IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 225

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: Most lycanthropy, telekinesis, etc starts at puberty why not at menopause…

A Not-So-Current Event: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Werewolf

According to the source above – “A notable exception to the association of Lycanthropy and the Devil, comes from a rare and lesser known account of an 80-year-old man named Thiess. In 1692, in Jurgenburg, Livonia, Thiess testified under oath that he and other werewolves were the Hounds of God. He claimed they were warriors who went down into hell to do battle with witches and demons. Their efforts ensured that the Devil and his minions did not carry off the grain from local failed crops down to hell. Thiess was steadfast in his assertions, claiming that werewolves in Germany and Russia also did battle with the devil's minions in their own versions of hell, and insisted that when werewolves died, their souls were welcomed into heaven as reward for their service.”

Teodors Pakalns (Latvian) – who goes by Ted in his Minnesota high school is in his supposedly “native land” while mom and dad go clubbing on the French Riviera to celebrate their 20^th wedding anniversary. While admitting to himself that with the divorce rate at 73%, it might be something worth celebrating. But sending him to live with his LATVIAN grandfather in some dinky town of Lode! Near the bustling metropolis of Rujiena? What the heck is he supposed to do?

He frets, fumes and mutters about lousy internet connections until he’s so hungry, he can’t stand it. Coming out to eat, he finds that his grandfather has made a simple meal. It smells great and looks sort of like a calzone. Ted eats on, then eats another and then in sudden and surprisingly good English, grandpa tells him a story. He also tells him he needs to watch out – grandpa Pakalns is a werewolf. He’s a werewolf on a mission from God!

Jaanjika Kivi (Estonian) is called Jan in Helsinki where she lives with her artist mother. She drags Jan to visit her “she’s-been-dying-for-the-last-ten-years” grandmother in Mom’s home of Estonia, which she escaped as a kid by winning an art scholarship to Helsingin Yliopisto the University of Helsinki. Jan and her mother trek to the tiny Estonian town of Karski near the roaring metropolis...of Tartu.

*sigh*

Mom says she can go, but she’ll have to walk. Then Mom goes out to paint, leaving Jan with her elderly grandmother. Jan is mostly afraid of the old woman and doesn’t remember her speaking anything but some old language Jan assumes is Estonian.

Until suddenly Grandma starts to tell a story – in clear English – about how she was a werewolf, on a mission for God...then she turns to Jan and says, “You are my granddaughter. My own daughter refused to take up the mission. I am asking if you would take up my mission; complete it and do what our people have been called to do for five hundred years. I will be with you the entire time, but you must be my strong arms and strong legs. Will you do it, Jaanjika?” Grandma’s eye’s suddenly clear and seem to pierce her heart. “Will you?”

Jaanjika meets Teodors on the border between Estonia and Latvia – in the heart of the ancient land of Livonia, a land with an ancient history that may very well be poised at the dawn of a new era that rights an millennium old wrong.

But what about the forces that don’t want the wrong set right. The ones who have profited from the carnage? Who are they and what will they do to Jaanjika and Teodors?

Resource: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Livonia

Image: http://img.costumecraze.com/images/vendors/california/01047-Adult-Big-Bad-Wolf-in-Grandma-Dress-Costume-large.jpg

Slice of PIE: Who Are We Imitating THESE Days?

In a bit of recent correspondence I had about the slush pile, Bruce Bethke wrote: “Young writers always start out trying to emulate the writers who made them fall in love with the genre in the first place -- I don't know about you, but I for one wrote a tremendous amount of Bad Imitation Bradbury, Sturgeon, Asimov, and Norton when I was first starting out. But judging by what shows up in my slush pile, while there's still a tremendous amount of Bad Imitation Gibson out there, and a surprising amount of Bad Imitation Wells and Verne, almost no one is writing Bad Imitation Tiptree, McIntyre, or Delaney these days…This, I think, says something very meaningful about what it is that people seek to find in SF.”

BAM!

I never thought deeply about except as it pertained to myself. I know the writers I first imitated: John Christopher (aka Sam Youd, or Christopher Samuel Youd). Long gone now, “The White Vines” was the first story I ever penned…er…penciled. A clear imitation of Christopher’s THE WHITE MOUNTAINS, I shudder to think what it read like.

My second, (recovered here: http://theworkandworksheetsofguystewart.blogspot.com/search/label/My%20Earliest%20Works%21) was a twelve-year-old’s imitation of an Andre Norton book. After that, Alan E. Nourse was the one I imitated in eighth grade. I grew up, and as far as imitating goes, some of my models were Anne McCaffrey, David Brin, Julie Czerneda, and countless others. In fact, I had a recent Probability Zero published in ANALOG, that was imitating the style of Clifford D. Simak.

But what does Bruce Bethke’s comment mean? What did Tiptree, Delany and McIntyre write that is NOT being imitated and what did Gibson, Wells, and Verne write that IS – at least the writing that makes its way into STUPEFYING STORIES’ slush pile?

James Tiptree is, of course the pseudonym of Alice B. Sheldon. Her early work was “reminiscent of the space opera and pulp tales...with a much darker tone…drastic spiritual alienation, and/or a transcendent experience which brings fulfillment but also death…the tension between free will and biological determinism, or reason and sexual desire…One of the themes prevalent throughout most of Sheldon’s work is feminism…subversive use of genre fiction to produce an unconventional discursive position, the feminist subject". Her name graces “an annual literary prize for science fiction or fantasy that expands or explores our understanding of gender.”

Samuel R. Delaney’s tomes are not for the timid! DHALGREN was my first attempt at reading his novels. “Recurring themes in Delany's work include mythology, memory, language, sexuality, and perception...Class, position in society, and the ability to move from one social stratum to another are motifs that were touched on in his earlier work and became more significant…later…Many of Delany's later works have bodies of water as a common theme, as mentioned…Though not a theme, coffee, more than any other beverage, is mentioned significantly and often…Writing itself (both prose and poetry) is also a repeated theme: several of his characters are writers or poets of some sort…Delany also makes use of repeated imagery…Jewels, reflection, and refraction…of text and concepts…[and] sexual themes to an extent rarely equaled in serious writing.”

Vonda N. McIntyre is best known for her later work as a STAR TREK writer, though even in the “canonical TREK” universe, she deals with themes of “her argued, numerate and humane understanding of how to engage the instruments of sf in feminist concerns.”

William Gibson, sometimes referred to as the “‘noir prophet’ of the cyberpunk [Which Bruce Bethke invented, despite what Wikipedia says!] subgenre elucidates his work as to say: “...we have no future…because our present is too volatile.’…twenty-first-century sf may increasingly need to focus its engines of vision on precisely this evanescent Now, which is so saturated with information that virtual and real become aspects of one another.” Of Jules Verne and HG Wells, DavidO from GoodReads had this to say, “I think you hit most of the differences. Wells wrote social science fiction that could be called pot boilers. While Verne wrote hard science fiction with a focus on the science and details.” Lara Amber added, “The science in both don't stand up well to heavy scrutiny, but the sense of adventure (and quite frankly optimism) of Verne appeals to me over Wells, which is more rooted in the ‘what have you done!!!’ aspect of science.”

So, to briefly summarize, it APPEARS that writers are not imitating the works of those who explored feminism and sexuality; rather writers who explore null  or terrifying futures – but with a great sense of adventure.

Of course, this is just what we see at STUPEFYING STORIES. Even so, as I think of what I’ve read of Hannu Rajaniemi, Cory Doctrow, Ken Liu, Aliette de Bodard, and Mary Robinette Kowal; I think I might be able to say that if their themes ARE the same, those themes are latent rather than manifest.

What do you think?

Resources: http://tiptree.org/, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_Tiptree,_Jr., https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Samuel_R._Delaney, http://www.sf-encyclopedia.com/entry/mcintyre_vonda_n#sthash.Rwudzyxc.dpuf, http://www.sf-encyclopedia.com/entry/gibson_william#sthash.CLk4VxTy.dpuf, http://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/1778362-hg-wells-vs-jules-verne---who-is-better-possible-spoilers-for-books-by, http://amazingstoriesmag.com/2014/12/interview-ken-liu-english-version/

Image: http://www.therapyofpain.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/08/6cb95_Imitation_Learning_5531509699_74fb4a6cba_m.jpg

IDEAS ON TUESDAY 224

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

POSSIBLY IRRITATING ESSAYS: AGAIN! About Writing for Young Adults/Teens/New Adults

Using the panel discussions of the most recent World Science Fiction Convention in Spokane, August 2015, I will jump off, jump on, rail against, and shamelessly agree with the BRIEF DESCRIPTION given in the pdf copy of the Program Guide. This is event #2417 (page 53). The link is provided below…

PG-13: Violence, Sex, and Teen Readers: When writing for teens or choosing books for young adults to read, is there a PG-13 line that needs to be drawn? Is there more violence, sex, and alcohol in young adult books today or have we just become more aware of it? And what the f’ing language kids are using in books? How does a writer address difficult or sensitive topics without going too far? Panelists discuss the danger zones within young adult fiction. Darlene Marshall (m), Wesley Chu, Fonda Lee, Jenn Reese, Alaina Ewing

You know, I was going to rant here, asking what these writers know about young people today; and while some of them are “young”, Chu’s bio doesn’t appear to give him a lot of contact with young adults – except for the fact that he’s just shy of thirty and might still be considered “young”. Fonda Lee has one book and her resume is impressive – but has nothing to do with young people, except for the fact that she’s young. Jenn Reese has been writing for many years, almost entirely in the YA genre. Alaina Ewing is a relative newcomer but has one other book in the YA genre. Moderated by romance writer, Darlene Marshall, this must have been an interesting panel. As I read about these folks, I found my focus shift.

I confess that I am puzzled. I am sure that all of these people were young adults once.

I am sure that all of these people have some number of young adults in their lives.

I am certain that I have wondered why Judy Blume’s book, THEN AGAIN MAYBE I WON’T, is still in print as I can’t imagine what she could possibly know about a boy going through puberty who is on the road to becoming a peeping tom. She could have probably written more convincingly about a what it was like growing up as a slave girl in the South and I’d have been more convinced. (But then, “Judy is a longtime advocate of intellectual freedom. Finding herself at the center of an organized book banning campaign in the 1980's she began to reach out to other writers, as well as teachers and librarians, who were under fire. Since then, she has worked tirelessly with the National Coalition Against Censorship to protect the freedom to read.” [http://www.judyblume.com/about.php] It may be that questioning her writing is unwise, so I am NOT questioning her writing, I’m just wondering at the level of experience with the subject matter. OTOH, I have never lived in the clouds of a Jovian planet, either, so my right to write that story could easily be called into question.)

To the subject at hand, I wonder a couple of things: What do these authors know about how kids in a high school talk today and what kind of language they use?

Also – if these novels take place in the future, on another world, or in a magical place, how can anything be “wrong” or go “too far”?

My bigger question is if authors attempting to be relevant, address issues, or be “edgy” and are proud of their work – do they ever wonder what their YA/Teen/NA audiences think? Can we be edgy today, as we’re writing, only to find that we’re passé by the time the story comes out.

Even with my own writing, I wonder if what I have to “say” matters. I think I’m addressing issues and providing an entertaining story, but AM I?

Are ANY of us old folks (aka: “YA writers”)?

Program Book: http://sasquan.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/06/ConGuide.toupload.pdf

Image: http://thumbs.dreamstime.com/t/young-students-9538906.jpg

JOURNEY TO THE PORTRAIT’S SECRET #76: July 30, 1946

This series is a little bit biographical and a little bit imaginary about my dad and a road trip he took in the summer of 1946, when he turned fifteen. He and a friend hitchhiked from Loring Park to Duluth, into Canada and back again. He was gone from home for a month. I was astonished and fascinated by the tale. So, I added some speculation about things I've always wondered about and this series is the result. To read earlier SHORT LONG JOURNEY NORTH clips, click on the label to the right, scroll down to and click OLDER ENTRIES seven or eight times. The FIRST entry is on the bottom of the last page.

Freddie Merrill shaded his eyes, looked left, then right, “Sign says it’s fifty-six.” There were no cars. “Middle of the week, ain’t gonna be no one going nowhere.

“Sounds right.” Tommy Hastings started walking. “We wait until someone that don’t speak Finnish stops to give us a ride.”

“Right.” They’d walked a mile or so when Freddie added, “Sorta gonna miss Nils.”

They kept walking on the silent road as the summer sun climbed slowly into the sky. Tommy finally said, “We can hitch up here later one, ‘fore school starts.”

Freddie grunted, then said, “Don’t we gotta find out why the Fins want you?”

They kept walking as Tommy said, “I know why. They want the picture in Mom’s kitchen cabinet.”

Freddie snorted, “I know that much, stupid! But why do they want it?”

Tommy thudded along on the gravel as Freddie Merrill shaded his eyes, looked left, then right, “Sign says it’s fifty-six.” There were no cars. “Middle of the week, ain’t gonna be no one going nowhere.

“Sounds right.” Tommy Hastings started walking. “We wait until someone that don’t speak Finnish stops to give us a ride.”

“Right.” They’d walked a mile or so when Freddie added, “Sorta gonna miss Nils.”

They kept walking on the silent road as the summer sun climbed slowly into the sky. Tommy finally said, “We can hitch up here later one, ‘fore school starts.”

Freddie grunted, then said, “Don’t we gotta find out why the Fins want you?”

They kept walking as Tommy said, “I know why. They want the picture in Mom’s kitchen cabinet.”

Freddie snorted, “I know that much, stupid! But why do they want it? I seen it. Couple of guys, your ma. She was real young." He shrugged, adding, "No big deal.”

Tommy thudded along on the gravel as it got hotter. He finally said, "I think she was goin' out with one of em. Before she met Dad."

"She looked pretty in the picture." Tommy shot Freddie a long look., but his best friend ignored it, adding, "What happened to her?"

Tommy thought about pushing Freddie into the ditch along the road, but this was mostly dry, full of purple lupine, black-eyed susans, bee's balm, and lots of ragweed/ Boring. Instead he said, "She got old, I guess. I think that guy who Mom was going with is important."

Freddie stopped, "Important how?"

Tommy shrugged. He was starting to sweat. "I dunno, but either Mom or the guy with her -- or maybe the guy who was shaking his hand -- was important. Gotta be one of 'em." He started walking again. When he stopped to look back, Freddie was still standing in the same place, looking strange -- like he was thinking.

After a few minutes, he plodded up to Tommy and said, "Your Ma never acted like she was important, so it's gotta be one of the old guys." They started walking again until they came to the shade of a huge pine tree that sprouted from the side of the road, between the ditch and a field of corn. A breath of wind shivered the tree. "I gotta sit down or I'm gonna melt right here on the side of the road.

"Me, too."

They looked both ways on the road, saw nothing, then slid down the embankment. Freddie lifted a branch and said, "Better sit under here in case you fall asleep."

"I won't fall asleep," Tommy exclaimed. "I get up early all the time! You just want us to sit under here in case you fall asleep yourself!" He ducked under the branch.

"If you wasn't my best friend, I'd have let go right then and there -- then where do you think you'd be?"

"I'd be jamming my fist down your throat is where I'd be!"

Freddie snorted, "You and what army?"

"My fists are the only army I'd ever need to handle someone like you!" Tommy shot back.

Despite the words, neither boy slowed down as they ducked under the branch and let it swing back into place, screening them from the road slightly above their heads. Neither one commented further as they lay back on the springing, cool bed of dried pine needles. "I don't feel tired at all," Freddie said.

"Me, neither, so you can just shut up your mouth about sleeping."

"Fine. Consider my mouth shut."

There was a long silence, broken only by cricket chirps, cicada whines, and two snuffling snores...

Image:http://cache2.asset-cache.net/gc/116355189-boy-takes-a-nap-under-a-tree-in-the-gettyimages.jpg?v=1&c=IWSAsset&k=2&d=XJplix6zth1sPgWJxqUnxtX3GPVb%2B%2FcMy0wWTNFGqkno4wECE1Yl2D1e9mVMfY9J