WRITING ADVICE: Can This Story Be SAVED? #6 INVADER’S GUILT (Submitted 16 Times Since 2009 (and several before that as well), Revised Twice (at least))

In September of 2007, I started this blog with a bit of writing advice. A little over a year later, I discovered how little I knew about writing after hearing children’s writer, In April of 2014, I figured I’d gotten enough publications that I could share some of the things I did “right”. I’ll keep that up, but I’m running out of pro-published stories. I don’t write full-time, nor do I make enough money with my writing to live off of it, but someone pays for and publishes ten percent of what I write. Hemingway’s quote above will remain unchanged as I work to increase my writing output and sales, but I’m adding this new series of posts because I want to carefully look at what I’ve done WRONG and see if I can fix it. As always, your comments are welcome!

ANALOG Tag Line: In most science fiction novels, the aliens invade Earth and we fight them off, victorious and united, but what if WE were the evil invading aliens?

Elevator Pitch (What Did I Think I Was Trying To Say?): We’re so certain that Humanity is perfectible that hard core SF fans can’t imagine that we’d be the alien aggressors, invading another world for material gain. “We’re not LIKE that!” But what if we are? What if WE are the horrible, alien invaders?

Opening Line: “Escaping her past should have been easier than getting off the alien home world.”

Onward: From that opening line on, I rotated between four (or, originally five) characters. Three were Human, one (or two) were members of the alien WheetAh. I have a Human trader; a throw-away Human soldier, unbeknownst to him, loaded with a genocidal bioweapon; and a Human, Christian missionary to the WheetAh; and Weoofei, alien advisor the main planetary leader. (Originally, I included Mehrifei’s viewpoint as the planetary leader, but eventually cut him out and used Weoofei exclusively.) They all witnessed the Human invasion of Wheet, the alien homeworld, after a long, hard-fought space war. Their lives cross paths several times, then two of them join forces, three of them, until all of them are together at the end of the book as they save Humanity from itself.

What Was I Trying To Say? I confess that I was trying to be profound. In a universe that contained only Human and WheetAh intelligences – colloquially known among each species as Weasels and Weeds – who were by nature completely opposed to each other, could they learn to not only get along but grow together?

The Rest of the Story: The rest of the story devolves into a sort of Weasel for me: literally. It turns out that NOT the entire of Humanity wants to destroy the WheetAh. It’s just a rogue fleet. And even though the evil Vii, a powerful faction within WheetAh that desires the same thing the rogue fleet does – the eradication of Humanity from the universe – works against the invasion fleet, they have a plan for their own invasion of Earth. It also turns out that Mehrifei is insane and would rather destroy Wheet than let it fall to Humans.

I say that I weaseled this because it’s my unfortunate belief that most Humans are good – at least as good as living without God can make them; but that evidence shows clearly that we are NOT self-perfectible. A benevolent United Federation of Planets is impossible – and the fact is that the only thing that drove the whole Star Trek franchise was the search for ever more evil empires against which “poor Humans” had to FIGHT. True interstellar peace would be incredibly boring and the ratings would plummet and not one would bother watching the show. Oh, and the “aliens” are just devices to personify the scriptwriter’s personal belief system. Roddenberry and the other keepers of Trekdom would tweak the writing to keep it in line with their own belief systems as well…

At any rate, I didn’t let Humanity be evil. I let PART of Humanity and WheetAh be evil while the majority were “good people”.

End Analysis: I missed my mark by quite a bit – witness the number of times it’s been submitted. I suppose I can try to blame its rejection on the mild antipathy the SF community feels when regarding blatant Christianity, but I can’t because the last editor to read it was a Christian brother, so I have to conclude that I screwed up. Though it’s unconventional, I still like the rotating character format (I did the same thing in my unsellable YA novel, VICTORY OF FISTS, where I go back and forth between first and third person viewpoint of the same character). I like it, but clearly I haven’t been able to pull it off effectively. Also, when I started, it wasn’t clear in my head that Humans and WheetAh were the only intelligent life in the galaxy. I even added the “transcendent” Braiders to the most recent mix. It didn’t work – and I also found them intrusive to the story I was trying to tell. The slush editor who was both a Christian brother and who rejected it wrote a number of helpful comments he was under no obligation to do, but this is what I remembered, “The narrative was quite strong, and in places even powerful; however, some sentences were difficult to parse…The preponderance of alien names made for some confusing passages, though, and we find our readers prefer things a bit more straightforward -- smoother, with less chance of getting jarred out of the story…The alien physiology was quite interesting…”

Can This Story Be Saved? Clearly the answer is “yes”. I wrote this book a long time ago and I am a better writer now. I also have a clearer vision of what I wanted to say and how I goofed up. I have another universe where I can explore the interaction of wildly different aliens. I have another where there are NO aliens.

This is the one I think might be unusual enough to get published – though I open the book with there clearly being OTHER aliens. So…if I could disappear the others and carefully examine the interaction between the only two intelligences in our part of the galaxy, I think the story could be powerful and accomplish what I want it to accomplish.

But here’s the big BUT: I have to start all over again. I’ve been trying to do this by exploring the smaller stories, but they haven’t been successful yet. But I’m learning. Just like Hemingway says I should be!

Image: https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/9f/22/3b/9f223b1e57a36e14db3eb13715fbe3f9.jpg

LOVE IN A TIME OF ALIEN INVASION: Chapter 50

On Earth, there are three Triads intending 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 Braiders accidentally created a resonance wave that will destroy the Milky Way and the only way to stop it is for the Yown’Hoo-Kiiote-Human Triads to build a physical wall. The merger of Human-Kiiote-Yown’Hoo into a van der Walls Society may produce the Membrane to stop the wave.

The young experimental Triads are made up of the smallest primate tribe of Humans – Oscar and Kashayla; the smallest canine pack of Kiiote – six, pack leaders Qap and Xurf; and the smallest camelid herd of Yown’Hoo – a prime eleven, Dao-hi the Herd mother. 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.

“We had nearly fallen into stagnation when we encountered the Kiiote.”

“And we into internecine war when we encountered the Yown’Hoo.”

 “Yown’Hoo and Kiiote have been defending themselves for a thousand revolutions of our Sun.”

 “Together, we might do something none of us alone might have done…a destiny that included Yown’Hoo, Kiiote, and Human.” (2/19/2015)

Great Uncle Rion, who was not Human, stepped back, spread out his arms, lifted his head and said to the ceiling, “I’m the end line of guilt. I’m old enough – even if I wasn’t an android – to have seen the very first time Humans had anything to do with the aliens.”

“Which aliens?” Retired asked. His stance was suddenly loose, his hands open, hovering near his hips, he leaned forward slightly. He looked like he was ready to attack GURion.

GURion smiled and said, “Now that, Detective Spooner is exactly the right question.”

Without missing a beat, Retired, whom we also knew as Lieutenant Commander Patrick Bakhsh, said, “‘I, Robot’, 2004, starring Will Smith.”

GURion smiled and said, “Exactly. And almost a hundred years after I was activated by the Future.”

“The who?” ‘Shay said.

“No, The Who was an English rock band that formed in 1964. They are considered one of the most influential rock bands of the 20th century, selling over 100 million records worldwide.”

“What’s a record?” I said.

GURion shook his head, looked at Retired and said, “What do you Humans teach your kids these days?”

“The first aliens Humans ever met were the Kiiote,” GURion said, “They watched this world for a thousand years believing that their war would one day reach us.”

“They watched us for that long and did nothing to alter Human history?” My great uncle nodded. I said, “That’s why they’re not helping us now?”

“Of course. Both had ample time to assist Humanity through its wars and nuclear infancy.”

Retired slammed his hand against the wall. Me and ‘Shay jumped back, away from him. He said, “So their rape of Earth might have been stopped at some time in the past? They let us go through the Crusades, and the Mongol invasion of China, and the slaughter of the Children’s Crusade?”

GURion shrugged and said, “I don’t control anything, Commander Bakhsh. I’m a simulacrum of a Human who was charged at one time with guarding the young of the Kiiote. Sometime later, because of the nature of this farm and its location, I was contacted by the Yown’Hoo for the same purpose.”

“They didn’t know?” I asked.

“Not at first. Of course, they found out later – but by then, they’d both discovered that the only way they could successfully reproduce and raise healthy young was on the surface of this planet.”

“What?” Retired shouted, hitting the wall again. Me and ‘Shay stepped farther away.

My great uncle grinned. “You, of all people should know, Commander, that Humans found it impossible to conceive and bring their young to term on worlds too different from this one. Our Home World.”

I looked at Retired, at GURion, then back at Retired and said, “How would you know something like that, Sir?” I stared at him and he turned away. “You’ve been off of Earth, haven’t you?” I waited for him to turn around and when he didn’t, I realized that I was mad. Mad enough to say, “You were on their side, weren’t you?”

Image: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/72/Rhll_wire_rope.jpg

IDEAS ON TUESDAY 277

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: genetic memories

Current Event: http://physicsworld.com/cws/article/news/2013/jan/23/digital-files-stored-and-retrieved-using-dna-memory

Iker Dương flexed his bicep.

Leonie Gonzalez shook her head and rolled back over on her stomach.

“What? I thought you said you wanted to see a trick?” Iker said.

Without looking at him, she pulled up the latest Kathy Reichs Temperance Brennan book on her Kindenookpad – or knop – and got back to her reading.

“What are you mad at?”

Leonie said, “Listen Iker, I like you and all, but if you want us to be anything more than buddies, you’re going to have to actually talk to me.”

Iker sat down. The sappy sad look on his face almost made Leonie give in and feel sorry for him. Instead, she rolled over with her back to him.

He arched over her, planting his hands firmly on the ground then flipped his feet over, landing lightly. She almost grabbed him then, too. But they were almost done with their college freshman year, she wanted to get into medical school – she was aiming to be the first forensic anthropologist on Mars because now that the population there had topped three million, there were going to be MURDERS…

He flexed his bicep again and said, “I’m trying to show you something.”

She sighed.

“Not my muscle! I’m showing you what we’re doing in the lab!”

“Trying to create muscles from nothing?”

“Hey!” He pouted and she relented a bit. “I’m sorry, but the Mexicans and the Vietnamese are not known for producing Olympic weightlifting champions...”

“It’s not my muscle, it’s what’s in my muscle!”

“String beans?” She winced an instant after speaking the words but couldn’t say, “Iker, wait!” fast enough to stop him from sprint away. She also couldn’t quite stop the thought that he had a rather cute backside as well and even though he was sorta on the skinny side…

“Iker, wait!” He kept going. She stopped, pondered for an instant, then put her ancestry to work and sprinted, catching him in ten long strides, grabbing his arm. She thought for an instant that the bicep wasn’t as wimpy as she’d imagined. “I’m sorry, Iker – but you’re just such a tempting target. What...”

“DNA – I have a data package in my bicep. I’ve been carrying it for the past week and we’re going to take it out tomorrow to see if…”

From the shadows of the science building, a voice said, “I don’t think you should be talking about this, folks.”

Names: ♀ Swiss German, Argentinian; ♂ Mexican, Vietnamese

Image: http://f.tqn.com/y/inventors/1/0/x/w/Solid_Propellant.jpg

Slice of PIE: NOT an Essay Based on WorldCon but Rather on THE GREAT GATSBY

In high school, everyone ends up reading certain books. The intent of course, is to make sure everyone has a “broad education”. One of the books we read in high school was HOW TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD (Harper Lee). That was in ninth grade. OF MICE AND MEN (Steinbeck) and THE OLD MAN AND THE SEA (Hemingway). ANIMAL FARM and 1984 (Orwell)…

There are dozens of others and I read them all. Most were assigned, some, like BRAVE NEW WORLD (Huxley) and SLAUGHTERHOUSE FIVE (Vonnegut) were not.

I never had to read GATSBY in high school. That was a college assignment and I forgot about it until my daughter read it and my wife and I saw the movie.

A couple of things became apparent to me that none of the reviews and summaries I read really touch on.

The first – and the reason this Slice is here – is because it’s a fantasy. Of course, high-falutin’ critics think otherwise: “Sarah Churchwell sees The Great Gatsby as a ‘cautionary tale of the decadent downside of the American dream.’” The rest of the comments on it, you can find in the themes section of the Wikipedia entry. Some appear determined to make us believe that this is a subtle novel of gay love (http://www.salon.com/2013/01/09/was_nick_carraway_gay/).

I don’t have any letters or a website behind my observation, but I think it’s a novel about two men who attempt to form a friendship in the midst of a manifestly shallow culture. I think Gatsby is incredibly lonely and while his romantic focus is his long-lost-love, Daisy; he has no true male friends. He sees the possibility of friendship in Nick Carraway – and that’s why he trusts him in everything. He asks Nick to arrange the meeting with his cousin; and some reviewers don’t notice that Nick’s decision to come to NY was his own; and how would Gatsby know he was Daisy’s cousin? That had to have happened later. Also, Nick isn’t involved in the underworld Gatsby is and is, even in the critic’s eyes, a sort of innocent.

The fantasy element comes with the Valley of Ashes and “…the eyes…reminiscent of those of fictional optometrist Dr. T. J. Eckleburg depicted on a faded commercial billboard near George Wilson's auto repair shop)…‘They look out of no face, but instead, from a pair of enormous yellow spectacles which pass over a non-existent nose.’” (Wikipedia entry) “Wilson equates T.J.’s eyes to the eyes of God. He recounts to Michaelis what he says to Myrtle after discovering his affair, “‘and I said “God knows what you’ve been doing, everything you’ve been doing. You may fool me, but you can’t fool God!”””

The Valley is a mythical place – not that it didn’t exist, but that it’s some sort of hell that the people from East Egg and New York have to pass through. In fact, much of the evil in the novel takes place there – or is caused by what takes place there. The blame, perhaps is removed from the people and dropped squarely on the place. Mythical because many no longer believe in a literal hell. It’s a powerful symbol in this story.

So, we have hell and we have the search for true friendship that involves trust so great, secrets can be revealed.

A real, fantasy world, don’t you think?

Image: https://pbs.twimg.com/media/BwIcm1sCUAAU90z.jpg

MARTIAN HOLIDAY 89: Paolo at Burroughs Dome

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, 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 (60,000+ words as of now), drop me a line and I’ll send you the unedited version.

Paolo Marcillon, recent visitor to Burroughs Dome, could have accessed the Dome’s main information database from his tablet. That would have left a traceable signature however.

After hiking a bit over a kilometer, riding a slidewalk along the edge of a cluster of ancient, Earth-like homes, then hopping on an AI moving disk, he reached a library far from him point of entry. Made in the old-style of Martian brick, curving architecture, and glass faintly tinted by iron oxide, the library was a massive structure. From his history lessons as a kid, he knew that the building had been constructed to not only survive a catastrophic decompression, but to keep the people inside safe as well.

At the moment, however, the doorway, built from some sort of dark, veined wood, stood open. The walkway was poured concrete – a combination of molten sulfur and aggregate from the surface outside – and tinted nearly purple. The rectangular doors were set in a massive arch. Passing through, he stopped inside. Overhead rose another dome, this one allowing light to stream through. Obviously, someone had aimed a lens at the library in order to bend a beam of light into the building.

There were few – if any – paper books on Mars. Recording was done on plastic created from organic waste or in electronic bubble memories and projected on screens…

However, a large sign indicating a room of some sort to his left proclaimed, “Largest Paper Book Collection On Mars! See Librarian for Registration and Permissions.”

He sighed. He didn’t want anyone to know her was here – but it was tempting. Depending on how old the archive was, it might contain information about the satellite that he’d run over. After he’d examined it and knocked himself unconscious twice after shooting it with high frequency sound waves. Roughly spherical, it had no markings on it whatsoever and didn’t appear to be manufactured on Mars. The technology base for satellite manufacture on planet wasn’t as high as Earth’s. They regularly constructed them for solar and interstellar exploration.

Even so, it didn’t look like anything he’d ever seen. He looked around. A group of Human children were seated on pillows in an alcove opposite the Paper books. A circular desk stood in the center, directly beneath the apex of the dome. This station was state-of-the-art, transparent and home for multiple screens and keyboards. He approached and at first he thought the station spoke to him, saying, “How may we help you, Sir?”

“I was interested in looking into the history of…” Something tugged his pant leg and he looked down. He jumped backwards as the small, blue Artificial Human looking up at him smiled. “Excuse me,” Paolo said, “Did I almost step on you?”

“Hardly, Sir. I am the lead Librarian here. As visits from adult Humans are rare here, I thought I’d greet you personally and offer my services.” Paolo bowed. While he’d seen and worked with artificial Humans many times, they’d all been standard-sized. This small individual… “There’s no need to bow, Sir! I am at your service. My diminutive size is helpful in dealing with both the mostly Human children who visit us and finding paper books on lower-level shelving. Also, I don’t eat nearly as much as my larger vat-mates and so my upkeep is substantially less.”

“You don’t have a home?” Paolo said before he could stop himself.

“My home is here, Sir. I love the Library.” He paused, “How may I help you today, Sir?”

“My name is Paolo Marcillon,” he said, holding out his hand.

The small man hesitated, then took his hand and said, “I am called OrcAH.”

“Thank you.” He paused, “I’ve got a couple of problems I’d like to solve. The easiest is that I’d like to access information about satellite manufacture and use.”

OrcAH nodded, “Straight-forward.” He stood straight, hands held behind his back. The shade of his blue skin complemented the color of the Library floor tiles.

For an instant, Paolo admired it, then halted himself when he thought of how the little man had been designed for his job – as if he was a piece of furniture. He nodded, adding, “I’m also looking for information regarding Natan Wallach, Hero of the Faith Wars.”

OrcAH’s face seemed to flatten, the sharpness that had been in his eyes a moment ago fading from passion into professional and business-like. He bowed. “Ah. Of course. Right this way. We have, of course, a complete selection of everything that has ever been published about him – script, audio, video, interactive, historical, and conjectural. If you have any particular needs…”

Paolo pursed his lips, then said abruptly, “I want to know what happened to the Hero after the war.”

OrcAH had turned to lead the way to whatever section contained the History – doubtless sanitized ad mythologized beyond all recognition. Unless someone who’d actually been there wanted to experience them. Then older and more detailed volumes might be brought forth. But what Paolo wanted might not even exit.

The little blue man stopped and turned to face Paolo, saying, “I have no idea what you mean. It’s clearly recorded that he died when the combined terrorist operatives of the Buddhist and Muslim Brethren blew up the Lewis Dome.”

“The Ghost Dome.”

OrcAH blinked, then in a softer voice said, “That name is rarely used, Sir. What possible connection might the Hero of the Faith have with the manufacture of satellites?”

Paolo shrugged and said, “That’s what I want to know.” He paused then added, “I happen to know that the Hero is not dead.” OrcAH’s eyes went wide and his mouth opened but no sound came out. The look on his face changed as well – he was no longer indifferent but stunned. Paolo lowered his voice and leaned down, whispering, “I know this because he is my brother.”

Image: https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_kB5wP5o5VuzbhQVDthrqJohh8uL52IGDt84n3dGhkCI-t4RMfYH8kx-KjMU4CpHSKfJBCYAuX3Vx2BD_SMD5j06A-Tm_tz_6b29Ohv5Dkl5xtNoaecKLHOMkCWDbP_RrQZrjnatLx0A/s1600/Astronauta+Marcos+C%C3%A9sar+Pontes.bmp

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 276

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: Haunted Castle/Mansion

Current Event: http://www.dreadcentral.com/news/31105/cold-spots-glensheen-mansion

“No! Really! I saw the ghost!” said Enzo Solem. His wild hand waving came more from the passion of his French forebears than the stolid formality of his Norwegian. First generation from both sides, he’d been born and raised just north of the Twin Ports of Duluth and Superior.

He also had a wild passion for the paranormal.

Weayaya Aguirre sighed. Enzo was her best friend but sometimes he bugged the living daylights out of her. Shaking her head, she said, “Why can’t you just accept that the world is the world and that’s all there is?”

He stared at her incredulously and exclaimed, “You work here, too! How can you say that? You’ve seen the apparitions just like I have!”

Shaking her head, Weayaya – Wee-ah to the rest of the staff at the Glensheen Mansion – said, “I’ve told you a dozen times that I don’t know what you saw that night. I saw some kind of heat shimmer from the furnace.”

“And I’ve told you two dozen times that I talked with Elizabeth Congdon!”

“A woman who’s been dead for half a century?”

“She’s not dead...” he scowled. “Exactly. Her spirit is trapped here because her son suffocated her under a pillow and then banged the night nurse over the head with a candlestick.” Wee-Ah sucked in her lower lip and bit it gently to keep from responding how she wanted to respond. He added, “All I’m asking is that you come with me tonight. It’s the night of June 26...”

“You want to see her ghost, right?”

“Nope.”

Wee-Ah frowned and looked at him. This was not the answer she’d expected. “What?”

“I want to see the ghost of her son. He confessed to her murder and was sent to jail, getting out five years later. His ex-wife, Elizabeth Congdon’s sociopathic adopted daughter never gave him any of the money she inherited from her mother’s murder. He killed himself five years after his release from prison – though I’ve heard people whispering that Congdon’s daughter did him in.”

“So you want to see if the ghost of one of Congdon’s ex-son-in-laws comes back here?”

“Yep. Marjorie died in prison in 2022, five years before the fiftieth anniversary of her adoptive mother’s murder.”

“And you think that that is significant...how?”

“It’s obvious! Marjorie-originally-Congdon is buried in the family mausoleum.” Wee-Ah nodded. That much was true. “It’s now half a century after her mother’s murder by her second ex-husband Roger Caldwell.” Wee-Ah nodded, not even realizing she was encouraging him. He went on excitedly, “So I figure the psychic energy will be so powerful that not only will Roger’s ghost appear, so will Velma’s; her third husband Wally was murdered as well as his ex-wife; plus some old guy she defrauded of all his money in a nursing home in Arizona. His same was also Roger, though his last name was Sammis. Her first husband – with whom she’d had seven children – was Dick LeRoy and he died the same year she did – 2022. So it’s 2027, fifty years after someone murdered Elizabeth Congdon. I would say that Marjorie Congdon LeRoy Caldwell Hagen has some serious psychic reckoning coming.”

Wee-Ah found herself nodding in agreement before she could think things through. That was how she found herself kneeling in the bushes near the Congdon family stone marker in the Forest Hill Cemetery on this dark and stormy night, cold summer rain dribbling down the back of her hastily donned poncho.

Enzo leaned over to her and whispered, “It’s five minutes to midnight…”

Names: ♀ Sioux, Spanish; ♂ French, Norwegian

Image: https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2-arXKTiwzTybeiZ-IjR8P9j_aP2vqKXJulRCqqk_e42EoyXriDrQffp-dV_b96wQqLf5Y-M9XYpYkS4Lpz0PJvQcjGfHXS3M8QSPWCq9l9UURqlah0AR2TAlNeS4yX_NR2arOLIZVuY/s1600/2212_1025142570.jpg

POSSIBLY IRRITATING ESSAY: “Where No One Has Gone Before!” Part 1

Using the panel discussions of the most recent World Science Fiction Convention in Kansas City in August 2016 (to which I was invited and had a friend pay my membership! [Thanks, Paul!] but was unable to go (until I retire from education)), 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 #2153. The link is provided below…

50 Years of Star Trek Part 1: How has Star Trek changed and developed as a franchise. Everything from writing styles, special effects, characters, ethics, social norms, toys, and more will be considered. Dave Creek, Randy Henderson (M), Ms. Melinda Snodgrass, David Gerrold, Shanna Swendson

Dave Creek – an ANALOG regular

Randy Henderson (M) – an experienced fantasy author

Ms. Melinda Snodgrass – REALLY??? She wrote several episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation while serving as the series' story editor during its second and third seasons!

David Gerrold – REALLY??? This is the name I remember immediately after Gene Rodenberry’s when it comes to script-writing. Not DC Fontana or any of the others. THIS one!

Shanna Swendson – an experienced fantasy writer

So, the panel was possibly dominated by comments from the most relevant comments from Gerrold and Snodgrass, but I’ve no doubt that in the others chimed in.

Onward, then. The subject: “How has Star Trek changed and developed as a franchise? Everything from writing styles, special effects, characters, ethics, social norms, toys, and more will be considered.”

I don’t know that you could possibly have any discussion regarding the special effects…the difference between painting phaser beams on celluloid and tipping the camera for returned phaser fire and filming glitter dropping through water and Computer Generated Images boggles the mind and is more an historical curiosity than anything else. I won’t bother with that.

As for writing styles, TOS used “real” science fiction writers several times. Later series less so – Harlan Ellison (famously and legendarily!); Richard Matheson, Theodore Sturgeon, Peter S. Beagle, Robert Bloch, Norman Spinrad, JeromeBixby, Diane Duane, David Bishoff, Nick Sagan (both author and son of astronomer Carl Sagan), Judith and Garfield Reeves-Stevens, and even Larry Niven. The novels – that’s a different story. According to Amazon, there are some 3000 paperback STAR TREK books from authors both famous and unknown, like Vonda N. McIntyre, Alan Dean Foster, James Blish, Joe Haldeman, Jack C. Haldeman II, James Gunn, Pamela Sargent, Keith R. DeCandido and Greg Cox – to someone named Tony Isabella who co-wrote one book.

These are wildly different, ranging from the weak to the fantastic.

The characters…well, those are endlessly debatable, appealing to different people at different times. Most universally loathed was Wesley Crusher (as far as I can tell); most universally adored (again as far as I can tell) would be Q and Jean-Luc Picard. I still think they should have a movie where Q is the villain/hero.

Ethics, social norms, and toys…whew. There’s a lot here. I suppose that’s why they needed different parts to cover them. I’ll vent on ethics and social norms next time. As far as “toys” go, I will only mention here that I made countless TOS phasers out of wood and I have the sound-effects page in one of favorites files. I still thrill to the sound of TOS photon torpedoes launching!

(This entry took me two hours to write because I got totally lost in the websites finding the information above – looking at the writer lists for all the show episodes…)

Resources: http://www.thewrap.com/all-39-star-trek-main-characters-ranked-from-spock-to-wesley-photos/54/

Program Book: https://midamericon2.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/07/MACII-PP-Interior-Final-HiRes.pdf

LOVE IN A TIME OF ALIEN INVASION -- Chapter 49

On Earth, there are three Triads intending 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 Braiders accidentally created a resonance wave that will destroy the Milky Way and the only way to stop it is for the Yown’Hoo-Kiiote-Human Triads to build a physical wall. The merger of Human-Kiiote-Yown’Hoo into a van der Walls Society may produce the Membrane to stop the wave.

The young experimental Triads are made up of the smallest primate tribe of Humans – Oscar and Kashayla; the smallest canine pack of Kiiote – six, pack leaders Qap and Xurf; and the smallest camelid herd of Yown’Hoo – a prime eleven, Dao-hi the Herd mother. 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.

“We had nearly fallen into stagnation when we encountered the Kiiote.”

“And we into internecine war when we encountered the Yown’Hoo.”

 “Yown’Hoo and Kiiote have been defending themselves for a thousand revolutions of our Sun.”

 “Together, we might do something none of us alone might have done…a destiny that included Yown’Hoo, Kiiote, and Human.” (2/19/2015)

My great uncle Rion grinned, “We would like to retain you for your services.”

Lieutenant Commander Patrick Bakhsh, the man we called Retired scowled then said, “Who are you?”

Instead of replying, my great uncle bowed him in. “I can’t tell you anything you’d believe while we’re standing here. Once we get inside, I think I have something for you to verify what I said.”

Retired scowled and passed Rion, refusing to look at the smiling…man? Robot? Android? The door closed and from deep inside, a rumbling whir began to blow warm air around us. GU Rion said, “If the Honorable Herd Mother would follow the left-hand corridor to the end, you will find a grazing and exercise room.”

Dao-hi gave a snap of her tentacle and the entryway filled a scent I knew meant “no-longer-in-a-circle”, Yown’Hoo for “Take five!”

He looked down at Qap and Xurf and lifted his leg in the direction of another corridor and said, “Leaders, a den appropriate for your needs is to your right at the end.” I definitely heard him fart. After a sniff, the Kiiote leaders padded away, the youngsters following. I twitched a finger. My great uncle held up one finger – the local version of, “Hang on, kid.”

With Pack and Herd gone, he turned to Retired and said, “I’ve got evidence here that I am exactly what you think I am.”

Retired said in a low voice, “A fraud?”

I stared at GURion. He shrugged. “As you wish.” He turned and went to another door. Weirdly, the six rectangles of light-colored wood, shiny and for some reason, really warm looking. It also had an old-fashioned door knob. It was old-fashioned to us because we lived in the Bankstadium. It didn’t have knob doors except in certain rooms of the Understory. We’d seen pictures of them and even seen lots of old ones in the ruins surrounding our home. He turned the knob and pushed it open. “Come on in.”

Beyond it was a room I’d only seen in dramas – and there was a fireplace with wood in it that was burning. “Is that a real fire?” ‘Shay said, pushing past me into the room like it wasn’t an anachronism from our world’s ancient past. Once, burning wood had been common. Then the population of Earth had soared past fifteen billion.

Not long after that, the war between the Yown’Hoo and the Kiiote had tumbled from the sky…I stared at the robotic simulacrum that had been my great uncle and said abruptly, “How long had you been aiding the aliens when they brought their war here?”

He stared at me for a long time before he said, “That’s the proof I have for your friend here.”

Retired blinked in what I’m pretty sure was stunned surprise. I was also sure me and ‘Shay were giving him the same look. I also know why the thing had sent the aliens to their own rooms. I managed to say, “You have proof of your treachery?” My voice cracked. Hadn’t done that in a long time.

GURion smiled a little, shook his head, and said, “This whole thing started long before me, Kid.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Retired.

My great uncle stepped back, spread out his arms, lifted his head and said to the ceiling, “I’m the end line of guilt. I’m old enough – even if I wasn’t an android – to have seen the first time Humans had anything to do with the aliens.”

“Which aliens?” Retired asked. His stance was suddenly loose, his hands open, hovering near his hips, he leaned forward slightly. He looked like he was ready to attack GURion.

Great Uncle Rion smiled and said, “Just the question I was waiting for!”

Image: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/72/Rhll_wire_rope.jpg

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 275

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: Comic Fantasy – “…literature that is parodic, lighthearted, wacky, snarky, or just plain buffoonish.”

Current Event: http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2013/10/131023101349.htm, (old event): http://www.sciencedaily.com/videos/2007/1212-tree_tracker.htm

ADVENTURES OF THE ONLY GUM TREE WIZARD ON EARTH

Dural Jungkarara stopped on a ridge, and shading his eyes from the early-morning sun’s glare, looked down into the valley. He said, “This is it. The oldest gum trees in the world. I can’t miss.” He started down the trail. Bushwalking for days in the forest, talking to other walkers he’d meet and surreptitiously on the lookout for the Tarkine’s oldest sites, it had taken him three years and working some of the worst jobs he’d imagined to get here.

A reddish mountain dragon – (He’d once commented, “You sure don’t look like any dragon I’ve ever imagined”) – Oolah Wadjari, clung to a thick, quilted pad on his shoulder. She said, “To get an idea of exactly how much we can miss, may I remind you of The Great Canberra Disaster?”

He just grunted and headed down the trail. Twenty minutes later, he said, “The only thing that can activate my powers is ‘a tea from the leaves of prehistoric trees’.”

“So says an elderly woman who couldn’t even speak English,” said Oolah.

“Hey! That’s my nanna you’re talking about!”

Oolah replied, “No insult intended, Boy. I was her familiar for sixty years before I came into your service!”

“Yeah, but I never heard you talk to her like you…”

“Oh, I did, Boy! I did! Ask her about the time she and I crossed the Great Desert when she was fourteen! Two years younger than you and she had wild visions of changing the world...”

Dural turned abruptly and dropped to his backside, sliding down the embankment between the switchback trails.

“Hey! You’re not supposed to do that, Boy! It’s lurk! You could get a fine!”

“Maybe they’ll confiscate my pet,” he said, stopping only two trails downhill.

“I’m not your pet – we’re partners.”

“Partners in what?”

The lizard snorted and a puff of smoke popped from each nostril. “How easily your forget.”

“I didn’t forget.”

“Then why not say it?”

“Bonza, then, gecko. Who killed nanna and how? That’s what I’m here for.”

“What about me?”

“I don’t know why you’re here. Maybe to see the country? You sure haven’t been much help to me so far.”

“What about...,” the lizard began.

“Not that again! More to the point, what about Canberra? I certainly didn’t make that big of a mess all by myself! If you’d kept your fire-breathing abilities a little more carefully under wraps...”

“My abilities! What about you? What made you think you could use an invisibility spell like it was…like it was…”

“Like it was a magnification incantation?” The dragon blushed orange in embarrassment as a silence fell over the Tarkine wood as the boy and his dragon continued down the side of the hill. Oolah gripped the shoulder pad tighter and Dural rubbed first one eye, then the other. “I’m not crying,” he said when the lizard stirred on his shoulder. “I just need to figure out what will make the powers she told me I had manifest in a way I can use to find her.”

“And when you do find her? What then? What if she disappeared because she wanted to? What if she left this world because it was her time to leave – her choice to leave?”

“Did she tell you she was ready?” Dural shot at the lizard. He knew the answer. They’d discussed it months ago. They’d discussed it in the juvenile detention center in Hervey Bay, just before they broke out of there. They’d discussed it endlessly since leaving Kununarra in Western Australia and hitching and walking and working south until they finally reached the largest piece of Gondwanan Rainforest on the planet. “The answer?” Dural snarled.

Oolah sighed a puff of smoke and finally said, “The answer is that she was not ready. Nowhere near ready.”

“Then that’s why we’re here. We need to find her and help her. Save her life like she saved mine.”

Names: ♀ Australian Aboriginal (= red lizard), Tribe name (Western Australia) ; ♂ Australian Aboriginal (= hollow tree that is on fire), Tribe name (Queensland)

Resource: http://www.babynamenetwork.com/Baby-Names/8/Aboriginal/All-Genders.htm, http://www.parks.tas.gov.au/indeX.aspX?base=5297

Image: http://www.skyscrapernews.com/images/pics/6255CaernarfonCastle_pic1.jpg

WRITING ADVICE: Can This Story Be SAVED? #5 “Snapdragon” (Submitted 3 Times Since 2008, Never Revised)

In September of 2007, I started this blog with a bit of writing advice. A little over a year later, I discovered how little I knew about writing after hearing children’s writer, In April of 2014, I figured I’d gotten enough publications that I could share some of the things I did “right”. I’ll keep that up, but I’m running out of pro-published stories. I don’t write full-time, nor do I make enough money with my writing to live off of it, but someone pays for and publishes ten percent of what I write. Hemingway’s quote above will remain unchanged as I work to increase my writing output and sales, but I’m adding this new series of posts because I want to carefully look at what I’ve done WRONG and see if I can fix it. As always, your comments are welcome!

ANALOG Tag Line: (This was a CRICKET story, but you get the idea) If you could get even with someone, would you?

Elevator Pitch (What Did I Think I Was Trying To Say?) A kid whose toy fire lizard comes to life has a choice of letting his worst enemy pass out from a diabetic reaction or give him what he needs…

Opening Line: “‘You brought a toy to summer school?’ growled Austin ‘Brutus’ Loeb.’

Onward: OK – the dialogue goes downhill from there because I have an ADULT intervene immediately:

“It’s a model, stupid!” snapped Drew Kust. Peeking out from behind Drew’s right ear was a stuffed miniature dragon named Flamer. Made of shiny bronze material, his wire tail was wrapped around Drew’s neck and held him there.

“I ain’t stupid!” Brutus snarled, pushing up the sleeves of his T-shirt past bulging biceps.

“Austin! Andrew!” bellowed Mr. Gjerde. “Recess is over! Back inside.” The teacher towered over both boys, fists on his hips. “Save your energy for class. Austin, your snack is on my desk. Eat it as soon as you get in.”

Brutus growled, “I hate having…”

“You want me to call your mother?” Mr. Gjerde said. Brutus went in, grumbling.

Drew said, “I could be home…”

“You chose to fail sixth grade,” Mr. Gjerde snapped. “Now you make it up.”

What Was I Trying To Say? Nothing – or at most, “Don’t be mean to people.”

The Rest of the Story: It turns out Brutus is supposed to have a snack before he gets home – like most other Type 1 diabetics, he has to watch his food intake – so his blood sugars don’t crash. Also, like most young people, they resent the disease and in order to fit in or FEEL like they are just like everyone, they often ignore their health.

My best friend and best man in my wedding acted that way his whole life. Ultimately, he died from his actions a bit over a year later, leaving a wife, a young son, and an unborn daughter. He was mild-mannered (in public) and loved reading fantasy. I’d given him the entire hardcover set of DERYNII books by Katherine Kurtz for a groomsman’s gift. I suppose I was trying to preach to the kids rather than tell a story…

End Analysis: The story in this form was TOO preachy. The message too obvious. Plus, the denouement was t00 abrupt.

Of course, for CRICKET, I’m limited to 1500 words. But I’ve written two stories for them, so I KNOW I can do it. Why didn’t this turn out? Like I said, I think I was too preachy. Maybe I have to change the venue; send them on a field trip? They get separated from the group because…hmmm.

Can This Story Be Saved? THIS story isn’t really save-able. I’d need to rework the whole thing. NOT that that isn’t possible. But is it worth it? Would I be able to sell it to CRICKET? Most likely not, as I seem to be on some sort of black list there because I kept asking to get paid after they published a story of mine. See, they were strapped for cash at the time, and no one would answer me…so I wrote to an editor I DO know and she spoke up for me. Altogether too high maintenance for a magazine that’s considered the “Lexus of the children’s magazine world”. Now that I think about it…hmmm…

Anyway. Maybe I will; maybe I won’t. I WILL post it here: http://theworkandworksheetsofguystewart.blogspot.com/ so you can read it for yourself. If you’ve got a suggestion, let me know there! For now, it’s my first really “unsaveable” story.

Image: https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/9f/22/3b/9f223b1e57a36e14db3eb13715fbe3f9.jpg

MARTIAN HOLIDAY 88: Aster of Opportunity

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 (60,000+ words as of now), drop me a line and I’ll send you the unedited version.

There was only one person, Aster Theilen – better known as the Mayoral Consort – knew who might actually be able to tell her how to reach the sublevels, but she doubted FardusAH would be willing to guide her. After a bit more thought, she smiled. Dad once said the Christian church had spread most deeply among oppressed peoples. She wondered…then set off, at her best stride, one guaranteed to leave friends behind and get her where she needed to go as quickly as possible.

Dad answered the door after she touched it. “Aster! What brings you to the Underground?”

She smiled as she hugged her father. The door slid shut behind them and she moved away, no longer smiling, “That’s exactly what brings me, Dad. I need you to take me to the Underground.”

Her dad scowled. “Why would you need to do that?”

She paused, considered, then said, “I can’t tell you exactly why. I suppose I could tell you that the Mayor has a great new plan to raise up the downtrodden and set the captive free, but you’d know I was lying.” He snorted for emphasis and crossed his arms over his chest. “What I can tell you is that I have a plan to use the power I’ve been granted to make a difference in Opportunity.”

An eyebrow went up and he bowed her into his living room. He sat down on the couch and gestured for her to do the same. “So tell me about your plan.”

She did, leaning forward and swiping her hand through the air, concluding, “So, I need to have direct contact with orphans. I have a connection at Human Services and fostering children who can help with Human orphan. Few people on Mars – or Earth for that matter – consider Artificial Humans at all. When they’re separated from their employers…I hesitate to say ‘owners’, but it’s how they’re defined by Martian law…they have no one to advocate for them. So we’d like to connect some of the usual attendees at the Orphan’s Ball with some unusual orphans.”

Her dad leaned back and scratched his chin then said, “The idea is sound, but the kids down there…”

“How many are there?”

“No idea…” he began.

“You’re actually a bad liar, Dad.”

He sighed. “Under this city, there are over a hundred who appear to be under the age of sixteen,” he said. “Forty or so of those apparently look to be between five to ten years old.”

Eyes wide, Aster leaned back, then whispered, “There aren’t even half that many Human orphans.”

He nodded. “It’s a huge problem, and our Church does what it can…”

“What can they do?”

Her Dad snorted again. “Opportunity isn’t the only Dome on Mars – just because the Five hold political sway and virtually all of the financial clout doesn’t mean that they’re the only show in town.” He smiled with mock- innocence.

Aster scowled this time, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“So you really want me to clearly tell you that there are Stations and Bases all over the surface that don’t precisely hold with the pseudophilosophical drivel of the United Faith in Humanity?”

“Dad!”

He shrugged. “I’m just pointing out that removing the divine from Human language and experience hasn’t removed evil from the picture – or from the surface of Mars or Earth. The use of Artificial Humans by Martian society without the commensurate acknowledgement of them as beings of worth in-and-0f themselves is a strong argument that the problem never has been with religion – but with the Human condition.” He sighed, “Besides, while I trust you, I have nothing but contempt and suspicion for your Chief of Dome Security, Hanam vo’Maddux. He could easily have had you followed – or have a transmitter sewn into your clothing.”

Her eye bugged out and for the first time since the Mayor had brought her to the Pylon was shaken to the core of her being. She also suddenly realized that she’d been shy of the power he’d granted her. Her voice dropped to a low, gutteral growl as she said, “She wouldn’t dare…”

Image: https://i.ytimg.com/vi/pv5BzHM3TJ8/hqdefault.jpg

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 274

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: “Neil Stephenson's The Diamond Age features a very well justified abundance of airships. With ubiquitous nano-tech it's so simple to create objects that are lighter than air but stronger than steel…As to the airships, when you can create these materials you don't have to fill the envelope with anything at all. Vacuum is lighter than everything and thanks to nanopumps cheap to create.” (http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/ZeppelinsFromAnotherWorld)

Current Event: http://www.cnbc.com/2016/03/10/this-airship-transports-lockheed-into-new-territory.html

Napuc Chi shook his head as he said, “You will never get me next to that window!”

Anibal Tecú sighed. “If you’re afraid of heights, why did you volunteer for the survey? You knew we’d be using the Zac Petén.”

He paused, pursed his lips. Anibal got the impression there was something else he wanted to say – maybe about his fears…but he said, “It’s the only way I could investigate the alien presence…”

Anibal sighed dramatically. “This is an ecological survey…” she began.

“I know what it is!” Napuc snapped. “But I have interests besides creating gene maps of coati migration over the past millennia!”

Anibal held up both hands and stepped back. “Hey! No biting heads off! Sorry…”

Napuc closed his eyes, pressing his thumbs into his temples, arms akimbo. Anibal was abruptly reminded of the Jaguar God of the Underworld. Napuc muttered, “Sorry. Sorry…”

“What’s wrong? It’s gotta be more than just getting a boring job.”

“It’s not the job,” he smiled weakly, “though I could think of a few other things to be looking for besides troops of coatis.”

“Like what?”

He shrugged. He winced, then turned from the window. “I need to get my scanners ready.”

She watched him go, then turned back to the window. The Zac Petén swung lower over the Yucatan Peninsula. In the distance, hidden by jungle and itself little more than a large city, squatted Chicxulub, the town that had given its name to the prehistoric crater scar left by the impact of an object that had sealed the extinction of the dinosaurs. She frowned momentarily, looked over her shoulder at her departed lab partner and friend, then looked back out. The zeppelin was moving steadily, yet there was no obvious motion. As a second generation lighter-than-aircraft, it’s stability and economical operation made it the first choice of many scientific expeditions.

But there were people who’d rather walk than fly, and she’d been surprised when Napuc had volunteered to come along. They drifted over a dark blue dot of water that vanished at the bottom of a ubiquitous cenote. The sinkholes clustered in the trough formed by the crater impact rings. She straightened and went back inside. “Napuc?” His voice came faintly up a ladder access to the deck below. She slid down and dropped lightly to her feet. When he turned to look at her, the device he was holding was clearly not a bio-sign detector. Her first thought was that it was a futuristic ray gun and that he was going to disintegrate her. Then she frowned. “What are you trying to do with that thing?”

He pursed his lips, raised the flat circular muzzle, and said, “I’m looking for an alien.”

Names: ♀ Modern Maya ; ♂ Modern Maya        

Image: http://f.tqn.com/y/inventors/1/0/x/w/Solid_Propellant.jpg