LOVE IN A TIME OF ALIEN INVASION 10

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

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

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

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

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

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

“One good reason.”

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

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

“What...Triad...” Shayla stammered.

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

“They don’t...”

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

“There were no survivors!” I said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They’re watching us?”

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

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

“How do we know...” Towt began.

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

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

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

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 140

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

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

Current Event: “The Jade Warrior”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah yes, artistic license.

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

Yeah.

Right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Please DO NOT PUT WORDS IN MY MOUTH!

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

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

They feel GUILTY.

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

I feel for this, only shame.

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

MARTIAN HOLIDAY 49: Paolo Enroute

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was there a deeper message?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 139

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t say for sure.”

“Why not?”

“I’m a geologist...”

“You mean a Eurologist?”

“That makes me sound like a bladder specialist!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Names: ♀ Russia, Mongolian; ♂ Mongolian, Pakistan

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

INTERNET DOWN SINCE THURSDAY!!!!!

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

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

Guy

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 138

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sixteen,” she replied.

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

this?”

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

“What’s that?”

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

“So you can detect monsters?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Duh.”

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

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

“It’s a monument…”

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

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

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

Google-butt-Irritating But I'm Not Changing Because What I Use I'm Comfortable With...

Testing...Because I REFUSE to use Google-butt-Chrome, I now get ERROR messages warning me of DIRE CONSEQUENCES if I don't use Chrome instead of IE...

It's irritating, but no matter to me. I'll use what I feel comfortable with -- Chrome is unreliable and irritating to use. Also, Google-butt is mad because I refuse to use a gmail address, but again, I am comfortable with my Hotmail.com -- and they can threaten and irritate me all they want because try as they might, they cannot FORCE me to do anything.

So -- go ahead and irritate, Google. I'm comfortable. And you know the old adage about the couch potato and the microwave...

Slice of PIE: Bathrooms in Space and Teen/YA Fiction

I’m sure Star Trek Fans noticed that the first time we ever SAW a bathroom on the Enterprise that was actually used was in the movie, INSURRECTION in which Picard was washing his face after a particularly disturbing nightmare. The website Memory Alpha doesn’t really do anything to dispute this except to mention times and places that we have “caught a glimpse of” a bathroom – oh, and it tells us what the Ferengi call their bathrooms...

I suppose the reason for this is that bathrooms are so nasty we all ignore the fact that we even HAVE bathrooms.

Oh wait, that’s not true either.

After a week of watching dozens of HGTV show episodes, I can say with a certain amount of authority that bathrooms are mentioned an uncountable number of times! Point of fact: “Aside from the kitchen, which most homebuyers consider to be the most important room in the house, the bathrooms are considered a key selling point…‘Our second-favorite room is the bath,’ said Joan McCloskey, a former Better Homes and Gardens Magazine editor who talked about new-home buyer trends at this year's International Builder Show.” (http://www.realtor.com/home-finance/real-estate/sellers/bathroom-shine-home-selling.aspx?source=web)

So we don’t mention bathrooms in science fiction – and I’m going to focus specifically on children’s/middle grade/teen/YA science fiction in particular – because...why?

Let’s see if this observation of mine is really true. The Golden Duck Award is given annually to science fiction written for young people – you can find the website here: http://www.goldenduck.org/winner.php. Of those that I read, I cannot remember a single reference to anyone going to the bathroom!

Maybe this is where we lost our young adults, middle graders, and children. Maybe the simple realism of bathrooms in their lives NOT being represented in science fiction has driven them away?

How important is the bathroom to people under 25? From birth through two or three or four, adults hover over children, awaiting the golden day when they “use the potty chair”. Parents dream of days without diapers. After that, the struggle ensues to get the elementary children to USE the shower or bathtub to wash off the grime of hard days of playing. Finally…well, let me ask this: How many of you have ever anxiously awaited the exit of a teenager from the bathroom? How many of you have stood in a high school restroom for even a few moments (and this goes for both boys and girls rooms!) while an endless line of teens primped in front of a mirror?

How can anyone think that the bathroom is less important to under 25s than it is to their home-buying elders?

I became aware of this because of a convention I recently attended. The Guest of Honor was hard science fiction writer Jack McDevitt and in one of the sessions mentioned that few writers even mention bathrooms despite the fact that one of the first questions children ask astronauts is “How do you go to bathroom in space?” This is so common that in May of 2011, TIME online ran the following story: http://newsfeed.time.com/2011/05/05/everyone-poops-how-do-astronauts-go-to-the-bathroom-in-space/

The upshot of this is that EVERYONE who writes for children/middle graders/teens/YA MUST include at the very least a sentence in which “They Went Into The Bathroom And Came Out A Bit Later”.

If they don’t, I won’t vote for them in the Andre Norton Award any more.

So there.

Image: https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkqPEUIHn_zAlwFq3NsUvtBN1JLsK4K_SDu-YwgjqLEiNV3O8Qp7F70PYa-cymbdMDRm4XR1h-DmECOsFVgIim-oEJIPmCXpwsWRwZDOAuQ_11AVJI7SA_lPprfOnr2EDrAHJiVe57ack/s1600/7-Star-Trek-enterprise.png