

Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Tuesday was an average day until the man beside me made a move. White as snow, a frazzled gray-beard with hippy-long hair in a pony tail like he’s Willy Nelson, shorter than me by a foot, he broke the day’s calm normalcy by finishing his coffee with a loud slurp, setting the cup down and then walking out through the coffee shop wall. I saw this out of my side vision and swung around, staring as my mind argued about what my eyes were telling me.
Hoping for verification, I shot a look back into the room. Three women at a nearby table were staring at the space beside me. The eldest, pointing and talking, was saying, “That man went through the wall,” as the second, younger, middle-aged, with long blonde hair dry and damaged from aging, was saying, “What?” in that rising confused way which expressed profound doubt about what she was hearing. Her position would have her facing away so she probably didn’t see. But the third, who could have been the blonde’s sister but skinnier, older, and dark-haired, was empatically stating, “Yes, yes, that’s what I saw.”
“You saw that,” I demanded of the two, and they were nodding and asking, “Did you see it, too?” and an elderly man approached, stating in a loud, quavering voice, “I saw that, too, that guy went right out through the wall, I saw it, I saw it.”
Guffawing, my brain said, “Happy New Year,” as the walls began melting and screams rose. 2024 was going to be interesting, if I survive. Either that or this coffee was something really special.
I love reading and writing. I think I’m learning to love editing and revising, but they’re more challenging.
Writing is a matter of switching on my imagination and playing various games. These games are typically, ‘what if’ and ‘who did’ variations, putting the characters into interesting and challenging situations, and then finding the resolution of those created problems. I write these in bursts and then spend time refining and expanding on them.
I’m a pantser, as it’s called. Pantsers are also sometimes called organic writers; we don’t outline, or outline very little.
A problem with my method of writing from the hip is what happens next is often a surprise. Characters often go into unexpected directions. As I write then, I need to address how they veered from my original intentions. Then I edit to some degree, to confirm it all somewhat fits together.
Editing and revising requires me to delve more deeply into these matters, also addressing pacing, and clarifying as I do. These activities are seriously embraced once a draft has become solid enough to start resembling a novel.
Editing and revising requires more discipline, and I’m not the most disciplined individual. Burdened with its own challenges, editing and revising also brings greater reward. As many writers will say, the first few drafts are learning the story, finding the plot, and understanding the characters. For me, the editing and revising parts are about developing authenticity and depth.
Then comes reading. I mean writing others’ works, whether it’s fiction or non-fiction, and any of the sub-genres.
I often limit my fiction reading while I’m writing. I know from my experiences that fiction reading causes me to challenge what’s up with my own fiction in progress. So I avoid it.
But all reading also inspires me to write. Non-fiction pulls me into a different direction, of course, which ends up costing me time as I pursue knowledge and expansion of things I seek to understand more deeply or clearly.
Once I’m finished with drafts and enter the editing and revision stage, I happily jump back into fiction reading. Where fiction reading now becomes a problem in that stage is that I need to divide my time between the book I’m enjoying reading, and the book I’m enjoying creating.
You know, though, I have it pretty good if that’s the summation of my life’s problems.
Just for the record, I’m now reading the second book in Naomi Novik’s Temeraire series. A creation of alternative history, it’s written like historic fiction with a fantasy kicker. That kicker is the existence of dragons. These dragons are intelligent and well-spoken. Yes, they speak, and they develop solid, beautiful relationships with their people.
They’re also used as instruments of war. A great deal of the first book dealt with dragon strategy in conjunction with naval warfare, and the tending and treatment of dragons.
It’s all set in the era of the Napoleonic Wars, but fascinating politic variations emerge, as well as challenges built into that era regarding class and sex roles. Lot of fun to read. I can imagine writing it was terrific fun.
As far as non-fiction reading, I’m now into The Wager: A Tale of Shipwreck, Mutiny and Murder by David Grann. I’d previously read his books, The Lost City of Z and Killers of the Flower Moon. I enjoy his writing style and the information they convey about things that I didn’t know. I know so little about this world, and it’s fun and exciting to learn more.
I don’t hesitate to recommend any of the mentioned books. My hope is that someday at least one of my efforts will be regarded and enjoyed in the same way that I enjoyed these.
Everything is changing. I’m not stupid. I know that it’s not unusual for things to change. Weather changes, clothes, all that. I’m not stupid.
This is different, you know? This is real change.
I was born in 2032. May, a taurus. I can’t remember much of my early life. I guess it was okay. Then the crumble began. You know, bridges collapsing, blackouts, gas and electricity shortages, water shortages.
I remember that from when I was around ten and our school was shut down. Dad said that taxes had been cut, so you know, the government didn’t have the money for schools, and we couldn’t afford a pay school. Dad was working a full-time job and two part-time jobs. Mom was working three part-time gigs. Working their asses off, both of them. My auntie, who was disabled from diabetes, schooled me and my sisters and cousins in our family room. That’s where she lived.
I did what I could myself. Made some change from helping with cleanups. People would abandon their cars and places, and I’d pirate things and sell them door to door. Tapes and books, old computers, that kind of thing.
We were always hungry, picking berries, apples, plums, whatever we could find. Best time was when I was a teen. Used to be able to pay two dollars to bus tables for fifteen minutes in a restaurant. They let me eat anything that was left. I’d try to stuff things in my pockets for my family, if I could, but I was so damn hungry all the time.
That lasted ‘bout five years. Now I’m 31, and it’s all gone. I’m trying to find a new gig but all I got is my ‘lectric bike and clothes. Most days, it’s too hot to be outside, you know? Gets over 110 by noon, and then climbs twenty degrees more.
Like Mom used to say all the time, the times, they are a-changin’.
I remember a time –
It might have been in the sixties. Or maybe the seventies.
I think I was living in Pennsylvania then. Or Ohio.
And I was probably in –
Let me think.
I was born in 1956 so if it was in the sixties, I would have probably been thirteen or so.
So, no.
No, I think I was older than that.
So it must have been in the 1970s when this happened.
Yes, that’s right. I was in high school.
It was a sunny day.
Dad and I – he had his red Thunderbird then –
Oh, no, wait, he had the Monte Carlo, the burgundy Monte Carlo.
You know the model, the one with the swoopy lines, and the captain’s chairs?
He bought that new in 1974.
Had to be 1974 because I graduated that year, and I remember driving that car.
Then I left home.
Oh, and we were living in Virginia. That’s right.
I remember now. It’s all coming back.
It was ’74.
Anyway, Dad and I were in the car together, going somewhere.
I think it was a Sunday.
Yes, it must have been a Sunday, because he was off.
We were going to a restaurant for dinner.
Which surprised me. He suggested it. We never went out for dinner, he and I.
It was just us living together then.
Yes, I remember, we went to an Italian restaurant. He had the veal parm.
I don’t know what I had.
Anyway, let me finish.
We were in the Monte Carlo.
And he said, “What do you plan to do with your life?”
The question surprised me.
He never asked me these things.
Shrugging after a few seconds, I answered, “I don’t know.
“What did you plan to do with your life?”
We came to a red traffic light. He stopped the car behind the other cars.
We were the fourth car.
The car in front of us was a pickup truck.
Dad looked out the windshield straight ahead until the light turned green.
Then, as we started forward, he said, “Touché.”