Category: Science fiction

Wonky Surface Tension

While surface tension chatter is usually about fluids or materials, thinking about personal surface tension emerged from my meditations today. I blame James Blish.

Blish was a terrific science fiction and fantasy writer. I admired his imagination. Flying cities, anti-aging drugs, he offered up so many neat and original ideas, but always managed to do so with solidly convincing style. He was one of those I put up on a pedestal with the hard science fiction Big Three of Asimov, Clarke, and Heinlein.

I’m in one of those places where my writing ideas are generating natural highs. I’v been working on cosmological entanglements (which are a similar idea to quantum entanglements) and tachyon time travel telepathy, and their impacts on the story arcs – who goes where, how and why – constructing the final puzzle from the pieces, and making up the pieces on the fly. (For these ideas, please blame Timothy Ferris and his books, especially ‘The Whole Shebang’.) This, for me, naturally demands deep thinking, thinking that stills me with focus and concentration. Then, epiphanies burst free from of the morass of cogitation. Aha, and eureka!

Now I understand my pretend science and construct it with the flimsiest of physics. And now comes the story-telling. How do I weave all this into the novel without sounding like a science book? This is especially a challenge as several disparate threads are weaving around this central idea, creating a loose fabric that’s gradually becoming tauter.

To veer into other metaphors, scenes then explode in my head. I glimpse some shrapnel of what they’re about, but I become excited. The scenes spread faster and faster. Watching and focusing, I try hard to capture the gist of each, get it down, get it down, so I may build around these kernels (splintering into yet more metaphors), create the scenes and string them together.

Like surface tensions in fluids, I need the correct coherent forces to hold it all together. Frankly, this stage of writing always intimidates and frightens me. And I heed what those old masters like Blish did, creating a story that at least has sufficient scientific integrity that people will give me a grudging pass. Meanwhile, I admire certain writers outside of the science fiction realm and prefer their writing styles, people like Erdrich, Chabon, Frantzen, and Ferranti, and yes, Irving, Updike, and Roth, and even folks like Tana French and Kate Atkinson. My style continues to emerge into something like their styles, and that is very deliberate.

It all makes my surface tension wonky, caused by the differences in what I am, where I am, where I want to be, and who I dream of being. Perhaps contributing to the wonky surface tension, if I pause and squint into the far future’s dim tunnels, I can see this gem of a novel glittering and spinning, there for my taking. I fear my reach will fall short.

But rare exhilaration can be enjoyed even when reaching and failing. No need to remind myself of that (even though I did, didn’t I?), because that’s not the impelling force pushing my writing efforts. Writing, and attempting to visualize and capture these stories and their ideas, is just fun. The process also provides an escape. Writing is like an opiate that helps me cope with my life.

So here I am, once again, writing instrument at hand (a computer), along with a quad shot mocha, time, and solitude. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

4

The Pirates

I’m at a point in the novel, Long Summer (sequel to Returnee) where the pirates are about to enter.

Yes, this is science fiction. Yes, these are space pirates (cue dramatic music). Or cue a Monty Python moment.

I always like ‘fly in the ointment’ tales. That’s the pirates’ role in Long Summer. They’re naturally a plot trigger to cause the stories to bank sharply into another direction, bringing the three disparate story lines into contact with one another at last, thirty-five thousand words into the novel. Creating  the pirates enabled me to embark on my favorite fiction writing activity: making things up. In this case, I was given permission to make up the pirate ship and crew. Who are they, why are the pirates, where did they come from and how did they come to have this ship?

The ship is the CSC Narwhal. CSC is Castle Corp Security, a spin-off from the original Castle Corporation that dominates the Returnee series as one a major part of the setting. (The corporation is constantly restructuring, re-organizing, acquiring and divesting.) As Castle Corporation was originally an Anglo-American effort when they first formed on Earth (with roots in 3D printing, with specific focus on home security devices…from there to space), the company sometimes invokes its heritage when naming ships. This was strongly evidenced in the naming of the security ships (the preferred nomenclature over warship). I’d remembered Narwhal from my history lessons, so I looked up Narwhal and confirmed its role in England’s maritime history, confirming it was part of the Arctic Fleet. Two Brit submarines were then named the same, along with a US sub. So, sweet, that worked out.

(I had to refer back to my Returnee notes a little as I worked out that naming, confirming corporations and financial consortiums led the way into space. Governments had little to do with it.)

I then needed to further define my new vessel’s manning, which is complementary to its role. As a security vessel, Narwhal is small, with three squadrons of droid fighters. Why droid fighters? I started with manned weaponry and realized that robots dominate my future. It would be weird to have manned fighters. But humans maintain control….

Essentially, I evolved the Droid Commander. Droid Commanders remotely oversee the flying of four droid fighters simultaneously from pods on the Narwhal. Yes, we have the sophisticated technology to do that in my future. Likewise, Droid Techs remotely manage maintenance/software/hardware, keeping the fighters armed and flying, repairing them via nano-bots, droids and automation.

Each Narwhal squadron has three Droid Commanders, each flying four droid fighters. So each squadron is twelve fighters. Three squadrons, thirty-six fighters, nine each Droid Commanders and techs. A squadron commander coordinates their activities with the ship and mission briefs.

Narwhal is structured to run silent, fast, launching quick strikes and then bailing. Their defensive systems are lightweight and automated. They’re not going to bombard a planet or take on a battleship. They’re more likely to run escort and interdiction missions.

Once I had those things in place, what did I need for manning for the actual ship, the Narwhal? Well, again, it’s automated, and lightly manned. I ended up with three defensive coordinators. Commander, DO, pilots to fly it (in the event of worst case situations), navigator (overseeing the droids and systems), intel officer, techs to treat it.

Shuttles? Escape pods? Logistics? Medical? All done by droids, except I decided the three shuttles would have human pilots. Ten techs oversee droids that do the repairs.

So there it was, forty-seven humans crewing the Narwhal and its squadrons.

Since it’s going head to head with River Styx, the stasis pod ship, I went through the  same exercise for the Styx (which has only light defensive systems). Then I mentally plotted the sequence of events as I walked over here to write today. The twists arose on their own, pleasing and exciting me, further evolving my sketchy plot.

(Quite deliberately, because the pirates are out to disrupt corporate domination of space and human activities, Castle Corporation also owns the River Styx. The pirates love the irony of a ship they appropriated from the Castle Corporation, stretching the truth, as the Castle Corp had spun off the division that owns and operates Narwhal,  attacking another Castle Corp vessel.)

This summarizes my basic writing approach. I begin with a concept or a character. In this case, three ideas came together. That gives me a bare structure. As an analogy, if my novel is a car trip, I’m getting in and pointing the vehicle in the general direction of a horizon I see, with the vaguest idea of what’s over that horizon, and what’s between here and there. That works for each chapter, story line and character arc.

Reflecting on all of this today, I recognize how much my writing approach parallels my other methodologies. As a senior NCO in the USAF, I was always imposing and maintaining order and discipline, but also loved instilling vision in my people about how to improve ourselves and our operations. To do that, I’d simply seize a direction and go for it, correcting as I went. Likewise, in my last position as a data scientist with IBM, when given a challenge, I mentally played with it until something formed, and then I launched myself into it. And in my youth, when I was taking art classes, painting and drawing, sudden inspirations would seize and carry me.

The confrontation between River Styx and Narwhal awaits. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

3

Sat Down to Write

I sat down to write today after a pleasing session yesterday. The baristas had gifted me an extra espresso sized serving mocha in addition to my standard QSM. I sipped it down, delighting in the melange of mingling flavors, and I remembered —

A new character’s name is Ckyl. Came to me last night.

A scene I wrote in my head about the starship, River Styx, and its occupants and description.

And more details about tachyon syndrome.

Changes to Chor. I’d focused on sex and sexual preferences and choosing or accepting sexual identities, but I’d not considered some of the other matters available to my future people. So I’d overlooked that Chor is a cat person.

And Pram wonders why becoming a cat person is a popular choice. People don’t want to be dog or bird people, although he’d encountered some of them. He knew of a few who went the centaur route (with one also managing to incorporate a unicorn appearance). A small society of humans had transgened themselves into dinosaurs, and another group into dragons, and there are small knots of gnome, fairy, demon, and leprechaun peoples, but cat people were far the most popular and most frequently encountered. He was pleased, though, because he remained unique. There were a few Titans out there, and a cyclops, and a couple of Hercules pretenders, Minotaurs, Hulks, and Avatars, and super-heroes from ancient comic books, but he was the only Colossus, even after all these years.

Pram had not asked Chor about why she was a furry human Siamese with diamond blue eyes and a lazy, busy tail. Asking people about their choices is impolite.

Okay, now that I remember those things, my imagination is fired up. Time to write like crazy, one more time.

5

The Hip Bone Is Connected to the Tachyon

I’m having fun with science fictional physics, conceiving way out ideas for ‘Long Summer’, the sequel to ‘Returnee’. Part of this is playing with the chip. What’s a chip, you say? This is actually a chi particle. 

The chi particle is the essence of life energy, the spark that brings inanimate matter to life. In my grand theories, there is a formula of balance that I’m still working out involving the need for the universe to maintain an equilibrium between the chi energy and all of the rest. Most importantly for the entire balance of understanding, the chi particle begins in the realms of dark matter.

Additional characteristics for my grand particle begins with the hypothetical and unproven particle, the tachyon. Like the tachyon, the chip travels faster than light, traveling even faster than the tachyon. Its imaginary mass attracts tachyons. Tachyons become knotted with the chips. As knotting happens, the tachyon draws energy from the chip, slowing both the tachyon and chip. But the chip’s mass is not a direct proportion of the tachyon’s mass, but compounds the tachyon’s mass, adding to the knotted chip’s mass. As the chip-tachyon knot slows toward the speed of light, the tachyon gains more energy, slows more and degrades, giving up its mass to the chip. The chip, acquiring actual mass, begins a transition from dark matter to matter and acquires gravitons. The chi knot seeks the proper stew of atoms and conditions to develop and begins evolving as a life form.

This all is pretty preliminary. It has no math underpinnings, and no doubt many people will tell me either, you’re drinking too much coffee, or you’re fucking nuts. They’ll also grimace, appalled by my display of ignorance, but it’s fun for me, and provides further structure for developing my plot and writing the novel. I mean, this is why we call it science fiction.

Sometime, when I’ve advanced my thinking about it more, I’ll post a snapshot of tachyon telepathy. Remember, as Brett learns (eventually), what happens in stasis, doesn’t always stay in stasis.

I’m twenty-six thousand words into ‘Long Summer’. The summer’s computer issues threw me out of my writing – conceiving – imaging rhythm, and it humbled me. I gleaned how much I take for granted the ability and opportunity to sit down and write.

Got my mocha. Time to write like crazy, one more time.

9

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’ a 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.

 

2

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.

3

Delivery Rules

I know he’s out there. Watching. Waiting, exercising Zen patience. I know the Delivery Rules.

First Rule: inconvenience the customer as significantly as possible.

It’s not about profit and loss or corporate vision and mission statements. It’s about people with power. They have the package. I want the package. So they have the power.

Oh, delicious power, how they love watching me leap up when a truck passes my house. “Is that it?” they mock, imagining my voice, bringing up their super-powerful binoculars to see my disappointment, laughing as they finger a few more drooping French fries into their mouth.

They don’t know that I know the rules. I’m aware of them and their delivery watch. “Keep hidden,” I tell my wife. “Don’t go past any windows.”

“This is ridiculous,” she answers.

“Shhh,” I hiss, pointing up. “They’re listening.”

She stares at me.

I explain, “They’ll know you’re here. We want them to think we’re not home or can’t come to the door.”

Amazement disturbs her gaze. “And why do we care if they know I’m here?”

“Shhh.” I look out the windows. Of course I can’t see a delivery vehicle. They’re not fools. They cloak the van with invisibility so they can stay out there, watching, without being detected, until they believe I’m not home or available and ‘attempt’ delivery. I know how this works.

I move closer to my wife so I can whisper. “They’re out there. They’re waiting for me to leave or take a shower. Then they’ll ring the bell. I won’t hear it so they’ll leave a notice and try again tomorrow. That’s how they get you.”

She stares at me. I don’t know what that look means. “How do I fit into this?” she asks in a Very Normal Tone.

Her refusal to keep her voice down disturbs me. “Quiet,” I hiss. “Come on. What’re you trying to do?” Realizations penetrate my thinking. “They got to you, didn’t they?”

Her eyes widen. “Who?”

But I get it. I understand. “Never mind.” I smile. “I was just joking.” I let slip laughter. “Pretty convincing, wasn’t I?”

She doesn’t seem convinced but I put her behind me and leave the room. Out there, in the living-dining-kitchen great room, I pace and pace, trying to figure out what I can do.

But it doesn’t matter. They have her. They’ve already won the day. Yet, I can’t give up. Not that easily. I’ve been playing the game too long. This isn’t my first delivery. “I’m going to take a shower,” I call, very loudly.

“Okay,” she answers, a mumble.

I go into the master bath and turn on the shower, hoping to fool them, and then slip into the hall to get to the front door to wait. I meet my wife coming down the hall. She looks startled. “I thought you were taking a shower.”

Checking on me. Oh, I get it. I smile. “I am.”

“But you have all your clothes on.”

I nod. “I know.”

Shaking her head, she walks past, saying, “I think you need to relax.”

Relax, oh, they’d like that. Hearing her turn off the water, I run back into the bathroom. “What are you doing?”

“You’re wasting water,” she replies.

Pushing past her, I turn the water back on. She’s talking but I can’t understand her. “What?” I ask. She’s talking again but I still can’t understand her. “What?” I shake my head. “I can’t hear you. You’re talking too low.”

Diversion, I realize, and then the phone rings. The rules require them to ring the doorbell, but if I don’t hear it or answer in time, they leave – and then they won. “Was that the doorbell?” I run for the door and yank it open as my wife answers the phone.

A notice hangs from the door handle. I rush out to see if I spot the truck, a rookie error born from frustration. They already cloaked the truck. Nobody can hear or see it now.

“Did your computer come?” My wife asks from behind me.

I smile without looking back. “No. They left a notice.” I go back in past her, glancing at her face. They got to her. I see it in her brown eyes. I don’t know how. Probably bribed her with a discount coupon for shoes.

“I’m sorry,” she says, closing the door, but there’s no sorrow in her voice.

“That’s okay,” I answer with false cheerfulness. “There’s always tomorrow.”

Yes, there’s always tomorrow, when we’ll play again. I know the rules.

Someday, I’ll win.

1

A Beautiful Time

I had a beautiful time last night, thank you. I again attended a friend’s birthday. This friend is 90, vivacious, intelligent, artistic and fun. She is, like, another role model for when I’m 90, or better, for when I’m sixty. She enjoys life with a buoyant spirit. Her home is rich with art, especially her own. She presented me with a piece of art last year of a curled cat sleeping with the serene sweetness cats project, but with ears tilted and attuned, listening, announcing, I am asleep, and I am aware.

Also met some new folks and visited with some charming friends I’d not seen in a year, who came back for the bday celebs. In talking with one, Mo, about my science fiction writing (they should know not to ask me as a writer, what are you writing, because you’ll be informed, in depth), and how I play with concepts regarding technology granting virtual immortality through serial resurrections, she talked about how troubling she finds these ideas. Which I react with as, yea! Good. Tell me more.

“I don’t want to share my body or abilities to meet the challenge, I want to meet the challenge but nurturing, growing and developing what and who I am.” I love this humanistic point of view. I wanted to debate merits and points, but it was a birthday party.

I was also introduced to a Belgium IPA with tangerine tones that lit up my beer buds in a pleased way. Besides that, the food was delicious, all contributed by attendees. I met more of the party honoree’s family and friends and became re-acquainted with her son. We share a name but he’s so much more charming. I always enjoy our encounters.

Hope you all meet such wonderful people, and enjoy beautiful times. The world is wealthy with both.

3

Just Write

Just write, I told myself. The aliens hadn’t yet arrived in my head, but I can’t wait for the aliens. I need to write. If you’re not writing, you’re standing still, (with the caveats, naturally, that if you’re editing, polishing, rewriting, etc., you are still engaged in the writing process, so you’re technically still writing).

These aren’t things I say out loud. Friends and relatives probably don’t know that my increased quiet is because I’m dreaming about aliens, trying to entice them out of the air and into my head (kind of like the old Billy Ocean song, “Get out of my dreams, and into my car.” I had asked my wife and others what aliens they like in books, films and games, or who were their favorite aliens. Great conversation fodder. The baristas, twenty year old women, were into it, and the barista today created an alien on my mocha. She then brought the alien topic up for her co-worker, who didn’t work yesterday when I asked, re-invigorating the conversation.

I derived beautiful thoughts from all these words. Yet the aliens remained nebulous, refusing to get into my car. Just write, I told myself, and they will come. Okay, so what will I write? I was picking up the scenes already created. They’re wonderful stepping stones, and although I wasn’t quite to the scene that arose to be written today, I shrugged. Okay, that’s what I’ll write, and then I’ll write the bridge to it from where I’m at later. No Big Deal. I write like this all the time, seeing what is to be and writing it because I want to, and then returning to bridge the pieces together.

So what happens in the novel today? This happens, and then that happens, and then, boom, there it is, writing stuff about aliens and plot exploding into me, firing off flares and tracers that illuminated what is to be.

Beautiful. Yeah, here I go, just write like crazy, one more time. Let the rest worry itself.

0

Figuring Out Aliens

A novel in progress features aliens, but I can’t see them. I know who they are, why they’re there and what they want, but beyond that, they’re not coming into my head.

I thought about all the aliens I know from movies and books. Superman is an alien but that’s not the sort of alien wanted. Didn’t want ET, and the creatures from Alien and Predator didn’t work. Nor did the man and robot from The Day the Earth Stood Still. MIB , the Star Trek franchise, Doctor Who, and Babylon 5 have many varieties of aliens but nothing that fits my requirements. Larry Niven’s aliens are interesting and intriguing but didn’t turn me toward what I think my book needs. Independence Day, Mars Attacks, The Body Snatchers, Dark City (I’m not really sure the strangers are aliens) were considered and rejected, as were the War of the Worlds invaders, and the creatures from Species and V. So was The Thing. I always liked Orson Scott Card’s alien in The Speaker for the Dead and Ender’s Game but they don’t work for my application.

The closest thing to my thoughts were from Clark’s The Puppet Masters. They don’t quite work, neither.

Gotta walk and think about it more. It’ll come to me.

3

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