Knots, Life Particles & Tachyons and FT…what?

So in thinking about ‘Long Summer’, the sequel to the science fiction novel, ‘Returnee’, much reading about theories of relativity and unified theories, tachyons, chronons and parity symmetry is being indulged. Fascinating that tachyons would lose speed as they gain energy…hmmm, which was a worthwhile direction for thought.And they travel faster than light, with their slowest speed being the speed of light. Hmmm…yes….

Meanwhile, watching the final final final ‘Inspector Lewis’ (and I enjoyed the ending, with its gentle knotting of different directions and issues), knots became key to me. I’d been thinking about matters in terms of valance and atomic structure, but there’s no reason for that, is there? Not when knots also exist out there as part of the interaction of existence….

It’s all coming together, stirring up that exciting stew of writing creativity. Of course, on the negative side – because, in this physical universe, we mostly live in a parity symmetrical existence, especially when dealing with social relationships (and marriage) – the positives and negatives directly affect one another and a balance is sought – I’m listing too far into the writing side, growing quieter and quieter, more distant to others as the stories unfold in the universe of my mind(s?). Greater attention and energy is needed to untangle the knots so I understand them, and then tangle them back up to make an interesting story.

Over on the sequel side of the Lessons with Savanna mystery series, things are getting darker. That’s giving me pause; do I embrace that darkness and run with it? My instincts urge me to go for it, and I usually give into them. That will make ‘Personal Lessons with Savanna’ much darker novel than ‘Life Lessons with Savanna’ and ‘Road Lessons with Savanna’. Yet, that’s where the roads are taking me, so here I go. As I conceptualize it, the fourth novel in that series acquires greater structure, too.

Other tasks remain on the todo list. ‘Everything in Black & White’ is awaiting its publishing process. Love to get it out before the year’s end, and a dozen other books require editing/revising while more clamor in my head to be written. I’ve not really touched ‘Fix Everything’ since I finished writing it, what, one, two years ago? Poor ‘Peerless’ and ‘Spider City’ have been out there longer, awaiting editing and revising. There’s the whole advertising thing for all that’s already published, too, but bleah, and people asking, what’s going on with Lessons? When is the next book coming out?

Socially, in the real world, my walking is curtailed by smoke drifting in from the Gap fire down by Happy Camp, in California. The smoke is keeping the air temperature cooler, and gifting us with glowing red sunsets. I wish all the people and animals safe passage.

Visitors are coming, and the end of summer picnic is coming up with bullet train speed. Cats are sick, with some sort of flu like problem passing among them, Meep being the latest victim. Each have endured it by not eating and sleeping long hours, but it’s so worrisome when they go off eating. This smoke is affecting Tucker, too, and he’s very snotty yesterday and today.

I must also clean this laptop screen. Apparently I sneezed while eating or something, from the evidence.

Minor problems, fortunately, knock on wood, which I do. Life is so very knotty.

 

Signs of Change

We saw ‘Captain Fantastic’ yesterday. Although we’re Vigga M fans, the story didn’t draw us. However, the writer & director, Matt Ross, is an Oregon product, a graduate of a little town’s high school, so there was a lot of local hype.

I won’t say that ‘Captain Fantastic’ was enjoyable, because that’s not really a word (if you’ve seen the movie, you understand) or interesting, for the same reasons, but the actors were well cast, with excellent deliveries, and the story compelled me to follow and root for Captain Fantastic (Vigga) and his children, and wonder, what will happen? Some scenes caused post movie discussions. It was two well spent hours, and I recommend taking it in.

Afterwards, we went to Louie’s on the Plaza by the creek for food, as we’re both off the green cleansing smooths, where I enjoyed my first beer in two weeks and a wrap. My wife will continue on a modified cleansing smooth beginning today. I might do the same, something I need to decide later today.

There are sign that the seasons are changing and tempus fugit. Looking around, I’ve discovered we’re almost at the August’s finishing line. The schools’ marquees have announced the first days, and they begin tomorrow with new student orientations, full orientation following the day after.

My wife is planning an end of summer picnic in Lithia Park. We’ve scouted locations and brainstormed ideas. She checked a few schedules for vetting and then launched invitations. Friends are planning overnight visits, so an attention list has been compiled, that is, a list of things requiring our attention before they arrive.

Cooler weather is gracing us, and the temperature has stopped stirring itself past 95F. Importantly, the temps drop into the low fifties at night so windows can be opened to air us out. Most of our area fires are contained or out. We watch and worry about those in other areas, especially down in SoCal, which is suffering a terrible season.

But I’m on a treadmill, walking, writing, eating and sleeping, with ancillary tasks like cleaning and feeding the cats, and other chores, taken care of but not really my focus. Sable posted about his ToDo list and its lackings. Between that and Kate’s post about the business side and my awakening that time has pissed by without me really attending the business side, I’m creating my own Todo list for the business side. JR’s comments about not doing those things caused me to think more deeply about what I’ve done and not done, but more, why I’ve not done these things.

So with the signs of change taking place – the NFL season almost upon us, school starting, the leaves turning, the nights cooling, the World Series shaping up, Formula 1 moving toward the schedule’s bottom half, and eight out of the twelve months gone for another year – time to do more than just cross my fingers, write like crazy and hope for the best. I must work on the dreaded reviews, the dreaded marketing and advertising, and the dreaded website.

Time to begin addressing the business of writing.

Tying Lines Together

Again, so the lines follow the characters, or the characters follow the lines. First up is Pram, the Colossus, who is employed as a terraformer despite his wealth. That’s how he enjoys spending his time, turning uninhabitable planets into places where humans and animals can live and breed.

Brett has a separate story line, and we know how Pram and Brett’s paths cross. Now, we also know how Brett and Kimi originally interacted via virtual mail in ‘Returnee’, where Kimi explained their relationship to Brett as Brett coped with being shipwrecked on Earth, his lost memory and malfunctioning Backhand (who insisted on calling him Stephane, which actually made sense later). So that’s all understood. What must be sorted here and now (or sometime in the course of writing this mangled tangle) is what’s going on with Tauren and Kimi? (Keep in mind Tauren’s true identity, which Kimi suspects but can’t yet prove.) (Also keep in mind what Tauren did to Brett, although Brett doesn’t know that – yet, but that’s one of the things he’s to learn – need to define, refine and capture his learning process, too – do a snapshot.) What happens on Kimi’s mission on behalf of Tauren that takes him to Pram in search of Brett? (Oh, does he find out the truth? Interesting thought.)

Last, I must figure out the relationship between humanity’s increasing fear of death (even though they no longer die, because they’re continually resuscitated, thereby causing a proclamation that they’ve now conquered death and space (false and false)) and Tang, and his agenda.

(And what exactly did happen with Tauren? That must be clarified for myself. I need to write a Tauren snapshot. I see the need for several snapshots.)

And the next last is that other piece regarding Brett’s recovered knowledge (about the Willow Glen attack) and how that’s folded into the next sequel. (See, that’s another snapshot.)

What about the diamonds? Good question. Another snapshot is needed about them.

I think I’ll also create a snapshot of the terraforming process Pram follows so those details can be incorporated.

Okay, it’s all becoming clear-er-ish. Time to write like crazy, one more time, and see where these characters and their lines take me.

Giddy up.

So Proud

Little victories count highly when the days roll on in dull hot and cold repetition, challenging me with tedium and boredom. Being an optimistic, though, I remind myself, at least I’m not under fire, fleeing a wildfire, fighting off zombies, dealing with disease, flooding and pestilence, or enduring anything discomforting.

I, on the computer, at the desk, hot coffee in a mug, cool wind through the screen at my back, was thinking through last night’s strange dream, wherein I was collecting health reports on my mother and faxing them off while helping other relatives handle exuberant dogs. Quinn, my personal feline attendant, completing his morning checklist, was beside me asleep on the desk. Suddenly –

Rising, he jumped down to the floor. Sensing something amiss, I tensed, not breathing, for several seconds.

Quinn began his upchuck routine.

Here’s where procrastination pays.

Leaping into action, I seized yesterday’s paper, which should have already been moved to the recycle but I hadn’t because the Zika virus! And Trump! And Hillary’s emails! And ISIS! And Giant Pearl!

Gently seizing Quinn, I spread the paper in front of him and held him as he brought up a hairball. Now my cat forensics rewarded me, as I knew Quinn does not stop with one. No, moving to one side, he began another. I slid the paper over and held onto him.

Once that was done, I let him go off, folding the paper with its ‘prize’. But Quinn wasn’t finished. A third seemed imminent. Folded paper in hand, I joined him, keeping him in place with gentle hands on either side, talking to him and stroking as I placed the paper beneath his head.

Fini, at last.

And I was so satisfied, so pleased and proud, because my cat had brought up a hairball with his morning meal, and I had intercepted it all, getting nothing on the floor, without either of us becoming freaked. Woo hoo, aren’t I great?

There was no one around to share my joy.

Quinn didn’t care. He moved to the window sill to enjoy the jays pondering the day. I, inspired by my MAJOR ACHIEVEMENT, cleaned the litter box.

Still, it’s a great day, isn’t it? Yes sir, no hairball on the floor. Call the news services. Set up a conference. Issue a press release.

And my coffee is still hot. Ish.

Woo hoo.

 

Writing BIZ-ness

Just read Kate Colby’s post on writing every day. And I’m going to post an excerpt here from her:

And as an independent author, I mean B–capital IZ–ness. There’s a lot to do. I’m currently editing my second novel, plus writing and publishing a series of nonfiction booklets. Add in this blog, my author newsletter, social media, organizing promotional opportunities, emailing my cover designer … you get the point. There’s a lot of shit to do (I say “shit” lovingly – being an author really is the best job in the world to me).

So, can I find time to write every day? Yes. And you can, too. If you really simplify your schedule and overcome your laziness, you can write every single day. And we absolutely should. Every word we write makes us better.

And I’m like, yes, absolutely. My problem is the converse: making/finding/dedicating the time to the business end.

There is the website. Nothing done on it. Marketing. Well, I’ve poked a few FB ads, some Amazon ads, with a smattering of results. Haven’t pursued reviews, haven’t gotten more aggressive about it.

It comes down to this basic dichotomy within me. I enjoy reading and writing, and all the books out there are manna to me, but I dislike the grubby business side. I’m a retiring guy, self-effacing, who shuns the spotlight.

Yet I want the spotlight, too, want to be validated by other writers and readers as contributing something worthwhile to this eternal conversation about what is, was, might have been, and what might never be. Plus, my steadfast wife deserves rewards, like some payment back for the moody, snarling hours when she wants to do something — or say something — and I clip her with, HELLO, I’M WRITING. Even the cats are subjected to this response (although they, one, do not accept my response, and two, seem to know when I’m writing, like they’ve been put on alert to stop me). I’ve become better at not acting like this (because my awareness increased, not only of my behavior, but its impact on my life and relationships) but my writing brain never seems to be completely turned off. It – they – the writers, editors and readers within – are always pouncing on things seen, read, heard, thought, felt, and treat it like a gold medal starting gun, racing away.

And I know all of this about myself, see it as clearly the Perseids over Crater Lake in the dark morning’s softest hours, but I seem to be able to change it as much as I can change that sky.

Yet I know…I must. It doesn’t make me happy.

Yeah, in my dream world, I have dual, even triple lives, where I’m writing all the time, I’m published and receiving income and doing all the right accomplished author shit (borrowing from Kate), and yet I’m still living a full and healthy life as a functioning husband, and not a writing zombie.

Colby finishes her post with encouragement:

Editing counts. Revising counts. Outlining counts. Writing that dreaded book description counts.

The only thing that doesn’t count? Ignoring your book and denying the world your art.

There you have them, your marching orders. Now go move forward today.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I read you, Kate. But for now, I’m going to drink my mocha – four shots, thank you – and write like crazy, at least one more time.

Pram

Pram is my new character. He emerged out of nowhere while I writing “Long Summer”, a sequel to “Returnee”. 

I love Pram. This is a guy who used modern technology to make himself into a replica of the Colossus of Rhodes, because he was fulfilling his father’s encouragement to think big. Remember, this is science fiction.

But Pram and his evolving story didn’t fit into LS. LS itself was losing coherency and consistency. Floundering, I was looking for a life preserver but today’s rough waters kept throwing me about. I couldn’t find any orientation. Change was needed.

I decided to jettison LS. I would instead focus on Pram. But what was Pram’s story? I have a character I enjoy with nowhere to go.

Donning my writing gear, I headed out. The coffee shop is two miles away, my normal walk. I’d been eschewing it with the 100+ degree weather these past ten days but today is cooler. The night fell to 52F and the day is expected to rise only to 93F. It was 70F when I set out. Walking always helps my writing, and I was desperately in need of something now. Instead of taking the direct route to the coffee shop, I headed in another direction, guaranteeing I was adding another mile. I needed it.

“What is Pram’s story?” became my walking mantra. “What is Pram’s story?” I thought of what I’d already written about him, and what I’d written about LS, and my original intentions about LS and why they were no longer working. Then I went back to Pram’s background and what I’d established about him, again, and back to LS. I wove back and forth across a loom, looking for the yarn. Then,

Eureka.

With a mile remaining to the coffee shop, direction pierced my fog. Suddenly I knew, ah, this is what happened to Brett, and this is how Pram fits in, and here is the novel’s direction.

So it’s cool for today, thank the walking and writing gods. Back at the kb, drinking mocha, time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

The Wormhole in My Mocha

Got a quad shot mocha for my writing drink today. The baristas are so earnest about their art. It’s become a habit for me to play critic with the outcomes.

Shannon finished my mocha with a central daisy, with two hearts rising on either side. Cool. I complimented her work. They always brim my drink so I always take the first swallows at the counter before walking away. This time, after doing so, I looked down to see how the art had changed, and discovered a worm hole, such as you’d see in Star Trek.

I pointed it out to Shannon. “That totally does,” she answered. “Are you going to use it in your next story?”

I laughed. “Of course.”

“I want royalties.”

I laughed more. “So do I.”

10 Things My Blog Taught Me

I’m struggling today. I’m struggling this week. I recognize the symptoms of dissatisfaction, and a sense of becoming lost. Maybe the duration of not being able to pursue my standard routines broke me and I need to fix myself.

This blog I’m re-posting is a good start. It’s an honest assessment of who they are and what they’ve accomplished in their writing and blogging, and probably reflect the majority of writers following this course. They certainly represent me.

I especially like the advice from James Frey that they’ve included. I created a minor character who began taking on more of a role. He’s more colorful, and different from my us. He’s talking to me, and partly because of him, the story has come apart. Now I’m faced with the difficult decision, continue on or regroup and turn into a new direction.

I believe between my thoughts of the last days, what I’ve just written, and reading Ryan’s post again, I know my answer.

Shut UP

Did I ever tell you how lucky I think I am? I know I complain a lot, but I do believe I’m very lucky.

I have these moments probably too many gazillion times a day, depending upon your time space continuum reference, where I think, wow, this sucks. Look how slow Chrome is loading. My God, it’s been like, thirty seconds.

Today I’m not having them. Today is the anniversary of the world wide web’s creation.

So, today, I’m just contemplating, what would I be doing without the web? I have to retreat back to 1990 to be in a time when I wasn’t using the web. We can thank Tim Berners-Lee for the advance that led to it, twenty-five years ago. Of course, some point to its limited accessibility and general struggles to connect, and dismiss this as the start of the web. That’s true, but I was online with AOL using the usenet and accessing forums in 1991. So it’s the start for me. Basically, I was on the Internet. The web was an improvement and expansion. Think of it as analogous to any invention. The basic thing, like the car, was created, but not many used and trusted it because it wasn’t hospitable. But improvements were made, and boom, here we are in the western world, paying $28,000,000 for an old Ferrari at an auction, or 1.6 million big ones for a new Ferrari LaFerrari hybrid.

Thus this triggers a review and meditation about the changes and progression. Where would I be without…? 

Air conditioning.  I once read, and I don’t know where or if it’s true, that places like Phoenix, Las Vegas and Miami would be barely settled if not for air conditioning. The article had stats about the growth, anecdotes about improved technologies, and charts demonstrating how the technological a/c advances and Miami’s growth were in parallel. It seemed pretty compelling to me.

I can tell you, that sitting outside in the shade in 104 degrees F (about 40 C, I think), dripping like a melting ice cream cone, it’s a lot different without a/c.

But what of refrigerator and freezers? That’s another item modern Americans like me take for granted, but it’s pretty damn compelling that it’s made a huge difference, as have mechanized transportationlike cars, trucks, aircraft, and marine conveyances. But thinking of those, we must think of pasteurization and bottling, canning, packaging, and processing.

Then my mind starts spinning out of control trying to contemplate life without electricitybecause my understanding is that much of the previous advances are dependent on electricity and what it brings to the forum.

Which takes me into a surreal circle. I’m in the coffee shop, on the second floor, above the enclosed swimming pool. Glass windows let in huge expanses of natural daylight while keeping out the hot air. Music is playing over speakers. The baristas tell me it’s digital FM. The room is well lit. A/c cools my back from an overhead vent. I don’t know where my coffee was picked, or roasted, but I know it wasn’t in this coffee shop’s backroom.

They have a display case of food up front. Refrigerated and lit, sandwiches, paninis and wraps are on display. And I’m on a wireless laptop computer writing this. Meanwhile, I know from looking at the building that a great deal of their energy sources come from solar panels on their roof.

Let me tell you, too, that spinach and feta sandwich on a croissant looks wonderful. But because I’m so lucky, I have a damn choice to buy or not buy, and instead stick to my green smoothie cleanse, using spinach, kale, stevia and hemp seeds I bought at grocery stores to blend (with an electric blender) with the berries and peaches that my wife and I picked and froze earlier this year.

And how much of this is all built on the foundations of books, printed words, and more comprehensive, advanced education systems?

It, for me, is an amazing, amazing, amazing life. I’ve traveled through Asia, the Pacific, Europe and North America. I speak on phones that carry my voice, or even a video of me, to most of those places, by just pushing some buttons. I can return to my mother and sisters, thousands of miles away, by buying a ticket and boarding some aircraft that some others maintain and fly for me. We have come so far, it’s staggering to consider. Yet I still whine.

I whine because I also look up to the stars and the sun and the sky, and read about the advances being made, and the concepts being projected, and the theories being tested, and think, wow, look how far we can go.

And I’m an optimist, which is probably why I complain so much. For all the good we’ve done, we can be better. The starvation and disease and coarse conditions so many endure do not need to be endured. And, because I’m an optimist, I believe we’ll overcome them. Not for me, perhaps. I’ll die complaining about something even as we’ve advanced from where we are. Because it isn’t by standing still and saying, “Isn’t this great?” that leads us to move forward.

It’s from whining about not being better, and getting those people smarter, and more capable to do something about it, just to shut people like me up.

‘Booze Is the Oil in Our Motors’

Kristi Couler offers clear, powerful writing. I see myself in some of the men she worked with. They were engaged in their own games of ambitious, insightful and supportive, not realizing how the camouflage works. Eye-opening.

Longreads

Is it really that hard, being a First World woman? Is it really so tough to have the career and the spouse and the pets and the herb garden and the core strengthening and the oh-I-just-woke-up-like-this makeup and the face injections and the Uber driver who might possibly be a rapist? Is it so hard to work ten hours for your rightful 77% of a salary, walk home past a drunk who invites you to suck his cock, and turn on the TV to hear the men who run this country talk about protecting you from abortion regret by forcing you to grow children inside your body?

I mean, what’s the big deal? Why would anyone want to soften the edges of this glorious reality?

– Newly-sober Kristi Coulter, in Quartz, writes on sobriety, misogyny, and why so many women reach for wineglasses to celebrate their lives — or…

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