on the comm system, he listened to chatter as he drove parallel to the more heavily used routes. While he was kept to minor or abandoned trails, he didn’t dare go wandering. While Humans had been on Mars for nearly half a century, it could hardly be called ‘tamed’. There were plenty of places people could get themselves killed.

Plenty of places for splinter groups to hide themselves as well – like the Cydonian Fellowship of Free Martians and the Martian Christian Underground, though the Underground lived and worked in the Domes, Stations and Outposts. Who else was out there? Old Communists? A Hidden Catholic Church?

He sighed. Too much, too fast. The Five Councils had their own agenda as well that included the elimination of opposition. He also figured that the agendas included the elimination of four other Councils as well. “Earth all over again,” he muttered. “Even so, Lord, marana tha.”

He’d gone another ten klicks when the comm bleated, “Paolo Marcillon. Paolo Marcillon.”

Scowling, he let the ‘bug roll to a stop. “If you think I’ll be responding to this, you’re dumber than I...”

“Do not respond. Repeat, do not respond.”

His eyebrows went up and he leaned back. “Paolo Marcillon.” There was a long pause, then the voice continued, “A living hand has moved against the bony fin. A living hand has moved against the bony fin.” He leaned forward, pulse racing. Someone must have discovered the Free Martian redoubt. He glanced at the odometer. He’d put nearly a hundred klicks between them and himself. He waited. Would it be enough? The voice picked up, “The hand was cut off, but the fin waves goodbye as it moves to the deeps.” Paolo made a face. Cryptic enough, he figured the Free Martians were headed for Valles Marineris, though if he could figure it out, he was under no delusions that the Martian Authority – a sort of InterPol of Mars – couldn’t figure it out as well. So, there was a good chance they had another redoubt somewhere along the line between the Grand Island Dust Sink and the Valley. Why did they...“Your kind are in grave danger as the hand removed spoke before it was finished.” Paolo leaned forward. “Move slowly. Carry a bigger stick. The Councils seek you.”

The carrier wave hissed for a moment before regular chatter resumed. Paolo leaned back. What did the Free Martians mean when they told him to ‘carry a bigger stick’? He’d never gone armed before. He’d been pretty clear about that. Though he couldn’t say that he was untrained. His parents had made sure he knew how to tell one end from the other of at least ten weapons. Two of them were martial arts – ones he’d kept well honed.

Was there a deeper message?

A quote from Paul’s letter to the Hebrews leaped to mind, “...the word of God is living and active and sharper than any two-edged sword, and piercing as far as the division of soul and spirit, of both joints and marrow, and able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart.”

Was that their message? While it hadn’t been Svetlana Izmaylova speaking, he had no doubt that the message was from her. What would someone like her want him to carry the Gospel? Was she angling for him to get captured first; to take the pressure off the Free Martians?

He took his lower lip between thumb and forefinger and rolled it thoughtfully. Svetlana and her people  were up to something and she meant to involve him, and maybe by involving him deflecting the interest of the Martian Councils from her revolutionaries to the Christians and other faith groups.

He stared at the forward viewscreen for some time, thinking sometimes, praying at others. When he sat up, he said, “All right. Let’s play it your way. God moves in ways that we can’t comprehend. Maybe he’s using the Free Martians to move me.”

It didn’t take long to program an intercept course from where he was to the main highway between the Sink and Burroughs to Bradbury. God had called him to do something.

Maybe this was such a time; maybe the United Faith In Humanity and the Church were about to collide.

Image: http://www.ridelust.com/wp-content/uploads/nasabig98main_img_4149.jpg

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 139

Each Tuesday, rather than a POSSIBLY IRRITATING ESSAY, I'd like to both challenge you and lend a helping hand. I generate more speculative and teen story ideas than I can ever use. My family rolls its collective eyes when I say, "Hang on a second! I just have to write down this idea..." Here, I'll include the initial inspiration (quote, website, podcast, etc) and then a thought or two that came to mind. These will simply be seeds -- plant, nurture, fertilize, chemically treat, irradiate, test or stress them as you see fit. I only ask if you let me know if anything comes of them.

SF Trope: Isaac Asimov’s Three Kinds Of Science Fiction: “Gadget sci-fi: Man invents car, holds lecture on how it works.”

Current Event: http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2013/12/131210071936.htm

Khünbish Qureshi said, “Once we drill through the ice, we can begin extract the uranium. But we have to do it fast.” He tapped the wide pipe with his heavily armored hand. While there was no true atmosphere and the surface of the moon was exposed to the radiation sleet from Jupiter, they both wore flexible suits and had ridden to the surface on little more than a hovering plate.

“You think extracting a few metric tonnes of uranium from this moon would have any kind of effect at all?” asked Yelizavta Zaya. She bounced a few meters back after stomping her foot.

“I can’t say for sure.”

“Why not?”

“I’m a geologist...”

“You mean a Eurologist?”

“That makes me sound like a bladder specialist!”

“Well, it’s not Earth, so you can’t be a ‘geologist’.”

“There’s not a bladder in sight, either!”

Beneath their feet, the ice sang. On any other world, it would have been a quake, but here the ice vibrated, shifting, sliding along cracked edges. Immense crevasses sang bass that shook the world like a drum head; smaller ones sang faint hymns of joy; the smallest sang beyond the hearing of Humans.

Khünbish slapped the pipe again and said, “If there were living things under the surface, maybe my sucking the lifeblood from the water will make them sit up and take notice.”

“I doubt there’re sitting beings under our feet, Khun.”

He grimaced at the diminutive – Americans and Loonies made a habit of lopping parts of people’s names off willy-nilly – and said, “Whatever they’re doing, I’m hoping they notice.”

“And if there’s nothing under our feet but ice, water, uranium?”

“Then we stand to make a fortune and retire wherever we want to.” He bounced back as the ice began to sing again. As he fell to the surface, he grimaced and said, “Can you hear that?”

Names: ♀ Russia, Mongolian; ♂ Mongolian, Pakistan

Image: http://www.giantfreakinrobot.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/04/big-europa-002.jpg

WRITING ADVICE: Julie Czerneda’s Writing Workshop! #7 More On “The What if...?” Scenario

In 2005, whilst perusing the shelves at the Hennepin County Public Library, I stumbled across CHANGING VISION by Julie Czerneda (say it: chur-nay-dah), an author I'd never heard of, and was intrigued by the aliens on the cover by artist Luis Royo. It didn’t matter that the book was the second in a series, the cover entranced me and so I read. The book was spectacular, I read others, and fell entirely in love with another series of hers called SPECIES IMPERATIVE for its fascinating aliens and superior characterization. A teacher deeply at heart, Julie Czerneda shares ideas and methodology wherever she goes. On her website, http://www.czerneda.com/classroom/classroom.html she shares ideas for writers. I want to share what kind of impact her ideas have had on my own writing.  They are used with the author’s permission.

“The what if…? Scenario: What more might we be capable of doing or discovering from this starting point? a speculation about another application of this science. Who or what else might be affected? a speculation about a combination of this science with another aspect of science or society. How might this approach or information affect something else? an extrapolation of the impact of this science, if successful, into the future. If this happens/works, what might be the situation in 50 years, in 100 years, and so on.”

I know I did this one earlier (#2), but we’re having HUGE problems with our internet capability and it appears that our connection to the outside world has been severed – literally. Here in Minnesota, we’ve had some of the coldest temperatures in recent memory and they happened all of a sudden. Cars are stalled on side streets, heaters are burning out, water mains breaking, and communication devices are acting strangely. We won’t be back on until Tuesday, so I have no ready access to information.

The direct impact here, is that I’m taking an aspect of Julie Czerneda’s writing advice and tilting it in a different direction and looking at how I’ve applied her methodologies in other ways.

In particular: “The what if…? Scenario – ‘an extrapolation of the impact of this science, if successful, into the future. If this happens/works, what might be the situation in 50...years...”

Several years ago, when the news first came out that matter transmission was possible and everyone leaped from there to STAR TREK transporters (and the franchise itself leaped from transporters to something they called “trans-warp beaming” which allowed Kirk and Scotty to beam from a prison planet into the Enterprise half a gazillion light years away, and allowed Khan Noonian Singh to beam from Earth to Qon’os, the capital of the Klingon Empire, some gazillions of light years from San Francisco (and powered by a suitcase-sized…thing) – instantaneously), I responded more reasonably *smirk*.

In my future, Humans have applied the information they’d discovered regarding quantum entanglement and matter transmission – but have been able to push the practical distance a large physical object could be transmitted to only ten meters.

So what do you do with such a tiny movement? The first step led to a hop. But it seems the technology is stuck at skipping – where space to planet “beaming” is a jump and “trans-warp beaming” is a leap! What possible use could matter transmission over such short distances have?

I can think of a number off-hand (of course, I’ve thought about this, too!). Hostage rescue might be one application. Surgical procedure would be revolutionized. Security would become a moot point both from a “breaking and entering” point of view and a PROTECTIVE point of view as well as placing miniature monitoring devices under the skin of animals, children, cars, TVs, computers, etc. Moving furniture into or out of tight spaces might be accomplished easily, as well.

 How about street-crossing safety? In my world, most major cities have matter transmission crosswalks. How prosaic is THAT?

So I’ve set it up so that poverty is still with us, beggars are on the streets, but “skip-jumping” is commonplace. I stirred in the ingenuity I see in my students at the high school I work in and what they are capable of doing with technology – sometimes outside the parameters of safety as well as the law. (Cory Doctorow’s new book, HOMELAND looks at this phenomenon skillfully and with dry humor as well – he clearly has a deep respect for adolescent intelligence and daring!). My end result was two stories, one published, “Skipping School”, one not, “Skipping With The Dingoes”.

In the first, teenagers have figured out how to alter routes between crosswalk skipgates using their smartphones. Beggars and thieves use the knowledge to do purse snatches and escape.

The methodology is NOT perfect and some forty percent of the time, kids end up materializing in solid objects. My main character Jonterrius, is targeted by a woman with no legs. Targeted for what? Read the story here: http://theworkandworksheetsofguystewart.blogspot.com/ . Let me know what you think. I wrote a second story that was supposed to be the beginning of a novel – but it felt like a novel beginning and while I didn’t sell the story, it’s been sitting in my files for some time. That one is called “Skipping With the Dingoes” and involves an aboriginal boy and an American boy and an experience they share in the Outback. I’m not sure if I want to post it or hold it back for a possible submission somewhere. Not sure – I’ll keep you posted.

As to this Writing Advice, the main point is that the “What if…?” scenario is endlessly useable and used in ways quite frankly, I still am not sure of!

Image: http://thumbs.dreamstime.com/z/red-white-striped-poles-26609896.jpg

INTERNET DOWN SINCE THURSDAY!!!!!

Our INTERNET is LITERALLY broken. We don't need a "new router" or a "new modem". The actual, facutal DSL physical connection is broken and won't be fixed until Tuesday (at the earliest).

I will resume posting THEN...Tuesday, December 10, 2013, probably evening (if all works out well).

Guy

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 138

Each Tuesday, rather than a POSSIBLY IRRITATING ESSAY, I'd like to both challenge you and lend a helping hand. I generate more speculative and teen story ideas than I can ever use. My family rolls its collective eyes when I say, "Hang on a second! I just have to write down this idea..." Here, I'll include the initial inspiration (quote, website, podcast, etc) and then a thought or two that came to mind. These will simply be seeds -- plant, nurture, fertilize, chemically treat, irradiate, test or stress them as you see fit. I only ask if you let me know if anything comes of them.

H Trope: “Grave Clouds for the variant where the weather is simply miserable at graveyards and other creepy areas, and which is possibly a sister trope to this. See also Evil Is Not Well Lit…”

H Trope: “Grave Clouds for the variant where the weather is simply miserable at graveyards and other creepy areas, and which is possibly a sister trope to this. See also Evil Is Not Well Lit…”

Current Event: http://science.howstuffworks.com/science-vs-myth/afterlife/scary-graveyard1.htm

Niaria Xiong-Walker squinted, trying to see through the gathering mist that apparently hung over the cemetery every night. She said, “How can mist hang over this place EVERY night? Fog’s a function of temperature, humidity, and dew point.”

Seth Bakhsh stood near an obelisk, pitted from ages of lower-than-water pH acid rain that drizzled from the Rochester, NY sky on a regular basis, giving it the dubious distinction of the being the American city with the most rainy days and its unofficial slogan, “If it rains, it’s Rochester”. He said, “It’s the oldest municipal graveyard in the US and has 400,000 dead people in it. Don’t you think that all those ghosts might have an effect on the weather?”

Niaria snorted and said, “They don’t even act as creeped out as you are doing in my parents old village in Nigeria! You’re a wimp, Seth!”

He snorted just as loudly, “I prefer to think that I’m prepared for all eventualities – even ephemeral ones.”

Shaking her head, she tapped her tablet computer and plugged in a cord. “I’m going to see if there’s any truth to the old wives tale that cemeteries are always foggy and creepy at night.”

“How many have you tested?” he asked. He usually ignored her scientific researches in favor of tapping her fascination in anime movies by presenting her with the latest rerun of her favorite Miyazaki film.

“Sixteen,” she replied.

“What?” he stepped from the obelisk, saying, “This isn’t the first time you’ve done

this?”

“Duh,” she grabbed the tip of the cord and pulled, a long sensor extended, glowing blue.

“What’s that?”

“A data staff. It collects information and feeds it into a program I wrote.”

“So you can detect monsters?”

“Nothing so solid. Ephemerals. Like you said.”

“Ghosts?” he breathed the word – and his breath fogged in front of his face. “How come it’s so cold here?”

She shook her head, “Because the temperature’s low, dummy.”

“No – I mean it wasn’t cold a second ago and now I can see my breath.”

She looked at her tablet then back up at Seth, “The data confirm your sensations.”

“Duh.”

She looked around, scowling. “But there isn’t any reason…” As she said the words, something congealed out of the fog. It wasn’t humaniform, more like lizard-like; possibly saurian, large as the obelisk.

Seth said, “It’s coming out of that gravestone...”

“It’s a monument…”

“Whatever it is, I think it has big claws.”

Names: ♀  India, Hmong, English-Scottish; ♂ Hebrew, Pakistan

Image: http://i146.photobucket.com/albums/r274/Imaginarynumber1/raptor6.jpg