Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Floofbrage (floofinition) – a housepet’s display of pique or resentment, often over perceived favoritism or a small slight.
In use: “Discovering he’d gone into the bathroom without letting her in with him, Ashley clawed and meowed at the door in floofbrage.”
I dreamed I was a young medical device inventor. I was at a trade show, displaying and explaining the device. It was a small show, standard place of booths, tables, and displays in a hotel ballroom, but sparsely attended. It was the last day and I was very upbeat.
Looking for backers and investors, I was demonstrating my device. In retrospect, it reminds me of devices like Star Trek‘s tricorder. There were differences. Running my device over a person created a three-dimensional full-color model of their body. Nerves, muscles, bones, blood vessels…everything was faithfully displayed. Everyone seeing it responded with enthusiasm and amazement.
But the neat part was that my device could be used for cardiovascular procedures. I demonstrated that after creating the model, it became an active, functioning replication of the scanned body. Using entrance through a femoral artery with a standard introducer, a small drone could be deployed into the bloodstream.
Yes, it was a tiny ship, just like the one they miniaturized in Fantastic Voyage (1966). (BTW, can someone please consider remaking Fantastic Voyage? Everything else is being remade. I think we can reboot that puppy with modern CGI, and then create a television series and a franchise. You’re welcome.)
Except, my ship wasn’t manned by Stephen Boyd, Donald Pleasence, Raquel Welch, and the rest. Instead, the cardiovascular team use the ship’s devices via wireless virtual reality goggles to open occlusions, scale down plaque and fat, and fix valves and dead spots. While I mention cardiovascular, my ship is small enough that it can also navigate, clean, and repair the peripheral vasculature, including the cerebral vasculature and the renal and carotid arteries, without blocking the blood flow.
Pretty damn fine invention, isn’t it?
No wonder I was so pleased in the dream.
The medical trade show ended. I was going to return with some friends to my room and then have dinner. But, to get into my room required me to use a combination lock. I’d set it earlier. Now I struggled to remember it. Taking some time, I recalled that I’d used twenty-three as the starting point, and then remembered that I’d gone two up and two back.
Success. I entered my room, pleased with my device and the show, which was now ended.
Dream ended.
Time for another visit with the Alan Parsons Project. This song, “I Wouldn’t Want to be Like You”, came out in 1977. I awoke with it bouncing around my stream, along with songs about rain. I went with Alan Parsons.
Enjoy.
Perfloofcious (floofinition) – of a strong housepet disposition.
In use: “Domesticity changes animals. While dogs have become smaller compared to their ancestors, modern housecats are about sixteen percent larger than they were centuries ago. Despite that, domestic cats are so perfloofcious, most would struggle living as their wildcat cousins live.”
I was down yesterday when I began my writing and editing session. I’m still editing Book Five in the Incomplete States series, An Undying Quest. Halfway through it, I was bummed about what I was reading. I thought, man, I have some work ahead of me to fix these issues.
I didn’t feel like addressing those issues, so I made notes, and continued editing, working on subsequent chapters. When I did, I discovered that those chapters addressed the holes and plot issues, and fixed them.
I was friggin’ astonished. Thinking back to then, I remembering writing and arranging the chapters. I hadn’t realized I’d done this. By that, I mean, I knew that the story went sideways at that point. I knew it as a deliberate choice. I didn’t appreciate how sideways it went. I do remember thinking hard about it, recalling Part One of The Sound and the Fury (Faulkner, 1929), a book that I strongly admire. Back when I first read that novel in sixth grade, I remember gritting my teeth and thinking, “WTF? This is crazy.” Finishing Part One was challenging. But everything is illuminated (sorry, Foer) with the subsequent parts. So I thought, be brave. Do it.
Now, after editing it, once I grit my teeth through the doubted chapters, the rest are magically explained. It comes together.
It’s not the first time I’ve done something like this. A friend, after reading one of my novels, said that he’d created a list of questions about things that bothered and confused him, then he said, “I was amazed because you brought it all together.” I loved that feedback.
So, I’m hanging with it as written. We’ll see if it makes publication, or what changes come about from outside feedback.
Meanwhile, it’s a powerful reminder that when editing, go through the whole damn manuscript before addressing any major changes. I specifically decided to edit the entire series before having any of them edited or read by another because the series is organic. Events opening in the first chapters of the first book are resumed in subsequent chapters and books. Changing one means hunting down and addressing those changes in other chapters and books. It has multiple points of views and storylines. It’s a complicated exploration. Events and decisions are rarely fully explained, as I like inviting readers to take the information and conceive the answers.
The series was originally conceived as a single, fat novel. I felt breaking it apart into eras of growing awareness and development lends itself to telling the story. I was also aware of my wife and her friends’ complaints about holding up large books to read, yes, even in this era of digital publishing.
Time to write and edit like crazy, at least one more time.
Today’s theme music came out when I was three years old. It’s so damn popular, though, I imagine anyone who follows American pop-culture even peripherally is familiar with it.
The Isley Brothers originated “Shout”. Mom was an Isley Brothers fan, so of course I grew up hearing it. The song made a huge comeback when Otis Day and the Knights performed it in Animal House (1978). It then became quite popular for dead bug dancing. Green Day and Robbie Williams both did the song. The song was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Come on, you must know one version of it.
I haven’t worked outside of my writing efforts since leaving IBM a few years ago.
The work with big blue had some pleasantries outside of the obvious of paychecks and health benefits. Some of it was challenging and rewarding, and helped validate my sense of my abilities. Some impressive technologies were being developed, and I had some very talented and capable co-workers.
I disliked huge chunks of it, though. The bureaucratic nature was stifling. Worse, though, not just with IBM, but with the other companies that employed me, were the exhortations that we were family or a team. My wife used to tell people, whenever your boss said you were part of a family, watch out.
Amen.
The family comparison was always a huge reach, unless you were talking about dysfunctional families. I knew little about co-workers, and they knew little about me. That became truer as many of us worked remotely from our homes, doing telecommutes. As that happened, IBM also cut down on celebrations. No more buying birthday cakes, having team lunches, or Friday donuts, even if people worked on a campus. Few pauses were provided to celebrate and reflect on how well things were going. We no longer visited the offices for a face-to-face connection in order to reduce costs.
That was my experience. Others probably have different experiences, depending upon their division, campus, work center, manager, and middle and upper management. I had thirteen bosses at one point in that organization. I heard the top bosses, the vice-presidents and SVPs once a quarter during a one-hour “town hall” meeting where we were told the financial results. Note, they didn’t call it a family reunion or team meeting. I heard from mid-level execs more often, like whenever something went wrong. They were very heavy-handed and hands-on then. I didn’t hear from them when things were going right. It was silent as a prairie, then.
They’re right in that we were a family, because, like a family, there’s no end in sight, not unless you left. People often left without the rest of us being told. Typically, you dialed into a meeting, and gosh, folks were gone. How is that for family?
As far as being a team, if we were a team, it was a team with an infinite season. It was a team for which we played a sport for which there was no championship, no victory parades, no champions’ laurels. It was just, “Let’s go, team,” every few weeks on the phone, or every few days on an email.
So, yeah, I don’t miss either of those false labels, team and family. They were a business, out to improve revenues, cut costs, and improve profit margins. Remote and focused on the bottom line, I don’t miss that family or team.
I’m sure they don’t miss me, either.
Michael Seidel, writer 