IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 218

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: “All Planets Are Exactly Like Earth http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/AllPlanetsAreEarthLike

Current Event: http://arstechnica.com/science/2015/07/a-super-earth-found-in-the-habitable-zone-of-a-sun-like-star/

Hamsa Mohmand squirmed in his wheelchair and muttered, “This isn’t exactly how I envisioned meeting an alien welcoming committee.”

“Be happy the *trill*Geh are willing to meet with us at all,” said Layan Joya. “There are indications their culture has no tolerance for handicaps.”

“We’re not handicapped!” Hamsa exclaimed.

“To them we are. Now be quiet.” The airlock from the lander to the outdoors irised open. A fresh breeze blew across their faces. Layan said, “Dill weed.”

“Lemon.”

“Alien,” she said, then sneezed. She glanced at Hamsa, eyes wide, “What if we’re allergic to them?”

“Allergens would have shown up in analysis. There’s never been a meeting so carefully coordinate and planned as this one.”

“Yeah, from fourteen hundred light years away!”

“Good thing we have the q-no.” The quantum nonlocality device allowed them to speak with anyone on Earth without delay. Their first encounter with the *trill*Geh was being broadcast back on Earth in every format and language.

“A lot of good that’s done us…”

“Quiet, they’re here.” A broad moving platform on multiple small wheels rode up to the foot of the ship’s gangplank. On it lay a living being that looked like a biological version of the vehicle – wide, flattened, and covered with what appeared to be gray leaves that lifted and fell in a rhythmic, faintly nauseating pattern. “Watching them never made me feel queasy from the ship,” she whispered.

“It’s the direct contact and the smells and the double gravity – all together. One of the braniacs on Earth said this might happen.” He sneezed.

The *trill*Geh moved off the vehicle with a sinuous, millipede-like stride. The forward portion of the creature lifted from the ground and four pairs of tentacles unrolled. The tips of the uppermost two and lowermost two twisted together, the central four stretched out at forty degrees from each other. The effect was of a six-pointed star. At the top was a crown of blue cilia that never stopped moving. Abruptly, every one of the leaves stuck out and the *trill*Geh dropped to the ground. It was instantly back on all of its feet again.

“What was that?”

“I have a funny, unfunny feeling about this…”

Names: ♀ Afghanistan; ♂  Afghanistan

Image: http://36.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m0g6m7gyRx1r102r6o1_500.jpg

POSSIBLY IRRITATING ESSAYS: Success Equals Profound Peace…Not!

[Note: This turned out to be WAY harder to write than I thought it would be!]

In an article I read every year to my students in writing classes I teach, Laura Resnick delineates the progression of writers bemoaning their fate when she points out that no matter WHERE they are in their career, some people want the next level more than they want to enjoy where they are…“I have seen this sort of thing often. (And not just from aspirants, alas.) Someone is ‘lucky’ to be a pro, so sell novels, to break into hardcover, to crack the bestseller list, to get a six-figure advance, to have two publishers, to be under contract for four books, to work steadily for years, and so on...”

Let me share my own experience.

Somewhere around 1982 (thirty-plus years ago), I was about 25 and had finally started submitting my stories seriously. I’d sent out one of the stories – I think it was called “Dogie” – to the offset print magazine called ANTITHESIS. I was renting a room in someone else’s house, substitute teaching, and just getting my feet wet in the “real” world.

One day, I got an acceptance letter from the editors.

I wept. *

A few years later, I was married, a father, and a full-time middle school science teacher. I was still sending out stories, hoping against hope that I would get a publication again. One day, my wife called me at work. I’d gotten a SMALL letter in the mail from ANALOG SCIENCE FICTION AND FACT. She asked if I wanted her to open it, I said, “Yes! Yes!”

She did, and there was an acceptance letter from Stanley Schmidt.

I wept.

Then I put together a collection of children’s science sermons, shopped it around, and sold it. I did a curious thing – I belittled it in my mind because it wasn’t with a big publisher, I’d sold all rights for $100, and it had been so easy to write, it had practically written itself.

I scorned.

Last week, my editor at MuseItUp Publishing sent me an email to say that my first SF novel, “Emerald [of Earth] made it to Amazon's Top 100 Best Sellers in Children's Sci-Fi Aliens books.”

I wept.

Despite my meteoric, twenty year climb to success (see what I mean – even when I’m examining this strange response…I HAVE the very response!) After each achievement, I found myself quickly, BLITHELY^ discarding the accomplishment and shifting my “hopes and dreams” to the next level.

Really fast.

Maybe even, too fast.

While I’m not saying that I wasn’t “supposed to” do that – how else would I have reached it to ANALOG or Amazon.com if I didn’t continually challenge myself, moving the goal farther and farther out?–  I find that, like SOME writers, I moved on without proper celebration of reaching a long-sought-after goal.

“You’ve surely heard it before, celebrating even small successes will help to keep you motivated and energized...There are those who will... remind you it is more important to be humble and focus on learning from your failures than celebrating your wins…there’s a measure of truth to each...[but]consider…that there is a significant difference between shouting your success to the world, and giving yourself permission to feel joy and satisfaction; to acknowledge the measure of dedication and courage...it took to achieve your goal...increases positive emotions such as self-respect, happiness, and confidence...there is a growing body of research that associates cultivating positive emotions on a regular basis with psychological well-being, resilience and living longer.”

At this late date, I find myself bothered by the response. Will I end up being like Laura Resnick’s “aspiring-and-not-just-aspiring” writers, dissatisfied forever; always wanting more; victim of what I call the “Adam & Eve Syndrome”?

I will HAVE to work harder to stay out of this trap. But what is the alternative to the “a-a-n-j-a” writer’s dissatisfaction? Maybe I can ask around to some of my writer friends and bring quotes back that might shed light on this…

References: *(The story was never published because the magazine went under, but that’s a different writer’s horror story altogether…); ^ “without thought or regard; carefree; heedless: a blithe indifference to anyone's feelings.”

Resources: http://www.emotionallyresilientliving.com/why-you-should-always-acknowledge-achievements

Image: http://img.chinalovematch.net/files/blog/image/479/201104252330130546742.jpg

MARTIAN HOLIDAY 71: Stepan Back to the Rim

 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 (50,000 words as of now), drop me a line and I’ll send you the unedited version.

Stepan Izmaylova, who’d once been known as Natan Wallace-Gillard, “Hero of the Faith Wars”,  looked down at the blue adolescent and said, “You’re really just a kid, then.”

Quinn, an Artificial Human snorted, wiped his nose on his sleeve, then said, “Yeah, I might be thirteen, but the stuff I seen’s gotta make me older…”

Stepan sighed, nodded, then squeezing his shoulder, said, “Yeah, son. It made me older, too.” He paused. “It made me older, too.” Another sigh, and he said, “Let’s get home, Quinn.”

As Quinn was leading, they caught the five o’clock local time garbage run. The carts crisscrossed the surface beneath the city of Burroughs, transporting the waste of half a million people to where it could be processed and recycled. Typically, the facilities were on the Rim of the original Burroughs Dome – a dilapidated, run down area perpetually layered with fine red dust, which was the final resting place of the Dome’s indigent inhabitants. No one was really “poor” on Mars. But there were those who had more than others. No one literally starved to death on Mars – no matter what the tabletoids screamed from the fanciful headlines. But vitamin D deficiency, along with its multiple problems of bone weakness, increased cardiovascular disease, cog-impairment in the elderly, asthma in kids – especially young Artificial Humans of any size or appearance, diabetes, and even cancers; was a profound problem on the Rim. Supplements were expensive and reserved for the middle and upper classes, natural sunlight...it went without saying that with the Sun not-quite twice as far from Mars as it was from Earth, the intensity of sunlight would be that much less. Even if an average Martian lay out in the full light of day, stark naked, every day, their body would only just barely synthesize enough vitamin D to keep them healthy.

Rimmers didn’t have that luxury. The ones who found work had the dirtiest jobs in the Dome. Those who didn’t spent most of their days “dumpster-diving” in the depths…

"Quinn?”

The blue boy looked up as they took an industrial lift from the underground back to the surface. They weren’t alone. Plenty of Rimmers were heading up to some space they’d carved out of the city above to make their home. After their trip to the HOD though, Stepan noticed the ripe smell; hating himself momentarily for noticing. The boy said, “’Sup, Bossman?”

“Don’t call me that,” Stepan began.

“OK, Bossman. ‘sup?”

“You eat mushrooms?”

He wrinkled his nose, genuine distaste on the blue face. “Hate ‘em, so, no, I don’t.”

“Where’d you get them from?”

“The underground. They grow on the walls.”

Stepan pursed his lips. “That’s mold, not mushrooms.”

Quinn shrugged. “Same thing.” The lift doors opened. It was night and the Dome was transparent, letting in the dust-fuzzed light of the stars.

 “No, they aren’t. Mushrooms – good ones – can give a you vitamin so you don’t get the soft bone disease.”

“Rickets? Yeah – and I’ve seen elders who’re losing their cog, real Human and aych,” he used the phrase Artificial Humans used for themselves rather than the derogatory inti they’d used above, “kids whose got bad asthma, and that blood sugar thing.”

“Diabetes,” Stepan said, staring down at Quinn. “You know about that?”

“Who don’t?” Looking up at Stepan he laughed and said, “I’m artificial, not STUPID!”

Stepan laughed as well, adding, “Well, we’ll grow mushrooms in the dark of the warehouse and raise chickens and grow vegetables on the roof. All of those are high in vitamin D…” he patted the antigrav plate his father had lent him. They walked with the crowd as men, women, children, and aychs peeled away. Soon they were at the edge of the warehouse district. They’d passed the first one when two blue men stepped out of the shadows, pulled out knives and said, “Give it.”

Image: http://cache4.asset-cache.net/gc/dv1535067-rear-view-of-a-buddhist-monk-kneeling-on-the-gettyimages.jpg?v=1&c=IWSAsset&k=2&d=eH0hXXJtSoPADooyLEMff8OVmXjNySNMiN4gIdwZA8M%3D

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 217

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: The Blank (one with no face…)

Current Event: http://patch.com/illinois/joliet/ex-con-charged-blowing-dogs-face-firework-surrenders-cops-0

Laurențiu Gabor pursed his lips and looked over at his partner, saying, “Can we believe them?”

“I don’t see why not,” said Tereza Dalca. “We know the guy blew the face off the dog.”

“Does it follow that there’s a faceless dog roaming the streets of Minneapolis though?” Laurentiu said.

“We can ask the victim and her dead daughter,” Tereza said, “but I’d really rather not call up that psychic again. He gave me the creeps.”

Laurentiu snorted, “He gave you the flu – on purpose.”

She shrugged. “We have to catch the thing before it kills again.”

“I’m open to ideas,” he said, tapping the computer screen to clear the file. “Animal Control hasn’t had any luck…”

 “Luck is something you have your financial advisor buy on the Spell Exchange. We’re a bureaucracy – we have to order our stuff after filling out the forms in quintuplicate.”

Laurentiu scowled. “We have to do something. What if the thing’s developed a taste for kids?”

Tereza gripped her lower lip between her pointer finger and thumb, rolling it thoughtfully. Finally she said, “There’s always your nephew.”

“He’s twenty-one now! Not like last time!”

“Yeah, but he looks like a kid. He’d be perfect. We know where the looney blew the dog’s face off. We know where the kid was attacked and killed. So we send your innocent looking…”

Laurentiu snorted, saying, “He’s about as innocent as any other twenty-one-year-old...”

 “Exactly!”

Neither of them noticed the pit bull laying quietly on the ground under the dumpster. Neither one of them would have been able to detect the invisible leash or the invisible woman holding the leash unless they’d been looking closely to see the glamour’s shimmer. They would not have appreciated her wicked grin if they’d seen her. They also wouldn’t have appreciated the way she tugged on the faceless dog’s leash – especially because her own face was mostly missing as well…

Names: ♀ Romania; ♂ Romania

Image: http://l1.alamy.com/thumbs/4/727ad00d-6722-45c1-b634-92840d39156e/CF6CKX.jpg

WRITING ADVICE: What Went RIGHT With “Technopred” (Aurora Wolf, May 2013) Guy Stewart #21

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! As always, your comments are welcome!

What did I do right?

Here, I’m going to have to define “right”.

I love “Technopred”. I think the idea is sound (watch National Geographic’s “Raccoon Nation” online for free if you think the idea’s whacko!), and the writing is good. I tried to place this in every other market I could think of: ANALOG, Intergalactic Medicine Show, ASIMOV’s, Lightspeed, DSF, and BuzzyMag all turned it down cold. I’d done lots of waiting and I wanted to idea to be public.

So I moved to what I call my “second tier” markets. Aurora Wolf, Strange Horizons, Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine, Words of Wonder, Fiction Vortex, Perihelion, Stupefying Stories, Giganotosaurus, and a few others were markets I didn’t read often, but still passed through them every once in a while.

Aurora Wolf was top of the list, so I shot the story off there and the editor responded quickly and enthusiastically: “Guy, You have an acceptance, as is, for "TechnoPred". I've never had any collisions with raccoons except when one helped me scare the pants off a bully at Boy Scout camp, long ago. I put a sticky bun under his sleeping bag. Naturally the raccoon took care of the evidence lol…And Ravens I see every day. I might even exchange a caw or two :) With this in mind - I cannot refuse :) your consideration.”

He paid promptly, albeit it was a token amount, but had it posted not long after. I got a comment from a reader, and while I don’t get to Aurora Wolf often, I do visit on occasion and the story is still there. I am proud that while I haven’t sold everything I’ve ever written – like Robert A. Heinlein says “In Grumbles From the Grave Heinlein tells the very nicely rounded story of writing and selling his first short story and how he's (understandably) proud of having sold everything he's ever written. However... It turns out that whilst this story is composed of mostly true elements that For Us, the Living was actually the first thing he wrote and he wasn't able to get it published - oh and that he did his level best to make sure it never came to light, even to the extent of burning his own copy of the manuscript.” – I’ve sold 10%. That’s since 1990! I haven’t broken it down more, though my percentage has been close to that each year.

So I suppose the things I learned are just reiterations of things I already know – that even Heinlein knew:

1.) You must write.

2.) You must finish what you write.

3.) You must refrain from rewriting, except to editorial order.

4.) You must put the work on the market.

5.) You must keep the work on the market until it is sold.

Writers today quibble about this and slam down on them. They seem to be unaware that while no one knows who they are, the rules they’re bashing are so well-known that if I asked someone at a SF convention “What are Heinlein’s rules for writing?” they might be able to tell me. If were to then ask, “What are ______ objections to Heinlein’s rules?” most of the people who answered the first would say, “Who?” to the second...

This is what went right with “TechnoPred”: I kept the work on the market until it sold.

Any thoughts?

Link to the story: http://aurorawolf.com/2013/05/guy-stewart/#more-3546

Resources: (Mike Lacey review) http://www.amazon.co.uk/For-Us-Living-Robert-Heinlein/dp/0743261577

Image: http://static4.quoteswave.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/06/We-are-all-apprentices.jpg