IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 173

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: Lost Vessel\Ghosts

Current Event: http://abcnews.g

o.com/International/wireStory/canada-finds-explorer-ships-lost-arctic-25375751

“Sounds like a made-for-podcast movie: ‘Erebus & Terror In The Northwest Passage’,” said Yousouf Ngo, sliding her iOS smartphone back at her across the table. “Not for me.”

“You can laugh, but there’s lots of creepy stuff surrounding those two ships. Just because the Canadians found them doesn’t mean it’s gonna be a good thing,” said Andrina Živković. She picked up her phone and continued to scroll. After a moment, she tapped it four times and a projected image sprang up between them.

“Can I still laugh even though your ideas about what happened are a proven pile of waa-waa? Only instead of laughing at the story and the ‘explorers’, I’m going to be laughing at you.”

Andrina shook her head, shooting a grin back at him. He may not have noticed the malicious glint in her eye. She said, “Ever hear of the Tuunbaq?”

“Boogeyman?”

She snorted, “No, demon monster.” She shot him a sideways look. “Didn’t your grandparents settle in northern Canada?”

He frowned. “Yeah, but what’s that got to do with anything?”

She shrugged, and even though she knew it would drain her battery faster, she upped the drain and pushed it into iLogram mode. The image of a creature – the demon formed between them.

“It’s a polar bear!” Yousouf exclaimed.

“Hardly. It’s a demon, and the legend says that it hunted each one of the crew down and slaughtered them.”

“They found three of the crew…”

“Sure – out of how many?”

He paused a long time before he said, “A hundred and thirty men. But others had been found! Is this demon monster Tuunuq thing gonna eat all of Canada?”

She lifted up a hand and turned on the sound of her smartphone as an announcer said, “Prime Minister Stephen Harper, long an advocate for discovering the remains of the British ships Erebus and Terror, and infamous for goading the unlikely alliance of Russia and United States into a trade war with Canada, has been assassinated.”

They looked at each other in shock then hunched over the phone as the reporter continued, “Preliminary reports posit a bomb being placed in the Prime Minister’s residence at 24 Sussex Drive, but security and military intelligence reports nothing like a bomb exploded on the grounds at any time. Surf back to us for continuing updates or follow us and link to our live data stream…”

Names: ♀ Arabia, Serbia ; ♂ Switzerland, Vietnam

Image: http://th08.deviantart.net/fs70/200H/i/2011/085/5/c/shardik_by_bonnysaintandrew-d3cizda.jpg

Slice of PIE: Hunting For Writing Success

On my (very) early Sunday morning bike ride before church, I took a bike trail that winds along a marshland, behind a metropolitan bus garage, light industrial park, and a large, three-star hotel (NOT motel).

The trail dropped down below grade to ride perfectly level with the current surface of the water – this trail is often submerged in the spring and any time after a summer rain.

Sunrise light was still a hundred meters overhead, gently brushing the highest ledge of the hotel when I abruptly traveled back in time to October of 2012. My son, one of the boldest risk-takers I know, had decided that year to prepare for and become a deer hunter. Hardly a stunning past-time. Thirteen percent of the population of Minnesota goes deer hunting and Minnesota is first nationally in the sales of fishing licenses per capita. However, he wanted to hunt with a BOW.

After weeks of practicing in his back yard, the season opened and we set off with our pop-up tent trailer. We were headed to the southeastern “foot” of the state and I’d rented us a spot at a campground not far from where my son had targeted our hunt on publicly owned land.

After getting lost, we scouted out the hunting site after work on Friday and prepared ourselves. We made weary camp, and after a meal and a campfire, we hit the sack and turned the cell phones on to wake us long, long, long before dawn.

The next morning, we set off for the hunt! What ensued was a fascinating tramp through the woods that ended with a trip and fall into a stream of REALLY cold water; a short afternoon nap as the temperatures soared into the seventies and an Indian Summer settled comfortably over  the decidedly-way-more-than-redneck campers packed into the campground, listening to the blaringly broadcast Vikings game, and a sundown tramp through the woods again. The next morning we did the same (without the dip in the stream), and still came up empty handed.

Different story, apparently disconnected, but same intent – biking to the library at six thirty in the morning on a Sunday doesn’t seem like a wise thing to do, but my intent wasn’t to check out a book. The ride gets more intense after the level meander alongside the edges of the swamp. It climbs a walking ramp over the interstate highway. This involves some serious pedaling, but after a summer of biking, it was completely in my power to do it without having a heart attack.

Once to the top, I had to carefully coast down on a spiral ramp so I wouldn’t go careening off into the creek, the interstate, or the lawn below.

So what does all of this have to do with writing, science fiction, or faith?

First of all, no matter how much I want to quit writing, I have to keep practicing. Every writer has to keep their practice up to stay sharp. When a writer stops writing – novels, articles, stories, OpEds, or essays – only one thing is inevitable: they get rusty. They may not produce work that is the same caliber as what they first produced. I’m not saying a writer can’t change direction and remake themselves. That happens and will continue to happen. But if you stop writing, you can’t help but get worse than when you stopped!

Inversely, you can’t help but get BETTER the more you practice – provided you continue to grow as a writer and learn. (See my other article for an opinion on what might happen if you just keep writing without learning: http://faithandsciencefiction.blogspot.com/2014/07/a-slice-of-pie-if-you-want-to-write.html) No matter how difficult the ride seems, I have to keep riding, keep practicing.

Connected to that is the observation that what is past is important and may have a bearing on the present. My bike ride brought back the empty-handed hunting experience with my son to remind me that writing is a LONG-TERM commitment and more often than not, I’m going to get my story back with a rejection. Success will neither be swift nor regular. Maybe superstar writers only produce books and stories that are instant best sellers or purchased by editors without hesitation, but Kristine Kathryn Rusch said, “Failure is an option. If the manuscript doesn’t work, I redraft—in other words, I throw out everything I did and try again. Yes, that means I write sometimes two or three times more material than the readers will see in print. And yes, that means I sometimes toss out more material than I publish.”

Those are incredibly encouraging words for me! How about you?

Resources: http://www.dnr.state.mn.us/faq/mnfacts/fishing.html

Image: http://www.wallpaperfo.com/thumbnails/detail/20130330/flames%20jennifer%20lawrence%20katniss%20everdeen%20the%20hunger%20games%20bow%20weapon%202560x1440%20wallpaper_www.wallpaperfo.com_19.jpg

LOVE IN A TIME OF ALIEN INVASION -- Chapter 20

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 to stop it is to physically construct a sort of membrane that will produce a canceling wave – generated from the rim of the Galaxy inward. The Braiders don’t DO physical stuff on that scale – 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 – and building the Membrane to stop the wave.

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 city 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, the Triads 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 and all of their biology ransacked for the correct Membrane pattern. (update: 5/2/2014)

I stood with the others in the underground garage, unmoving.

Zir and Pan were without their pack, though I suddenly noticed that Pan was heavy with pups. Ji-hi was without her herd, though I could see her pouch moving with what must have been a very young male – perhaps soon to emerge from her pouch. St. Admiral was without a partner, but I found myself suddenly wondering if her and Lieutenant Commander Patrick Bakhsh (ret)…I shuddered. There were some thoughts better left unthought.

St. Admiral said, “As the Corporation, boy child we are acting to move this Triad to a safer location.”

I couldn’t help myself, I said, “To do what?” The hairs on the back of my neck rose as the Triad fixed me with long gaze.

Finally Bakhsh said, “To keep you safe.”

I couldn’t help it. I snorted. “How are we in any kind of danger? This whole thing – us running is just to give us practice in case something happens, right?”

There was silence in the underground garage as all of us stared at me. Then Saint Admiral said softly, “I wouldn’t have put it that bluntly, dear, but we have little time to waste. We must send you into the North before this city is a radioactive crater and all of our hopes for survival of the Three are annihilated.”

“Why? The Yown’Hoo and Kiiote going after each other again?”

All of the Kiiote growled and the Herd surged forward. St. Admiral raised her hand and they backed up a bit. She said, “This time, no. The nuclear devices in place have been set by Humans who don’t want to see the war end. They want to see Humanity erased from the universe.”

Even Kashayla Kimpo bristled and exclaimed, “You expect us to believe that there are Humans who want to see Humanity dead? That would be insane!”

“There’ve always been Humans who hate Humanity. It’s a pathological condition we have named Taedet humano. They are out to kill all of us – or to encourage the Kiiote and the Yown’Hoo to do their dirty work for them.”

The female Kiiote said, “We need no help hating the Yown’Hoo. That is how we have been bred. But we care nothing for Humans.” It looked at St. Admiral.

The male added, “We do wish to survive as a people and if it is necessary to encourage the survival of the Herd and begin to take notice of Humanity, then it is necessary and who are we to fight the will of the universe?” His mate snarled her emphasis.

The Herd Mother said, “We need no help hating the Pack – their kind scourged our world until we destroyed them all. We discovered too late that the Pack is what drove us to superiority and when they were gone, we came so close to falling back to our non-sentient beginnings that...” he tentacles whipped out, both cracking in anger. “But we are not extinct and that is without thanks but in understanding that it was Kiiote who rescued us. Now we must not thank Humans.”

I only barely understood what she was saying, but I bowed to her. The others in our Triad pressed together. The lieutenant looked totally confused and so did St. Admiral. They all turned to me – the leaders of the intelligent universe.

The Kiiote howled, the Herd Mother stamped, Bakhsh clapped his hands, and St. Admiral nodded slowly. Backing away, I exclaimed, “What?”

“This is why we need all of you!” Bakhsh said. “You knew what she was talking about – you should see all of your faces! You knew what she meant and accepted it within your own psychological matrices. None of us understood her. That,” he jabbed a finger at us, “is why we risk everything to get you out of here.”

Image: http://media.dcentertainment.com/sites/default/files/GalleryChar_1900x900_GLANN_v2_12-13_52ab88d8e8f6b1.37196289.jpg

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 172

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.

Fantasy Trope: magic

Current Event: http://paganwiccan.about.com/od/magicandspellwork/f/Is_Magic_Real.htm

Jakob Josef-Büchel fingered the crest of his grandfather’s homeland then looked up at the piece of it that rested in the box in his lap. With his cell phone tucked between his shoulder and cheek he said, “I just got a box with a golden horn with a gold strap on it.”

Kiena Onorio said, “Sounds cheesy. Just throw it away…”

“I don’t think it’s something I can throw away.”

“Why not?” You have boat loads of junk at your house from your fancy-pants family. You must the only one who celebrates being from the smallest country on Earth.”

“I wouldn’t talk! Kiribati’s awfully small.” Kiena snorted. He knew there was no way she could argue. Instead he said, “How about we settle the argument once and for all?”

“I’ll be over in a minute,” she said. He lived across the street, on Embassy Row on the island nation of New Zealand. She scaled the wall between their compounds, waving at the security guard who watched her. She hated the fact that he thought the two of them were having sex. He wouldn’t have cooperated even if they were the last couple on Earth. He was deeply in love with…

She reached his window and said, “What do you have in mindtwo stones of red coral, one fruit of the non-tree, one old coconut, the first leaf of a seed nut, and the strong green leaf of an old tree”

“A contest,” he said, holding up the horn. She blinked in surprise. The way he’d described it made it sound like it was a cheap movie prop. But the solidity of it, even from across the room, made her feel vaguely uneasy.

She stepped back. “What are you talking about?”

He made a face then said, “What something from Kiribati that you know of that’s supposed to be magic?”

“Magic?”

He held up the horn easily, tossed it in the air, caught it and said, “Yeah. This thing’s supposed to have magical powers. We can figure out who’s got the best country by having a magic contest.”

“I don’t believe in magic,” she replied.

“Right. Is that why you keep make all those little pictures of us together then burning them with an incense stick – because you don’t believe in magic?”

“How do you…” He lifted his chin to the telescope on the veranda of his room. She’d always assumed it was there because his mother was a world renowned amateur astronomer as well as an ambassador to the Democratic Republic of Cameroun. “You didn’t think I liked space, did you?”

She could see where the conversation was going, so she said abruptly, “There’s this old legend that involves two stones of red coral, one fruit of the non-tree, one old coconut, the first leaf of a seed nut, and the strong green leaf of an old tree.”

“Sounds like a lot of crap to me,” Jakob said, laughing.

“The Kiribati stuff is supposed to help me establish a kingdom. What’s that stupid horn supposed to do?”

“When it is blown, the way I hear the story when I was little, it will revive the Kingdom of Bohemia with me as King.”

She shrugged. “So?”

He grinned, “Maybe you’ve heard of the Third Reich, then?”

Names: ♀Kiribati; ♂ Liechtenstein

Image: https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj82TF_hegi6QggJxMxB5uqzg7pqfS2eLJj-7_jfaW0y9CUQfkgVA7oUD_aEc33OF0vKKW9Rn7n1hueALaLr2hf35hebmNv7X0dAiQlLrqztfUW7yLSCn4n9XU4L-yVNwQ3zhtSSH7uBPU/s640/OLYMPICS-PHOENIX_510.jpg