WRITING ADVICE: What Went RIGHT #48…With “Road Veterinarian” (Submitted 5 times with 0 revision, sold to ANALOG Science Fiction & Fact, September/October 2019)

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, Lin Oliver speak at a convention hosted by the Minnesota Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators. Since then, I have shared (with their permission) and applied the writing wisdom of Lin Oliver, Jack McDevitt, Nathan Bransford, Mike Duran, Kristine Kathryn Rusch, SL Veihl, Bruce Bethke, and Julie Czerneda. Together they write in genres broad and deep, and have acted as agents, editors, publishers, columnists, and teachers. Since then, I figured I’ve got enough publications now that I can share some of the things I did “right” and I’m busy sharing that with you.

While I don’t write full-time, nor do I make enough money with my writing to live off of it...neither do all of the professional writers above...someone pays for and publishes ten percent of what I write. When I started this blog, that was NOT true, so I may have reached a point where my own advice is reasonably good. We shall see! Hemingway’s quote above will now remain unchanged as I work to increase my writing output and sales. Faulkner once wrote, “The best fiction is far more true than any journalism.” And Tea Obreht thought that “The best fiction stays with you and changes you.” These are my goals…

This story has a very long genesis, but I’m going to start with fragmentary notes to let you see how I got there:

1) A Friday Challenge contest issued on March 5, 2010 called, “Strange Bot in a Strange Land” (http://thefridaychallenge.blogspot.com/2010/03/friday-challenge-3510.html)

2) A different Friday Challenge issued on March 4, 2011: “Seriously: About The Post-Petroleum Future”; The Friday Challenge (https://thefridaychallenge.blogspot.com/search?q=post-petroleum)

The first one led to a short story called “Oath” (if you want to read it, go to the sidebar and click on the link. It’s still there!)

The second one led to the invention of CHEAPALIN, which is “a living, post-petroleum genetic amalgam called CHEAPALIN, a patchwork of the DNA of nine organisms. “…the road organism – a bioengineered DNA patchwork of Cellulose producing, Heme, Eel, Ameba, Peat moss, Alfalfa, Leukocytes, Iron incorporated in a molecule and a mix of Notothenioidei and Noctilucan cells...acronym CHEAPALIN...[m]odified electric eel cells created current passing through hair-fine iron filaments deposited in the road. A thick black peat pad of iron-rich heme attached to the underside of any car...charged a set of batteries. A magnetic field generated as cars moved over the filaments got read by a microchip implanted in the car’s pad, matching the road’s magnetic field creating a maglev effect. A variety of chlorophyll and alfalfa genes allowed roots growing under the road organism to return nitrogen to the soil, pull up micronutrients and conduct photosynthesis. A semi-transparent, thick cellulose skin protected the whole thing while remaining flexible. A few Notothenioidei genes kept cellular fluids from freezing during Minnesota winters. Noctilucan genes made it glow at night when disturbed. Leukocytes digested roadkill, leaves, branches and old pizza boxes.”

With those pieces, I started playing around with a future dominated by governments encouraging the drift of Humans from rural areas into the cities – called urbanization. Over the last half millennium, people moving from the country into urban centers has accelerated dramatically: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Urbanization#/media/File:Urbanization_over_the_past_500_years_(Historical_sources_and_UN_(1500_to_2016)),_OWID.svg

There is no indication that this will slow down as the UN projects that “…half of the world's population will live in urban areas at the end of 2008. It is predicted that by 2050 about 64% of the developing world and 86% of the developed world will be urbanized. That is equivalent to approximately 3 billion urbanites by 2050, much of which will occur in Africa and Asia. Notably, the United Nations has also recently projected that nearly all global population growth from 2017 to 2030 will be by cities, with about 1.1 billion new urbanites over the next 10 years.”

In my future, the UN, backed by the US, China, Brazil, Mexico, India, Indonesia, Saudi Arabia, Australia, and Japan legislates the Back To the Wild Initiatives that would redirect resources from rural areas to urban areas and the eventual creation of 20,000 Vertical Villages, each one with a population of approximately 4,6oo,ooo. The remaining 40,000 Humans work in and around the VVs, farming and doing animal husbandry.

Also, artificial intelligent robots serve as both public safety and service providers, they serve in the armed forces, which had been reduced to the Combined Forces comprised of both military and police Humans, deeply trained, requiring a four year training degree that includes social work, counseling, as well as self-defense, weapons choice, weapons training and development (as test subjects), physical fitness, and world religions, etc.

This story takes place on the cusp of the total application of the BTWI. There are still cities and towns. Javier Quinn Xiong Zaman, a veterinarian and genetic engineer, works near the Minneapolis St Paul Vertical Village. Kidnapped one night, he ends up in the Northwest Angle, the guest of one Sergeant Thatcher, created by the Canadian government and rejected by the Canadian government and declared illegal. She fled to the US where she was covertly inducted into the Marines, then transferred to the US contingent of the Combined Forces.

She and Dr. Scrabble (because of his initials: J, Qu, X, and Z) have to figure out what happened to a piece of CHEAPALIN test road. It seems to have made a break for the Canadian border. If it crosses into Canada, it will be in violation of several anti-genetic modification treaties (the same ones that would have terminated Sergeant Thatcher) and might spark an armed conflict (the last time the US tangled with Canada, Washington, DC was pretty much burned to the ground).

Thatcher and Scrabble somehow turned out to be humorous, and while several reviewers thought CHEAPALIN was absurd, they mostly enjoyed the interaction between Thatcher and Scrabble.

Actually, I enjoyed the interaction. Somehow, the two of them had become “star-crossed lovers” (without the “lover” part). Of course, the pair of them sprang from my own reading and favorite characters. After they came to life on the page, I realized that they had character traits I’d read in Lois McMaster Bujold’s novella, “Labyrinth” (look it up if you’re interested – you won’t be disappointed!) of the main character, Miles Vorkosigan, and a genetic construct he unintentionally rescues, whose name is Nine…which he changes to Taura when he recruits her for his little band of mercenaries…

Anyway, it turns out I liked Thatcher and Dr. Scrabble a lot…so they came alive on the page, and despite the weirdness of the problem they faced, they overcame that and ended up published.

I tried a second story, but when Thatcher left the stage and stayed away (it WAS in fact, because she had no idea where a relationship with Scrabble would go; but I failed to communicate that), the story failed to carry through and was rejected. I’ve started a third, which will be in between “Road Veterinarian” and “Dinosaur Veterinarian”; the working title is “Deer Veterinarium”, so we’ll see where that ends up!

The main thing that went right? While working to make characters seem like real people…I succeded.

Resource: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Urbanization#:~:text=Urbanization%20(or%20urbanisation)%20refers%20to,societies%20adapt%20to%20this%20change.

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

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 460

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. Regarding horror, I found this insight in line with WIRED FOR STORY: “ We seek out…stories which give us a place to put our fears…Stories that frighten us or unsettle us - not just horror stories, but ones that make us uncomfortable or that strike a chord somewhere deep inside - give us the means to explore the things that scare us…” – Lou Morgan (The Guardian)

H Trope: Ghosts

Current Event: “To be a ghost in space, I expect you would have to die in space. There is a rumor that just before the Americans landed on the moon, the Soviets had a manned mission crash on the dark side. The cosmonauts died, and no one collected them or their rocket...”

Uiloq Chokim pursed her lips then said, “You know the advertising slogan for the old pre-D movie about some space mining ship that picks up an alien infestation?”

Lachlan Maposa squatted as much as he could in the surface suit to gather up the aluminized shroud. Flotsam and jetsam from the thirty-something annual Jules Verne Medallion Races dribbled down from the “race course” between the International Space Station Museum & Bed & Breakfast and the luxury orbital resort, Kubrick. He grunted as he stood back up and said, “Of course, ‘In space, no one can hear you freak out’.” He moved off in pursuit of another  piece of shroud, following a silvery fiber wending its way across the surface.

“No, stupid! It goes ‘In space, no one can hear you scream’. It was for the movie ALIEN. Late last century it was all the rage. Grandpa talks about it all the time.” She looked up to see him disappear around a lunar stone. “Are you listening to me?”

There was a long pause. She frowned. Then Lachlan said, “Good. Scream. Grandpa.”

She sighed. She was definitely thinking about breaking up with him. He wasn’t the worst boyfriend she’d ever had, but he sure wasn’t the brightest bulb in the Dome. Besides, she’d started to think that she was never going to make her fortune up here. Mineral rights were tied up by two dozen conglomerates and a handful of nations – the Moon looked like Antarctica had in Early Twen – so there was no way to get a job if you didn’t work for them. Service jobs were plentiful – clerks, programmers, stockers, teachers, and suitjockeys – but you needed licenses for that, too. It was the license that cost as much as a year’s apartment rent. She heard a gag on her headphones and said, “Lachlan?”

“What? Quit bugging me! I’ve got a good lead on a big strike, but I think I see another light over the horizon. It’s reflecting off the Dome Base.” He was panting. She should make them exercise more often. Especially since she was semi-planning to head back to Earth sometime soon. He suddenly spoke up, “Besides, it was a stupid movie. I zipped it once,” she heard the swish of the snoopy cap against the helmet rim. He continued, “Aliens! There aren’t any aliens in the universe, let alone on a backwater like the Moon.”

“How can you know something like that?” she asked, irritated despite the fact that she agreed with him. “No one can know that!”

“Just like I’m supposed to believe in Lunar ghosts?”

Stung by the mocking tone of his voice, she snapped, “Two cosmonauts died in 1968 – almost a year before Aldrin and Armstrong. Their spirits inhabit the Moon! It’s a well-known fact!” One more nasty word from him, and she would break up with him here and now!

She opened her mouth to tell him just that when he shouted, “What...”

Names: ♀ Greenland, Kazakhstan ; ♂ Tasmania, Botswana

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

POSSIBLY IRRITATING ESSAY: The Sad Message of the Movie, “Ad Astra”

NOT using the Programme Guide of the 2020 World Science Fiction Convention, ConZEALAND (The First Virtual World Science Fiction Convention; to which I be unable to go (until I retire from education)), I WOULD jump off, jump on, rail against, and shamelessly agree with the BRIEF DESCRIPTION given in the pdf copy of the Program Guide. But not today. This explanation is reserved for when I dash “off topic”, sometimes reviewing movies, sometimes reviewing books, and other times taking up the spirit of a blog an old friend of mine used to keep called THE RANTING ROOM…

The movie was made to be a movie. It wasn’t written like normal science fiction by regular science fiction authors. In fact, as far as I can tell, James Gray and Ethan Gross have never written – nor since then written – a single word of science fiction. On the IMDb site, both gas on about films and the importance of film and (in Gray’s case, the unfairness of it all). According to the Internet Speculative Fiction Database, someone named James Gray wrote two short stories in the 1980s, one in a horror anthology, the other in something called Potboiler #10. Ethan Gross is not recorded as writing any speculative fiction under that name.

So, here we have two writers using the science fiction tropes of solar expansion, antimatter fuel, travel in microgravity, and the SETI making a bold and negative statement that “there’s no one out there”.

According to the review below, the writers “refuted the rules of sci-fi”.

I would suggest that rather being sci-fi, it’s another attempt to excuse Humanity from ever becoming more that what it is. Rather than seeking to connect with what is “more” than ourselves, it’s an encouragement to remain selfish and self-centered. It’s this navel-gazing focus that has given us our current existential polarity – not just in the US during the Election Year – but from pole to pole and Prime Meridian back to Prime Meridian.

We’ve become a people whose deepest cry is, “Me! Me! Me!” The Greatest Generation is gone; sacrifice is a filthy word and banished from film the same way four-letter words once were – and are now celebrated as personal expression and cries of “censorship!” should anyone suggest they be removed or curtailed in the slightest.

In fact, sacrifice is a word most people wouldn’t recognize except when it’s in the context of “how much we’ve sacrificed for…” or “I gave up EVERYTHING for…” Sacrifice is no longer for any kind of greater good, but rather centered on how much “you” owe “me”.

“Ad Astra” iterates that to a point of a sledgehammer pounding reinforced concrete.

Reviewer Richard Newly neatly summarizes our descent into self-centeredness rather than self-sacrifice when he opines, “Ad Astra deserves a place within our science fiction canon not because it dares us to head into the unknown. Rather, it dares us to look at the truth inside of ourselves, to recognize the destructive nature of our own alienation, and to take the time to heal. These are things we as humans know, but have so often put off in our search for finding what comes next, and what comes after that.”

“Me! Me! Me!” should be the title of the movie. The motivation of every character has devolved from the pioneer spirit that led African, Chinese, Maori, and European civilizations to give everything not only in the pursuit of things to sell; but also to see what was over the horizon. Curiosity was once permitted and even encouraged – not so much now. With “all of our horizons” conquered, it’s my experience as a science teacher for the past 40 years, that we’re less interested in “what’s over there?” than “what do I want to buy?”.

For example, the entire reason Roy McBride leaves Earth is to reconcile with his dad; to fix the pain in his own soul. The reason H. Clifford McBride left he family behind was to prove that he was RIGHT – that there is “life out there”; that there was something “more”. The Martian base commander, Helen Lantos is solely interested in revenge because Roy’s dad murdered her parents and helps Roy get aboard the ship to Neptune.

NASA is solely interested in stopping the “pulses” because “Astronaut Roy McBride undertakes a mission across an unforgiving solar system to uncover the truth about his missing father and his doomed expedition that now, 30 years later, threatens the universe.”

I’m just wondering…oops! I guess it fits. I don’t have to wonder: threatening communication on Earth is “threatening the universe”. There’s no difference between threatening Humans and threatening THE ENTIRE FREAKING UNIVERSE!!!!

*sigh*

I was reflecting yesterday that the great people of faith like Mother Theresa, Martin Luther King, Jr, Billy Graham, Nelson Mandela, Mahatma Gandhi, and few others – are mostly gone. There are few who encourage us to self-sacrifice.

This movie, written by people outside of science fiction, really does refute the rules of science fiction. While SF is replete with tales warning us from certain conceivable technological futures like “The Matrix” or “I Am Legend” or even “The Expanse”, it also offers futures like Rodenberry’s STAR TREK, “The Martian”, Nnedi Okorafor’s BINTI, Niven’s RINGWORLD, and Julie Czerneda’s WEB SHIFTERS, CLAN CHRONICLES, and my favorite series, SPECIES IMPERATIVE universes.

“Ad Astra” is little more than an adolescent mind…oh, never mind. While I enjoyed it on some level, mostly for the scenery and the concept of easy interplanetary travel; I continue to puzzle over why Norwegians had baboons on a space station. Anyone who knows anything about the beasts – aka anyone who lives in sub-Saharan Africa and seen or dealt with them – would likely have cautioned the Norwegians from breeding baboons? Experimenting on baboons? Whatever…no explanation is given and the incident serves only to get the CEPHEUS (The king of Ethiopia with his queen, Cassiopeia) captain killed so Roy can prove that the mission pilot is a coward and he can take over the ship and land on Mars easy-peasy.

Having worked with teenagers my entire professional life, I find myself wondering what kinds of issue the writers were trying to work out. While I’ll certainly grab this one for our DVD collection eventually, it’s self-centered message of the self-serving exploration of the Solar System is pretty grim and holds out little hope that Humans will ever be more than a species of self-centered brats. It is for me, ultimately, a downer but absolutely in line with YA speculative fiction we’ve been devouring lately in MAZE RUNNER and THE HUNGER GAMES…

Resources: https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/heat-vision/meaning-behind-ad-astra-1242644, https://atlantablackstar.com/2015/01/23/10-pieces-of-evidence-that-prove-black-people-sailed-to-the-americas-long-before-columbus/4/, https://atlantablackstar.com/2016/09/09/10-pieces-evidence-prove-black-people-sailed-americas-long-columbus/

Image: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ad_Astra_(film)#/media/File:Ad_Astra_-_film_poster.jpg

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 459

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. Regarding Fantasy, this insight was startling: “I see the fantasy genre as an ever-shifting metaphor for life in this world, an innocuous medium that allows the author to examine difficult, even controversial, subjects with impunity. Honor, religion, politics, nobility, integrity, greed—we’ve an endless list of ideals to be dissected and explored. And maybe learned from.” – Melissa McPhail.

F Trope: “When wizards are immortal, they don’t need to train successors, and may not be able to…”

Current Event: http://www.rsc.org/chemistryworld/2013/07/pipeline-knowledge-lost-time-gained

Sidaji the Immortal pursed his lips, glaring down at the bucket of swamp water, tapping the edge. His fingers strayed to the runic marks inscribed on the sides. He stared for some time before looking up and saying, “You are Luca Růžička.”

Luca sighed and tugged on his soaking wet jeans. His black Converses squelched on his feet and he scratched at a mosquito bite on his forehead.

Ranghild Peeters, the beautiful and incredibly annoying second apprentice said, “You’re not supposed to pick at pimples. I’ve got a skin cleanser...” She stepped a bit away from him as the smell of Okefenokee swamp drifted up from the water leaking from Luca’s tennis shoes and dribbling on the Persian rug.

Luca snapped, “It’s a mosquito bite.”

“Yeah, right,” said Ranghild.

“You try sloshing around in a swamp to get a bucket of ‘water clear of duckweed, water clear of waste’ and see how long you can keep the mosquitoes from eating you alive!”

Sidaji looked at her and said, “You are Ranghild Peeters.”

She blew her startlingly raven black bangs up her forehead and said, “Yes, Immortal One. Now, can we get on with the transformation. I’ve got things I have to do today.”

Luca muttered, “Like flirt with every guy in Minneapolis?”

Ranghild shook her head, “We’re broken up. Get over it.”

“I didn’t break anything up. You dumped me.”

“Only because you’re being such a...”

Sidaji the Immortal straightened up, lifted his arms and thundered, “Silence!” The thunder was literal as the windows of the mansion they were living in on Mt. Curve Avenue overlooking Lowry Park shook in their frames. Only Luca and Ranghild’s unity spells kept them from shattering. Across the street in the park, an autumn flock of common egrets took wing, rising up in a cloud of white stark against the golds, reds, oranges, and browns of the pond.

The wizard looked down on them, having swelled to twice his usual height. The floor beneath him creaked as he stepped toward them, saying, “þearf sy  forþsetennes héafodcwide manian gescaep lifiendee!”*

They looked at each other, shrugged, and Ranghild said, “Your Immortal Greatness, we are currently in the early part of the 21^st Century. I’m not sure shouting in Old English will accomplish anything. Especially as neither one of us can understand it. You enchanted us with this century’s English vocabulary.”

Sidaji stared at her, blinked, then said, “I seem to be having some trouble remembering things today.” The wizard’s apprentices both stepped back in unison, finding that the grand piano behind them blocked their retreat. Sidaji laughed, rattling the chandelier in the entryway.

“You’re immortal!” Luca exclaimed.

“What do you mean you’re having trouble remembering?” Ranghild exclaimed.

Sidaji pushed his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing heavily tattooed forearms. His hands were blunt – the hands of a farmhand rather than a dandified city boy – and his nails, while clean and trimmed, the nails of a man who had worked for his livelihood. He looked at his hands, studying them for a moment. Then he looked at his apprentices. He smiled and said, “My body is immortal, child. There was never any guarantee that my memories would be immortal as well.”

They looked at each other and Sidaji laughed again. “What are you laughing at?” Luca said.

“The two of you are acting like you’re in a movie. Are you really that much in love that you can’t think independently?”

Both of them, temporarily frozen in age as teenagers and prone to forget that they had actually been born in 11^th Century Denmark and the Kingdom of Bohemia, were neither teenagers nor Americans and effectively his slaves – blushed furiously. Sidaji waved them away, remembering at the last moment to disempower the gesture, said, “That doesn’t seem to help me remember how to turn this swamp water into botulism infected water.” He looked at them and added, “Why are we going to poison the water supply of Minneapolis?”

Names: ♀ Denmark, Belgium ; ♂ Austria, Czechoslovakian

Translation: (From Old English – http://www.oldenglishtranslator.co.uk/) “There is far more of import here than your mortal sex lives!”

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

POSSIBLY IRRITATING ESSAYS: Mary Poppins and Her Journey Into and OUT OF Pain

NOT using the Programme Guide of the 2020 World Science Fiction Convention, ConZEALAND (The First Virtual World Science Fiction Convention; to which I be unable to go (until I retire from education)), I WOULD jump off, jump on, rail against, and shamelessly agree with the BRIEF DESCRIPTION given in the pdf copy of the Program Guide. But not today. This explanation is reserved for when I dash “off topic”, sometimes reviewing movies, sometimes reviewing books, and other times taking up the spirit of a blog an old friend of mine used to keep called THE RANTING ROOM…

I’ve never read any of the Mary Poppins books, though I think I might take a stab at it sometime in the near future, now that I’m retired. There’s a link to them below, briefly summarizing them as well as talking about the number of media presentations PL Travers’ books have been made into.

I’ll be talking about the films here. The first MP was made in 1964. I was seven years old, and my parents took me and my brothers and sister to see it at the TERRACE Theater in downtown Robbinsdale (sadly, it was bulldozed long ago...) It was also the first movie I’d ever seen. It left a deep impression on me and when I saw it several times afterward as a teen, young adult, and eventually a father and grandfather, it had the same, profound effect on me: I was transported in time and place to the world PL Travers had created.

Growing up in the egalitarian and racist late 50s, 1960s, and 1970s, I knew nothing of nannies or wealth or magic, really. My father was a construction worker and my mother stayed home with us until my sister started kindergarten. I’m six years older than my sister, so I was in 6^th grade the fall my mother got a job in the schools as a playground supervisor. Not that she didn’t work then, but she certainly didn’t DRIVE until then!

At any rate, my life was nothing like that of the British Banks children; and I can guarantee that my life wasn’t magic in the least. In fact, I started to read science fiction when I reached sixth grade (an event I detailed here: https://faithandsciencefiction.blogspot.com/2016/09/possibly-irritating-essay-gateway.html and here https://faithandsciencefiction.blogspot.com/2012/11/possibly-irritating-essay-how-science.html). I never really took to fantasy, except for LOTR and NARNIA, but the sense of “magic” engendered by the SF books I read as a kid definitely drew me to a career as a science teacher.

However, it was the character of Mr. Banks that drew me as an adult. While my father was a general laborer rather than a bank manager, he also had something of a drinking problem, one incident in particular inspired me to being the teetotaler I am today. There was something though about Banks and Dad that let me watch the films with fascination; while the Banks of the movies was proper, my dad was…a general laborer, rough, tumble, softball-playing, weekly bowling kind of guy.

He was, however a reader, and what he often read was science fiction (though, come to think of it, I never did ask him WHAT science fiction he read while I was growing up.) He also watched STAR TREK, the original series, and as it turned out, we watched it together.

In addition to be being a man’s man, my dad was crazy about sports – he’d played football and basketball and track as a high school kid, and as I said, he played softball from the Over-30s League all the way through the Over-40s, and Over-50s Leagues, eventually becoming the “coach” of the Bob’s Lookout Supper Club’s team. The supper club opened in 1958, the year after I was born, and was owned and operated by Bob Kinnan (https://www.lookoutbarandgrill.com/about-us/1958 ) who was also one of Dad’s oldest friends. Mom would tell the story of how they drove out through cow pastures in the dark (no lights on the roads in the country in those days!) trying to find Bob’s Lookout. With me in her arms, she told Dad he’d drive ten more minutes and it he didn’t find it by then, he could take her home. Pronto! He found it, and the rest is history.

At any rate, my dad’s consuming occupation was sports.

And mine was reading. He never really understood that and my brothers and sister (and even Mom, who’d done some fencing for the University of Minnesota(!) were all jocks. And I emphatically was NOT a jock. (With one of the most embarrassing questions in my life, I asked the pre-7^th grade PE teacher who was tasked with talking to us incipient adolescents and herding us into the wonders of junior high PE, “What’s an athletic supporter?” I never forgot the responses from the other boys in the room…)

At any rate, while Dad and I were never close until his ultimate collision with Alzheimer’s Disease, we shared STAR TREK; we shared at adventure in imagination to which I am STILL addicted to this very moment!

The genre helped me grow up; it gave me not only a place to hide, but it also gave me a vision to look up and beyond the “present” of my mostly miserable adolescence.

How does all of this intersect with MARY POPPINS, MARY POPPINS RETURNS, and SAVING MR. BANKS? Well, for me, all of the films are about redemption. Not only the redemption of Mr. Banks, but of Michael, his son John, and Helen Lyndon Goff (better known as PL Travers and whose father was Travers Robert Goff).

All of them are eventually saved, not by their parents, but by Mary Poppins – even Helen Goff is saved from despair by Mary Poppins, who in all of those lives didn’t work MAGIC, but Human love. It was never about Magic, but about love. Michael Banks remains deeply wounded and the death of his wife nearly crushes him – but in the end, he, too is healed, just as HIS father was. He deals with his grief and moves forward; as Mr. Banks did, as his son will, and as Helen Goff did – and she succeeded in casting a profound influence (with the help of Walt Disney and BBC Entertainment.)

And along the way, PL Travers & Co even saved me a bit…

Reference: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mary_Poppins_(book_series)

Image: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/4/40/PL_Travers.jpg/220px-PL_Travers.jpg

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 458

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: Android and Detective

Current Event: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=arIJm2lAfR8

 Aiden Rakotomolala and Gargaaro Sukarno stared at the cow-shaped robot. Aiden said, "This is what they gave us?"

 Gargaaro -- she preferred Ro to her whole name -- said, "That's what they said.

 "A robot cow?"

 The robot said, "I am not a cow, but a mule. And I am an artificial intelligence. I prefer to be called Ferocious Veldt Roarer. You can call me Ferocious."

 Aiden burst out laughing, "How about I call you Cow Roarer?"

 "That would not..." the robot began.

 Ro laughed as well, "I know my name's funny, but yours? We can call you Cower for short!"

 Cower would have scowled if she'd had a face. Or skin. Or a head. As it was, she said, "I'm not programmed to have feelings or a sense of humor, so I'll call you Rack and Gargoyle."

 Aiden exclaimed, "Hey! That's not funny!"

 Ro scowled, "At least yours doesn't comment on your looks."

 "True, but it does make a comment on his intelligence -- roughly that of a cue ball in a game of billiards."

 Aiden opened his mouth to protest as the door to garage opened from the police station side. The pair of officers who strode in were imposing and grim. The male, short, dark, and scowling, whose uniform seemed barely able to control the musculature beneath; the female, tall, lithe, whose own musculature owed more to the maraging steel cable than muscle and whose face gave away absolutely nothing. She was the one who said, "What a wonder. A billion dollars in training and manufacture, and all these three can do is act like middle school children."

The male shook his head, "It would be better if the two of us just went and did what we do best."

 "What? Kill people?"

 The male grinned -- and the two humans and even the robot took a step back.

The woman said, "I'd love to let the three of you bond and get to know each other, but there are two hundred school girls who have been taken hostage in southern Brazil by JHB."

 "Who?" Rack, Gargoyle, and Cower said in unison.

 The woman looked at the man, who grinned. "See. I said they would."

 Again, RGC spoke as one when they said, "That we would what?" Aiden and Ro looked at each other. Ferocious abruptly sprouted spines along its back that quivered.

 "Synchronize," said the female. "We're sending you to southern Brazil to infiltrate and possibly extricate these girls. We suspect they're all dead."

 "What?" Rack, Gargoyle, and Cower exclaimed again.

 The male shrugged powerful shoulders and said, "Most likely there's nothing for you to do except learn to work together. On the off chance you might actually be able to do something, you've got your orders." He glanced at his female companion and the two snapped off a salute, turned and left the three alone.

 Cower said, "Great. Now I'm stuck with two teenage meat bags." It made an amazingly realistic sigh, and plopped down on one of its backsides.

 Names: ♀ Somalia, Indonesia; ♂ Australia, Madagascar         

Image: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/0/01/Ariane5_VA221_liftoff2.jpg/220px-Ariane5_VA221_liftoff2.jpg

Slice of PIE: The Future of Medicine in MY Worlds – and How Long I’ve Been Reading About It!

Using the Programme Guide of the 2020 World Science Fiction Convention, ConZEALAND (The First Virtual World Science Fiction Convention), I will jump off, jump on, rail against, and shamelessly agree with the BRIEF DESCRIPTION given in the pdf copy of the Program Guide. I will be using the events to drive me to distraction or revelation – as the case may be. The link is provided below where this appeared on). Thursday, July 30, 2020 at 1400 hours (aka 2:00 pm).

 Medicine in the Future: From Surgery in Zero G to New Treatments for Disease

 Health care is changing rapidly, with new methods, new instruments, and new drugs. And it'll change even more in future. Health care in space is complicated. Microgravity, cosmic radiation, distances ... it requires a lot of rethinking. Why doesn’t blood pool? Why are inhaled anesthetics risky to the surgeon as well as the patient?

 Z Aung: Doctor

Rivqa Rafael: Writer

Dr. Perrianne Lurie: Public Health Physician

Benjamin Hewett: NASA Management Analyst 

OK – so none of these people write SF about any kind of medicine…that was probably…less interesting than it could have been.

I’ve been reading science fiction with doctors in it since I was thirteen – FRANKENSTEIN (1818) by Mary Shelley, DOCTOR TO THE GALAXY (1965) by AM Lightner, STAR SURGEON (1959) by Alan E. Nourse, the SECTOR GENERAL novels of James White (1962), the STAR DOC series (2010) by SL Viehl, and (of course) ANDROMEDA STRAIN (1972) (and other medic-ally books by Michael Crichton, SPACESHIP MEDIC (1970) by Harry Harrison, I AM LEGEND (1954) by Richard Matheson as well as the ones listed below. My favorite author, Julie Czerneda has a series that’s clearly based on biology and medicine, the SPECIES IMPERATIVE (2004); and an old standby, David Brin’s UPLIFT (1980) universe books.

I’m at work on a series (unpublished so far) in which two cultures – one recklessly genetic engineers whose definition of Human is so broad as to be effectively useless; the other relentlessly hard technologists whose definition of Human is someone who is 65% or more Original Human DNA (as compared to the Original Human Genome Project – 2003) – and if you’re not, you are not Human, but a sort of smart animal.

In it, a character whose genes are easily cloned,[much as the cancer cells of Henrietta Lacks were for the first “immortalized Human cell line” as detailed by Rebecca Skloot (2010), The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henrietta_Lacks)], has been repeatedly cloned since the mid-21^st Century because he is what they have discovered, a “moral soldier”; quite different from the disastrous cloning work Humanity did to create the “perfect soldier”. (Which I HAVE written about, the first story being “Road Veterinarian” (ANALOG, September/October 2019)). They did, and then spent almost a century eradicating that gene line.

I want to play with this concept, but I would have loved to have listened in on the discussion (if there was one! It was the World’s First Virtual Science Fiction Convention; not sure if they Google Met, Zoomed, or some other platformed…

At any rate, the issues I’m looking at in a novel (the wip title is REFORMATION IN THE SKIES OF RIVER or possibly just IN THE SKIES OF RIVER) I’ve started working on, are the ones above. As well, medical practices and health care are also something I’m sure they talked about, though I find myself hoping it didn’t devolve into a “Smash Trump” tirade about Universal Health Care and how that will solve all of our problems (as well as creating new gun laws to stop gang fighting…oh, doesn’t seem to have worked in Sweden, either…and then devolving into a political rally…)

Sorry, didn’t mean to go there, but like everything else, medicine has become a highly charged political topic – rightly so, actually – but it could do without the political posturing and virtue signaling that appear to go with it.

I don’t think ANY of the books above actually deal with health care so to speak! The medical miracles just appear to “happen” without research or any kind of inequity or disagreement. STAR TREK seems to have solved the problem: “ Later on, while Kirk was having dinner with Gillian Taylor in a restaurant and was unable to pay there, Gillian asked sarcastically, ‘Don't tell me they don't use money in the 23rd century,’ and Kirk earnestly replied, ‘Well, we don't.’” (Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home).

Even in some novels I’ve read recently, injured people are just “popped into the auto-doc” and fixed.

There’s something for me to consider here, and to tell you the truth, I’ve got an evern better handle on TSOR; so thanks!

Resources: https://medicalfuturist.com/category/science-fiction/

Program Book: https://sites.grenadine.co/sites/conzealand/en/conzealand/schedule

Image: https://www.sfcrowsnest.info/wp-content/uploads/2019/06/InCircleCurvedConZealand-80.jpg

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 457

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. Regarding horror, I found this insight in line with WIRED FOR STORY: “ We seek out…stories which give us a place to put our fears…Stories that frighten us or unsettle us - not just horror stories, but ones that make us uncomfortable or that strike a chord somewhere deep inside - give us the means to explore the things that scare us…” – Lou Morgan (The Guardian)

H Trope: immortality

Current Event: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Immortal_DNA_strand_hypothesis

http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3109559/

While the Wikipedia entry explaining the Immortal DNA strand isn’t exactly a current event, the second entry IS and though it is a medical paper and written in medical language, it happens to be significant to the life of our family.

To make this understandable to lay people, I’d like to use those worn-out tropes of horror: vampires.

Let’s just say that the vampire DNA strand is immortal, but because so many vampires were killed in the 19^th and early 20^th century by various vampire slayers such as Koshiko Kamiyama, John Averill, Twelve String Digby (http://www.fvza.org/tophunters.html), Van Helsing and Buffy, it has become widely spread and doesn’t produce vampires any more.

It’s lengendarily reported that the vampire slayings were in response to an outbreak of vampires in the 17^th and 18^th Centuries (http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/europe/the-real-vampire-slayers-397874.html).

It is the 21^st Century now and people travel everywhere all the time. A chance college meeting leads to romance for a couple with old, Eastern European roots – Curtis Allen is the result and he discovers his vampiric leanings not long after his mom is transferred to the 3M headquarters in Minneapolis. He attends a prestigious private high school…but the story begins when his dad has to tell him about the birds, the bees and the bloodlust…

“Listen, Vlad, you’re thirteen now, there are things you need to know about yourself…”

Vlad snorted, “Dad, I know all about sex, so you don’t…”

“I know you know all about sex! This has nothing to do with sex. It has to do with a family…problem.”

Vlad frowned and said, “What are you talking about?”

His dad cleared his throat. “Listen, son, this is hard for me to talk about, but it has to do with when you get passionate with a girl…”

Vlad laughed. “Dad, you know I’m gay, right?”

His dad sighed, “A father can hope, can’t he? It doesn’t matter the orientation. It’s just that when you get passionate, you can…nibble on people.”

Vlad had no idea why it happened, but he was abruptly so embarrassed, his pale skin flushed red. His throat got tight, and he suddenly found that his hands, sitting in his lap, were worthy of intense study. He managed to croak, “Dad…”

“Listen, son, I can’t sugar coat this, so I’m just gonna say it out loud…”

“Don’t, Dad!”

“You’re a vampire, son, and when you ‘nibble’ on people, you’re passing the virus to them.”

Of all the conversations he’d imagined having with Dad, this was one he’d never thought to rehearse. He opened his mouth then closed it. Finally he managed, “You mean anyone that…has ever had a bite…is gonna become a vampire?”

Names: ♂ Romania            

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

WRITING ADVICE: Short Stories – Advice and Observation #3: Ernest Hemingway “& Me”

It's been a while since I decided to add something different to my blog rotation. Today I’ll start looking at “advice” for writing short stories – not from me, but from other short story writers. In speculative fiction, “short” has very carefully delineated categories: “The Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America specifies word lengths for each category of its Nebula award categories by word count; Novel 40,000 words or over; Novella 17,500 to 39,999 words; Novelette 7,500 to 17,499 words; Short story under 7,500 words.”

I’m going to use advice from people who, in addition to writing novels, have also spent plenty of time “interning” with short stories. The advice will be in the form of one or several quotes off of which I’ll jump and connect it with my own writing experience. While I don’t write full-time, nor do I make enough money with my writing to live off of it...neither do most of the professional writers above...someone pays for and publishes ten percent of what I write. When I started this blog, that was NOT true, so I may have reached a point where my own advice is reasonably good. We shall see! Hemingway’s quote above will now remain unchanged as I work to increase my writing output and sales! As always, your comments are welcome!

Without further ado, then: Ernest Hemingway

An acknowledged master of the short story, Ernest Hemingway left a legacy of profound images and prose. “Because he began as a writer of short stories, Baker believes Hemingway learned to "get the most from the least, how to prune language, how to multiply intensities and how to tell nothing but the truth in a way that allowed for telling more than the truth.

“Hemingway called his style the iceberg theory: the facts float above water; the supporting structure and symbolism operate out of sight. The concept of the iceberg theory is sometimes referred to as the "theory of omission". Hemingway believed the writer could describe one thing (such as Nick Adams fishing in "The Big Two-Hearted River") though an entirely different thing occurs below the surface (Nick Adams concentrating on fishing to the extent that he does not have to think about anything else). Paul Smith writes that Hemingway's first stories, collected as In Our Time, showed he was still experimenting with his writing style. He avoided complicated syntax. About 70 percent of the sentences are simple sentences—a childlike syntax without subordination.”

He wrote some 80 short stories, and pioneered flash fiction with this diamond: “For Sale: Baby shoes, never worn.”

Brevity. Emotion. It’s what he was known for. Visceral. Real life. It did what I admonish the young writers to do in my class: “Make readers FEEL!”

Hemingway’s work was important enough that “The Old Man and the Sea” is still often required reading, even in this age of cancel culture. I imagine that someone still needs to represent dead, old, white guys in literature. It would be…strange to simply remove all such writers. They did write; they did say important things; and Hemingway is perhaps the likeliest candidate to keep around.

What does this mean to a speculative fiction writer? “The Snows of Kilimanjaro” (1936) begins like this:

“That’s how you know when it starts.”

“Is it really?”

“Absolutely. I’m awfully sorry about the odor though. That must bother you.”

“Don’t! Please don’t.”

“Look at them,” he said. “Now is it sight or is it scent that brings them like that?” The cot the man lay on was in the wide shade of a mimosa tree and as he looked out past the shade onto the glare of the plain there were three of the big birds squatted obscenely, while in the sky a dozen more sailed, making quick-moving shadows as they passed. “They’ve been there since the day the truck broke down,” he said. “Today’s the first time any have lit on the ground. I watched the way they sailed very carefully at first in case I ever wanted to use them in a story. That’s funny now.’”

While the title gives the location, with very few changes, the story might have fit in an issue of AMAZING STORIES, which debuted in 1926. By then ten years old, the magazine was well-established, though it lacked anything even resembling literary heft. What if Hemingway had written this story as it took place on the surface of Mars?

Hemingway’s short story prose was clean, almost to the point of being stark as opposed, say, Isaac Asimov’s first story, “Marooned Off Vesta” (1939):

“‘Will you please stop walking up and down like that?’ said Warren Moore from the couch. ‘It won't do any of us any good. Think of our blessings; we're airtight, aren't we?’

Mark Brandon whirled and ground his teeth at him. ‘I'm glad you feel happy about that,’ he spat out viciously. ‘Of course, you don't know that our air supply will last only three days.’ He resumed his interrupted stride with a defiant air.

Moore yawned and stretched, assumed a more comfortable position, and replied. ‘Expending all that energy will only use it up faster. Why don't you take a hint from Mike here? He's taking it easy.’

“Mike” was Michael Shea, late a member of the crew of the Silver Queen. His short, squat body was resting on the only chair in the room and his feet were on the only table. He looked up as his name was mentioned, his mouth widening in a twisted grin. ‘You've got to expect things like this to happen sometimes,’ he said. ‘Bucking the asteroids is risky business. We should've taken the hop. It takes longer, but it's the only safe way. But no, the captain wanted to make the schedule; he would go through,’ Mike spat disgustedly, ‘and here we are.’”

While Hemingway’s prose is terse, it delves. It digs. It makes me wonder. Asimov, whose stories and novels were among the first I read as a maturing science fiction reader, are indeed terse, but there’s no…subtext? Not sure exactly what I mean there. Let me see if I can show you:

Hemingway writes: “Now is it sight or is it scent that brings them like that?” The cot the man lay on was in the wide shade of a mimosa tree and as he looked out past the shade onto the glare of the plain there were three of the big birds squatted obscenely, while in the sky a dozen more sailed, making quick-moving shadows as they passed. “They’ve been there since the day the truck broke down…”

Asimov writes: ‘You've got to expect things like this to happen sometimes,’ he said. ‘Bucking the asteroids is risky business. We should've taken the hop. It takes longer, but it's the only safe way. But no, the captain wanted to make the schedule; he would go through,’ Mike spat disgustedly, ‘and here we are.’”

At this point in both stories, the protagonists are marooned. Hemingway communicates more than the scenery, though he does include it. He’s chosen vultures gathering to convey far more than the words themselves alone convey.

Asimov’s prose, while spare, is science fictiony fact-laden and doesn’t dig, nor does it use standard literary symbolism. Hemingway hints at imminent death by the arrival of the vultures (which aren’t named); Asimov explains the situation in spare words…but they lack emotion; they lack the depth of Hemingway’s allusions.

While you might think that this is an unfair comparison – surely current specfic short stories have matured to a point of, in some cases, Hemingway’s work.

Hemingway was born in 1899 and had one short story published in 1921, obviously when he was 21. Asimov was born in 1920 and “Marooned Off Vesta” appeared in AMAZING 1939 – obviously he was 19. They were, in fact contemporaries.

I’ve learned MUCH from Asimov’s novels and short stories.

Now, what can I learn from Hemingway’s short stories (which are, according to some, his BEST writing: “The un-romanticized beauty of Hemingway’s landscapes…and the haunting uncertainty of his characters’ internal struggles…are the real heart of the matter in [his] short stories. The repetition and bloviating that make his novels murky and ponderous are absent in his stories, so that…Hemingway forged…an American idiom as tight, indelible and flexible as a slow blues song played after everyone has left the bar.”

References: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ernest_Hemingway, https://lithub.com/on-the-art-and-influence-of-hemingways-short-stories/, https://antilogicalism.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/04/hemingway.pdf, http://www.e-reading-lib.com/chapter.php/82002/20/isaac-asimov-asimovs-mysteries.html

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