Guy Stewart's Blog, page 104

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 296

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. Regarding Fantasy, this insight was startling: “I see the fantasy genre as an ever-shifting metaphor for life in this world, an innocuous medium that allows the author to examine difficult, even controversial, subjects with impunity. Honor, religion, politics, nobility, integrity, greed—we’ve an endless list of ideals to be dissected and explored. And maybe learned from.” – Melissa McPhail.
F Trope: dark lordCurrent Event: While this isn’t exactly a current event, it IS a current list! Read it if you love fantasy because you’ll see everything your favorite Evil Overlord has ever done to cause his, her or its defeat. http://www.eviloverlord.com/lists/overlord.html
I ran into this list something like ten years ago and I read through it at least once a year. I don’t write fantasy often, but still dabble and have a couple of worlds I’d still like to write stories in. Anyone who was reading this blog two years ago might remember my pieces of flash fiction for a concept called THREAT OF MAGIC. In it, I have developed (using the Evil Overlord List!) a reasonable world…
Ah, but this isn’t about ME! It’s about an idea. I can’t even say that I came up with it, either. An author who teaches a writing workshop, Teresa Neilson Hayden has her students use this method for generating stories.
Today, I’ll ask you to try this one – or go to the website above and choose your own: “If I learn the whereabouts of the one artifact which can destroy me, I will not send all my troops out to seize it. Instead I will send them out to seize something else and quietly put a Want-Ad in the local paper.” (this is #49)
We’ll update this to the 21st Century and have a smart 15-year-old girl who collects small statues skimming through Craigslist looking to add to her collection. The ad asks for a small stature of a man squatting, with arms wrapped around his knees. It also states that this is a fairly common object – but what the buyer is looking for is a heavy, iron version of this; probably rusted. The head has a small gold ring set on it and in the ring is a tiny diamond. The buyer claims it was made by their father and the ring is their mother’s engagement ring. The ad offers $5000 for the figure.
The girl looks up from her laptop. The statue sits on her shelf – in fact, it’s the center of her collection. She shakes her head. She starts college next Fall. She could use the cash. After all, it’s only a statue.
She bookmarks the ad and returns to surfing. She eventually ends  up on msn.com where there is breaking news of a daring raid on an Egyptian museum by art thieves…
Have fun!

Image: http://www.skyscrapernews.com/images/pics/6255CaernarfonCastle_pic1.jpg

Slice of PIE: “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty”…

NOT using the panel discussions of the most recent World Science Fiction Convention in Kansas City in August 2016 (to which I was invited and had a friend pay my membership! [Thanks, Paul!] but was unable to go (until I retire from education)), I will jump off, jump on, rail against, and shamelessly agree with the BRIEF DESCRIPTION given in the pdf copy of the Program Guide. But not today.
My wife and I re-watched the movie, “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty”, starring Ben Stiller. The screenplay was based on a short story of the same name, written by well-known humorist, James Thurber.
Apparently they really have nothing to do with each other, so I’m going to treat the Stiller movie as a science fiction flick.
Why SF and not Fantasy?
It involves both psychology (soft SF) and technology (hard SF) – and advances in technology and how they affect society (classic hard SF)…
The premise is how advances in technology will affect society, in this case, how the internet affects the lives of people whose employ was in a paper magazine that depended on physical film images; at its heart, the kind of SF we all enjoy reading – the book I’m reading now is an exploration of what post-humanity will be like when our psyches can be uploaded to vastly more advanced computers and how that might overtake the biological Human. John C. Wright’s COUNT TO A TRILLION is no more hard SF than Stiller’s TSLOWM.
The psychology is obvious and where in Thurber’s TSLOWM, Walter never moves from his imagination to any kind of reality at all, Stiller’s Walter begins his life lost in a sort of fantasy world, he enters the real world and begins to bring some of those fantasies into reality.
Of course, the only way he can do that is by the application of everyday technology – a combination of jets, helicopters, ocean-going vessels, cars, subways, elevators, high-altitude/low temperature gear, and eHarmony (an online dating site)…
Most importantly to me, however, is that the movie is inspiring. While I can’t say exactly why, I do know that as a writer, I tend to live in my head as Walter did. I can also say, though, that I’ve had my fair share of adventures as a missionary in Nigeria (where we experienced a coup d’état) and I helped perform a puppet show on national TV; Cameroon where we experienced an attempted coup d’état, stepped on a scorpion in the middle of the night, and came down with malaria; and Liberia where nothing of “adventure” happened except that we traveled up and down the coast and I walked along a black sand beach. I was also in Haiti for two weeks, helping to lay the foundation of an orphanage. I guess traveling with a band counts – twice – counts too…two summers running a Bible camp in the center of the Chippewa National Forest and actually SEEING wild timber wolves. Having lunch with Newbery Award-winning author Kate di Camillo. Meeting Mary Grandpre, artist of Scholastic Book’s HARRY POTTER books and a cover of TIME magazine…I have a “real” letter from Madeleine L’Engle, a response to a letter I wrote her, as well as a different one from Anne McCaffery and another from David Brin…
I was the Science Museum of Minnesota’s Teacher of the Year in 1997…
OK, so I’m not exactly an example of Thurber’s Walter Mitty; but I’m certainly not Stiller’s Walter Mitty, either. It’s Stiller’s Walter Mitty, though who is the character of a science fiction movie. While it doesn’t involve space or time travel, it does involve MIND travel as we got to see what he was imagining – saving the dog from a building about to erupt into a fireball; the guy who came out of a LIFE Magazine ad from the Himalayas to talk to Cheryl; being Benjamin Buttons to Cheryl's Daisy Fuller; plus a few others I can’t recall (and can’t seem to find listed anywhere). For a moment, we see what he sees – or where he goes when life isn’t going in the direction he wanted it to. It's a sort of...time travel or psychotic adventure that moves me to want more in my life.
So there you have it – why I think Stiller’s SECRET LIFE OF WALTER MITTY is a science fiction film rather than a fantasy film and why it is SF in the very best of the tradition.
Image: https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/07/d1/3b/07d13b89120aa69106d0410bd5671b52.jpg

LOVE IN A TIME OF ALIEN INVASION Chapter 58

On Earth, there are three Triads intending to integrate not only the three peoples and stop the war that threatens to break loose and slaughter Humans and devastate their world; but to stop the war that consumes Kiiote economy and Yown’Hoo moral fiber. All three intelligences hover on the edge of extinction. The merger of Human-Kiiote-Yown’Hoo into a van der Walls Society might not only save all three – but become something not even they could predict. Something entirely new...
The young experimental Triads are made up of the smallest primate tribe of Humans – Oscar and Kashayla; the smallest canine pack of Kiiote – six, pack leaders Qap and Xurf; and the smallest camelid herd of Yown’Hoo – a prime eleven, Dao-hi the Herd mother. On nursery farms and ranches away from the TC cities, Humans have tended young Yown’Hoo and Kiiote in secret for decades, allowing the two, warring people to reproduce and grow far from their home worlds.
“We had nearly fallen into stagnation when we encountered the Kiiote.”“And we into internecine war when we encountered the Yown’Hoo.” “Yown’Hoo and Kiiote have been defending themselves for a thousand revolutions of our Sun.” “Together, we might do something none of us alone might have done…a destiny that included Yown’Hoo, Kiiote, and Human.” (2/19/2015)
There wasn’t much left in the old kitchen, but then I saw what I wanted. Unlike the ones in the Cities, these had character. Around the corner of the kitchen door, beams of light pierced through the dirty window, penetrating the dusty air. I opened my mouth to warn GURion as the back of the farmhouse began to dissolve.
“Go! Go!” my great uncle shouted.
“I want the doorknob!” I shouted back. The back wall vanished.
“We have sixty seconds – they’re using an analyzer! That’s why we’re still alive!”
I glanced around for something to break it free – but there was nothing. I grabbed the knob that led into my great aunt’s kitchen and yanked. Nothing happened. GURion hip-checked me into the wall and wrenched the knob free bare-plastic-handed with a deafening crack of wood. “Run!”
If GURion hadn’t grabbed the back of my jeans, I’d have fallen the entire way into the underground hideout. Instead, I dangled as he dropped multiple steps at a time. Overhead, the roof began to vibrate as the farm’s attackers disassembled it. We hit the bottom of the shaft and he shoved me forward. I staggered. He called, “Here! Take this!” He tossed the doorknob, with the accompanying splay of shattered wooden door. He spotlighted it as it flipped through the damp air. “Now, go!”
“You can’t stay here! We need you!”
“You have Retired, the Herd, the Pack…”
“But I need you, too! I don’t have a family without you!”
“What about ‘Shay?”
I chopped the air, “She’s just friend – an annoying one!” The ground above us had started to shake. Higher up the shaft, a light pierced sideway, the glare making me wince even this far down.
“I have to close the shaft. Go! I’ll be right behind you!”
Visions of my great uncle – android or not, he still had Rion’s memories! – sacrificing himself for our escape flashed through my head. “You’re not gonna…”
He but me off, “And leave that elderly, addle-pated Human in charge of one third of the group that’s going to save Humanity? Are you crazy?” He shoved me deeper into the shelter. “Go! I’m not going to leave you!”
My face was suddenly hot – and it had nothing to do with the light pouring down from above. It turned and ran down the tunnel. A moment later, there was an explosion behind me. Whatever had blown heaved the floor and flung me into the wall. I landed face down flat on the cold stone, the force knocking the wind out of me. I struggled to my knees as the walls around me vibrated, almost as if they were being repeatedly pounded by a tremendous force. I couldn’t my feet under me, so I crawled. The floor bucked again, rising up to slam me in the chin, snapping my head back. Everything around me – already dark as cave night – exploded in sparkles and faded away.
I sank to the floor, but just before I passed out, something grabbed the back of my pants and lifted me up. Startled and relieved at the same time, I shouted, “If you keep doing that I’m NEVER gonna be able to pass my genes on!”
“Who’d want those scruffy old things?” said GURion. He lifted me to my feet and shouted, “Run like the wind, Bullseye!” A line from my favorite movie as a kid – one I’d watched over and over when I was little. Right in the house that was probably a disintegrated fog of ashes blowing in a cyclonic wind over our heads.
“My name’s not Bullseye!” I managed to shout over the increasing rumble around us.
“I don’t think we’re gonna make it to the blast doors before your boss blows the nuke!”
Image: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/72/Rhll_wire_rope.jpg

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 295

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: (reference: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Transmutation. I think I’m going to mine THIS idea in various ways for a while!) biological transmutation, more specifically covered here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Biological_transmutationCurrent Event: https://docs.google.com/viewer?a=v&q=cache:MIjbfF3oPDsJ:cscanada.net/index.php/ans/article/download/j.ans.1715787020120501.1060/2402+&hl=en&gl=us&pid=bl&srcid=ADGEESjDwBxySL5eTdkaZUJEf5NOA1frh-SJ8ObRqmzBmz8hF_fa0YicigHS1LOozxJVUnySSANeKwQl7L0xCmM1bmIr_n4snFZo13hyn58kwgWVMorQtslHDvAAwiDq9jLmXfrRnoc_&sig=AHIEtbTBpNY9YIxXCeM0li4iEthLB09CIg&pli=1
So basically the idea here is that ancient bacteria (actinidic archaea) in the human body can transform phosphorus, (and I’ve read, silica from sand), and magnesium into calcium via a nuclear addition of protons, neutrons and electrons.
Speaking simply…well, I think I’ll let a couple of characters take over here…
Seamus O’Neille and Brooke Sherman glared at each other over the lab table. Brooke crossed her arms over her chest and said, “The only reason I’ll work with you is because Ms. Harkonnen said I had to.”
Seamus scowled, his pale skin flushing red, making his freckles and red hair look dull by comparison. “Yeah, well Ms. Harkonnen said I had better be your partner ‘cause she felt sorry for you…”
Ms. Harkonnen – who had neither threatened either one nor matched them out of pity – thought they make a cute pair. She also knew that their IQs, if added up, would total more than any THREE other students (and the teacher, she silently amended). If their initial lab reports and test scores were any indication, Ms. Harkonnen was fairly sure there were a dozen people in the room whose IQs wouldn’t total the pair of young geniuses.
Ms. Harkonnen said out loud to the class, “I want you to read the article on ‘biological transmutation’ tonight and be prepared to discuss it tomorrow. I’ll also want you to use the index in the text and a wiki search to find one reference that favors it and one reference that refutes it. Now, back to work on the sheets. Tomorrow we’ll also be starting energy levels.”
Seamus and Brooke had finished glaring at each other when Seamus said, “It’s true. My sinseanathair told tales of the Viviparous Lizard that would eat lead and pass gold beads. He said it changed in the Lizard’s intestines.”
“That’s ridiculous! I had the same ancestors as you and none of them ever told absurd stories like that! You’ve got a brain between those ears, Seamus – use it for something besides a doorstop for once!”
Ms. Harkonnen barely managed to damp her grin. She nodded to the two and said, “It seems natural then that Seamus will lead the discussion from a pro-biological transmutation stance and Brooke will lead the discussion from an anti-biological transmutation stance.” The bell buzzed and she waved the class away, saying, “Have a nice night!”
The division soon became obvious and an undercurrent of discussion carried through every class that day – they were all in the International Baccalaureate Diploma Program so they often had classes together. It also soon became apparent that it was going to be a bit of “boys against the girls”.
By the time she got home, Brooke was hungry, tired and irritated all at the same time. Dad met her at the door of the kitchen. He was a biochemist at Princeton University. Brooke said, “So Dad, can you give me a few sources to use to smash my nasty opponent in a debate tomorrow?”
Dad perked up as he sat on the bar stool, took and apple, bit into it, chewed a bit then asked, “So, who’s the fool who decided to take you on and what’s the subject?”
Brooke sniffed, “The fool is that idiot, Seamus O’Neille. The subject is the absurdity of biological transmutation!”
Dad’s face suddenly went blank. He stood up abruptly, nearly knocking the chair over as he said, “Oh, sorry Sweetie. Just remembered – I’ve got papers to grade tonight…” He scurried away, leaving Brooke startled and bothered. What would have made him act like that?
Names: ♀ Middle English, Middle English ; ♂ Celtic, GaelicImage: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedi...

POSSIBLY IRRITATING ESSAY: Why SHOULD I Write Short Stories?

Using the panel discussions of the most recent World Science Fiction Convention in Kansas City in August 2016 (to which I was invited and had a friend pay my membership! [Thanks, Paul!] but was unable to go (until I retire from education)), I will jump off, jump on, rail against, and shamelessly agree with the BRIEF DESCRIPTION given in the pdf copy of the Program Guide. This is event #2417. The link is provided below…
Most authors agree that short stories don’t pay the bills. If it isn’t for the money, why do they spend their time and energy writing them?
James Patrick Kelly – who, according to Wikipedia, is “an American science fiction author who began publishing in the 1970s and remains to this day an important figure in the science fiction field.” He’s been an ASIMOV’S columnist for years now.Mary Robinette Kowal – I know a bit about this author as we were part of an online writer’s community “before” she made it “big”.David D. Levine – one novel, a bunch of short fiction, he’s from here. My home town (because I was born first!)Mr. Bishop O’Connell – mostly novels, but some shorts.Charlie Jane Anders – EVERYONE knows who he is! Writes for i09!
As you know by now, I write short stories. I write novels, too, but I haven’t gotten one paper-published yet.
After twenty-six short stories, I still have yet to get an award for any of them. I’ve done WELL – these reviews from my most recent:
“The Last Mayan Aristocrat by Guy Stewart is the only one I’d rate as OK….This is well enough told and has an interesting setting, but the story doesn’t quite convince: what was her motivation to do this exactly?” (http://sfmagazines.com/?p=2517)
“Interesting look at an old civilization.” (http://www.sfrevu.com/php/Review-id.php?id=17211)
“ A pretty good story about an apparent alien living with ancient Mayans. ***/4” (http://tpi-reads.blogspot.com/2017/01/analog-science-fiction-and-fact-january.html)
“The end of the Mayan civilization is told by “The Last Mayan Aristocrat” by Guy Stewart. After being all but destroyed by the alien conquistadors the Mayans meet up with a true alien entity and find a way to memorialize their culture into the future.” (http://www.tangentonline.com/print--bi-monthly-reviewsmenu-260/296-analog-sf/3401-analog-januaryfebruary-2017)
Those were the “results” of my attempt to write one of my stories. Mediocre at best. The people who win awards; who “rocket” to stardom (aboard hot air balloons that are, after-the-fact, reinterpreted as Apollo lift offs…), manage to “say something” with their stories.
So what WAS I trying to say? Nothing that I can recall, actually. I had reams of data on the Chicxulub crater I’d unearthed while writing the beginning segment of HEIRS OF THE SHATTERED SPHERES: Emerald of Earth. I wanted to use it because I found the Mayans fascinating and the fact that people still spoke an modern version of ancient Mayan – and no modern versions of Inca (Quechua was spoken BEFORE the Empire formed. Its use was imposed, as English was on the aviation world) or Aztec (“No modern Nahuan languages are identical to Classical Nahuatl…” Wikipedia). Mayan, however, is unique and…well, read the Wikipedia article on the history of the Mayan languages. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mayan_languages) if you’re interested.
I just thought it interesting that the Mayan Empire was dying as the Spanish conquistadores crushed it beneath the weight of their culture. How DID it survive?
Aliens, of course.
But that isn’t enough. Heinlein said, “I must always bear in mind that my prospective reader could spend his recreation money on beer rather than on my stories; I have to be aware every minute that I am competing for beer money-and that the customer does not have to buy. If I produced, let us say, potatoes or beef, I could be sure that my product had some value in the market. But a story that the customers do not enjoy reading is worth nothing.” (GRUMBLES FROM THE GRAVE, Chapter 1, January 10, 1972) Even so, he also said in the same section, that he writes, “…if possible, to cause my readers to think.” [http://www.e-reading.club/bookreader.php/73033/Heinlein_-_Grumbles_From_the_Grave.html#label4]
That wasn’t my goal with “The Last Mayan Aristocrat” – so maybe it SHOULD be. The question is still, “How do I make my readers think?”
I DO write to make readers think. “Teaching Women to Fly” was written for that reason, as were “A Pig Tale”, “Dear Hunter”, “Peanut Butter and Jellyfish”, “Prince of Blood & Spit”, “612 See, 612 Do”, “Invoking Fire”, and “Carpe Hnub”. They were all published, but none of them made any sort of lists. Others that are “in the hopper” and will be going out soon are “The Princess’ Brain”, “Keo Dandelionseed”, “A Memory for Dad” and (eventually) my novel MARTIAN HOLIDAY. VICTORY OF FISTS was written for that reason as well.
What does it take to make it into The Best SF anthologies? I refuse to believe that it’s any sort of conspiracy. It IS a matter of “taste” and there are absolutely individuals who have a certain taste and vote on the stories that get awards and editors who indulge their tastes in story choice. It’s Human and natural. If seems however that while my serious writing appeals to some editors, it’s not appealing to the “right” sort – at least as far as getting widespread notice goes.
Program Book: https://midamericon2.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/07/MACII-PP-Interior-Final-HiRes.pdf
Image: https://c2.staticflickr.com/4/3748/11...

MARTIAN HOLIDAY 97: Paolo at Burroughs Dome

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, 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 (70,000+ words as of now), drop me a line and I’ll send you the unedited version.
On a long stone table stood three squarish, smooth slabs of Martian stone. On each, Paolo Marcillon could see some sort of pattern. Nothing that would suggest letters or images or hash marks. But they had been marked.
OrcAH, a small, blue man who had either been allowed to age as a Natural or had been taken from the vat looking like a wizened, Earth fantasy dwarf, said, “We have studied these three – we call them the Stele – by exposing them to the entire length of the EM spectrum. But there is only one kind of energy that reveals what are admittedly ancient marking. Even under this energy, they are barely discernible…”
“Ultrasound,” Paolo whispered.
Without missing a beat, OrcAH whispered, “Ultrasound.” He paused, “How did you know?”
Paolo paused, took a deep breath, then told how he’d come across both the satellite and the bones. OrcAH interrupted, “What bones?”
“In my travels, I came across The Cydonia Fellowship of Free Martians. They had incontrovertible proof that somethinghad lived on Mars and left its complex bones behind – something that had a…a…side fin,”
“It’s called a pectoral fin,” OrcAH said.
“A pectoral fin, like that of an Earth dolphin. There haven’t been oceans on Mars for three and a half billion years. Given that the Solar System was only four or five billion years old, there’s no time at all for complex life – let alone intelligent life – to have evolved on Mars. The Free Martians believe that the dolphin-like bones had come from somewhere else.”
OrcAH paused before saying, “So, you think this satellite might be of alien design.” He gestured to the Stele, “You believe that the Stele might hold some sort of secret about this satellite you’ve discovered?” Paolo nodded slowly. “What makes you think that?”
“I was studying it…”
“You have a lab?”
Paolo laughed, “No. I was studying it in the airlock of my marsbug.”
“So, you haven’t really studied it and you have no idea what you really have?”
He shrugged. “None.” He lifted his chin in the direction of the Stele. “But I do want to see what these look like under ultrasound.”
OrcAH had been leaning, staring closely at the Stele. He stood up abruptly, “We will not allow you to do this.”
“What?”
“These messages – from the aliens – they belong to Mars.”
“Mars was the god of war. The aliens belong to the god of war?”
OrcAH nodded. “We are the children of this world, more than you who were Naturally born. We were created to serve you, but we were created here and are the real natives.” He paused, then smiled before saying, “Though you kindly refrained from adding an extra pair of arms.” He paused. “We also have some reason to think that the swimmers were some sort of watchers and were here at the time Mars was covered with shallow seas. A time before the shattering of the spheres.”
“The what?”
“The spheres of the solar system were shattered by some immense force which also ripped away the atmosphere of Mars, leaving behind oceans that boiled away into space.” He gestured to the Stele. “We think that some of that story is on the Stele.” He looked up, blinked, and said, “That is why we cannot allow you to decipher them, nor can we allow you to decipher the markings on your satellite.” He stepped closer. “That is why we will take the satellite from you. Now.”

Image: http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_x2tsYqz5q3c/TFpRAD3RNyI/AAAAAAAAC70/ASN65Y_L4lQ/s1600/Astronauta+Marcos+C%C3%A9sar+Pontes.bmp

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 294

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: http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/BarredFromTheAfterlifeCurrent Event: “…theorize that the nuclear war destroyed the afterlife…”, “…some people...have studied and manipulated The Dark to such an extent that they've become functionally immortal…”
Functional immortality: “Research suggests that lobsters may not slow down, weaken, or lose fertility with age, and that older lobsters may be more fertile than younger lobsters. This longevity may be due to telomerase, an enzyme that repairs long repetitive sections of DNA sequences at the ends of chromosomes, referred to as telomeres. Telomerase is expressed by most vertebrates during embryonic stages but is generally absent from adult stages of life. However, unlike vertebrates, lobsters express telomerase as adults through most tissue, which has been suggested to be related to their longevity. Despite internet memes, lobsters are not immortal. Lobsters grow by molting which needs a lot of energy and the larger the shell the more energy, eventually the lobster dies from exhaustion during a molt. Older lobsters are known to stop molting which means the shell will become damaged, infected, or fall apart and they die.”
Juana de Forlán shook herself hard, took a deep breath and said, “I can feel the synthetic lobster juice in me…”
Shaking his head, Koegathe Melamu, “You can’t possibly feel a hundred milliliters of a transparent liquid  in your...”
“I know that!” Juana exclaimed. She shook her arms, “My head knows it, but my body says otherwise.” She took a deep breath, shuddering. “I feel like I’m getting younger by the moment.”
“It’s not an elixir of youth! If it worked the way we thought it should, the telomerase will let your cells keep dividing – more or less forever. But it’s not going to make you younger.”
She held out both of her hands, palms up, and said, “Might as well. I’m gonna live forever!”Koegathe shook his head, saying, “Maybe – but we have no idea what the long-term effects of living forever as a lobster might be.” They both laughed, but after a few minutes, Koegathe reigned his mirth in when he noticed the pitch of his voice had been climbing. He took a deep breath then said, “Maybe that wasn’t as funny as it sounded.”
She shrugged, suddenly feeling light-headed.
"What's wrong?" Koegathe said, stepping toward her.
"I think I'm going to..." It seemed like the world around her rushed into a single dot of focused, bright light. Everything else was dark around her. The point of light remained steady for some time -- she wasn't sure how long because her *-sense of time was abruptly gone. Then the light moved toward her. She might have been moving toward the light. It didn't make any difference. It might have taken time. It might have happened instantaneously, she had no idea.
Once the light grew around her, she found herself standing on solid ground of pearly white. In a throne of the same pearly substance, there sat a being. She knew that it was Death. There was certainly some kind of harvest implement laying on the ground beside the throne, though it looked more like a silver weed whacker. Death didn't wear a robe, it -- he? -- wore solid work clothes, more or less like a technician in a computer manufacturing plant, though he didn't have a mask or gloves. He did have protective goggles pushed up on his head. Black, well-trimmed, wavy hair made it look like he was wearing a cap. The name badge clipped to his collar read, "Greaper".
"Cute," Juana said. "You're the Grim Reaper?" She rolled her eyes as only  a young woman who grew up in the booming first two decades of the 21st Century could.
He lifted a leg to drape it over the arm of the throne and said, "You've presented me with a problem I've never faced before, young lady."
"What?"
"You're dying -- but you are functionally immortal -- and I have no idea what to do with you."
Names: ♀ Uruguay; ♂ Botswana
Image: http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OCWXw6InF70/TKigMBk87NI/AAAAAAAAAy4/tL7MhIfL9CM/s1600/2212_1025142570.jpg

WRITING ADVICE: Can This Story Be SAVED? #10 “Keo Dandelion Seed” (Submitted 3 Times Since 2012, Never Revised until now…)

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, In April of 2014, I figured I’d gotten enough publications that I could share some of the things I did “right”. I’ll keep that up, but I’m running out of pro-published stories. I don’t write full-time, nor do I make enough money with my writing to live off of it, but someone pays for and publishes ten percent of what I write. Hemingway’s quote above will remain unchanged as I work to increase my writing output and sales, but I’m adding this new series of posts because I want to carefully look at what I’ve done WRONG and see if I can fix it. As always, your comments are welcome!
ANALOG Tag Line:Not even I’M certain…I suppose “What we eliminate today may end up saving us tomorrow”????
Elevator Pitch (What Did I Think I Was Trying To Say?)I thought I was saying that while I understand WHY we actively destroy weeds – things like crabgrass, dandelions, hawkweed, and others – what if it turns out that plants we call invasives actually strengthen the domesticated/agricultural plants and our meddling might come back to bite us someday.
Opening Line:“Chuck Kay kicked a clod of root-bound soil at his younger brother.”
Onward: The rest of the story is a riff off of the classic Bible story, “Cain & Abel”. Chuck (Cain), the older is irresponsible and despite the fact that it’s not legal, grows marijuana. He’s the “evil” brother. It so happens in this story that DAD is evil, too. Keo (Abel) being the “good’ brother and doing what he’s supposed to do – cultivating select beneficial invasive seeds for spreading as current cash crop plants are dying under the assault of newer and more adaptable pests and invasives – and is also the butt of Chuck’s cruelty and derision.

What Was I Trying To Say?Like I said, I was writing for a contest; several years ago. My technique wasn’t well-sharpened then. I iterated what I thought I was trying to say above and only want to add that I still think it’s true. Strict evolutionists would say that by removing competition for resources, we are weakening a species; removing the drive for the “survival of the fittest”. Agronomists call it plant competition and instead of simply spraying the weeds away as we’ve done for a long time, there are new methodologies being brought to bear.
The Rest of the Story: They get into a fight and Chuck is arrested – as was Dad and taken to work in the Vertical Villages and on an asteroid. But before they take Chuck away, Keo is “executed” for the benefit of his family’s opinion and recruited into the invasive seeding program by a robot. While the reader doesn’t know who the robot is, I do. It’s been in a number of stories I’ve written…just never published. Its name is Lagos…
End Analysis: I tried something here that was perhaps bigger than what I wanted to do. I involved Dad, Lagos, and other external factors when I should have kept the conflict to Chuck and Keo and let it play out between them. With flash fiction – which this was intended to be – the fewer the characters the better. I’ve been tweeting lately that the number of characters has to be limited. In fact I’ve repeatedly done so for the last SIX writing advice Tweets (https://twitter.com/gstewart75?lang=en) and then ignored my own advice!
Can This Story Be Saved? Yes.
HOWEVER (listen, Guy!) you can’t let it get out of control! Keep the writing tighter than you usually do, drop Dad and Lagos and just let it be between Keo and Chuck. Oh, and don’t change their names from full, Laotian names to American adopted names! Ugh! The first paragraph makes it seem like there are a dozen characters and the reader has NO idea what’s going on!
To work then, and submission immediately afterward.

Image: https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/9f/22/3b/9f223b1e57a36e14db3eb13715fbe3f9.jpg

LOVE IN A TIME OF ALIEN INVASION Chapter 57

On Earth, there are three Triads intending to integrate not only the three peoples and stop the war that threatens to break loose and slaughter Humans and devastate their world; but to stop the war that consumes Kiiote economy and Yown’Hoo moral fiber. All three intelligences hover on the edge of extinction. The merger of Human-Kiiote-Yown’Hoo into a van der Walls Society might not only save all three – but become something not even they could predict. Something entirely new...
The young experimental Triads are made up of the smallest primate tribe of Humans – Oscar and Kashayla; the smallest canine pack of Kiiote – six, pack leaders Qap and Xurf; and the smallest camelid herd of Yown’Hoo – a prime eleven, Dao-hi the Herd mother. On nursery farms and ranches away from the TC cities, Humans have tended young Yown’Hoo and Kiiote in secret for decades, allowing the two, warring people to reproduce and grow far from their home worlds.
“We had nearly fallen into stagnation when we encountered the Kiiote.”“And we into internecine war when we encountered the Yown’Hoo.” “Yown’Hoo and Kiiote have been defending themselves for a thousand revolutions of our Sun.” “Together, we might do something none of us alone might have done…a destiny that included Yown’Hoo, Kiiote, and Human.” (2/19/2015)
Lieutenant Commander Patrick Bakhsh bowed to the Yown’Hoo, Dao-hi and said, “Primate tribal behavior has roots in the Herd behavior, Mother.” He added, “That’s everything. The Pack will be scouts and muscle. The Herd transportation.”
“Of what use is the Tribe?” Qap, the Kiiote Pack mistress said.
Retired looked at me and ‘Shay, winked, and said, “Any kind of dirty work that has to be done, us monkeys will handle.” ‘Shay made a weightlifter’s pose, I puffed my chest.
Deflating, I said, “I want one thing. Can you give me fifteen minutes to go upstairs?”
“You can’t go up there alone!” Retired exclaimed. The rest of the Triad’s leaders shouted objections as well. I sure wasn’t gonna get any help from them!
I opened my mouth to say that I was going up no matter what anyone said, when GURion said, “I’ll go with him. I think I know what he wants.”
Retired looked like he was about to object then shook his head and made a flicking motion as he said, “Fine then, make your Hajj. We’re moving out. The two of you will have to catch up.” He looked at GURion. “If you aren’t back with us in an hour, I’m blowing the place.” My great uncle nodded, Retired and ‘Shay shouldered their packs and the Triad moved out of the rooms.
That left me and GURion standing in alone. I said, “This is all gonna be slag, right?”
He shook his head. “Elemental atoms. It’s not a simple thermonuclear buried under us. The thing is meant to completely eliminate all traces of extraterrestrial manufacture. It’s so Humans don’t suspect that there are aliens out there.”
I snorted. “A little late for that.”
“Agreed, but there’s still technology here that would hurt the Yown’Hoo and the Kiiote if Humans got hold of it. Not to mention turning it on each other. The three meganationals still don’t like each other.”
I grunted – the American Block, the China Block, and the India Block all controlled vast swaths of Earth’s surface, though “control” is usually used loosely. They were the ones who’d funded the Triads. “You think they’d really go after each other while the Yown’Hoo and the Kiiote are beating us up?”
“Human nature,” he sighed. “What do you want from upstairs?”
“I’m not going to tell you. You won’t let me go.”
He sighed then said, “Let’s go before the Kiiote or the Yown’Hoo nuke the place for us.” He led the way back up through the narrow stairway. Once we were on top – and my heart was pounding and I was gasping – we stopped. “You can rest for sixty seconds. Then we have to go.”
“I’m ready,” I gasped. I followed him into the main part of the old farmhouse and stood in the middle of what had once been the living room. “Can you give some low light?”
“Sure.” The room lit with a very dim, reddish glow, almost like it was on fire. Which it would be shortly. The place was a wreck. It really looked abandoned. It probably was in real life.
There wasn’t much, but then I saw what I wanted. Even in the dark, I blushed. It was stupid and not only would ‘Shay and Retired laugh at me when they found out what I’d come back for, GURion wouldn’t probably help me. But they were significant – and they had been eye-level when I last was here. I was like four or five. Just old enough to walk around the place on my own. But I saw the things all the time and unlike the ones in the Cities, these had character. I walked up to the door that led from the living room to the kitchen and suddenly remembered someone baking. Cake? Cookies? I dunno. I was little. But I remembering it smelling really good. I reach out to open the door…and saw a light through the dirty window over the sink where my aunt had stood that day she’d baked me cookies…
I opened my mouth to warn GURion as the back of the farmhouse began to dissolve.

Image: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/72/Rhll_wire_rope.jpg

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 293

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. Regarding Fantasy, this insight was startling: “I see the fantasy genre as an ever-shifting metaphor for life in this world, an innocuous medium that allows the author to examine difficult, even controversial, subjects with impunity. Honor, religion, politics, nobility, integrity, greed—we’ve an endless list of ideals to be dissected and explored. And maybe learned from.” – Melissa McPhail.
F Trope: Fairy TaleCurrent Event: http://www.moonlyf.com/2013/07/the-magic-onions-2013-fairy-garden.html
"Fairy tales do not give the child the idea of the evil or the ugly; that is in the child already because it is in the world already. What fairy tales give the child is his first clear idea of the possible defeat of bogey. The baby has known the dragon intimately ever since he had an imagination. What the fairy tale provides for him is a St George to kill the dragon." —GK Chesterton
 Leyla Manghirmalani wrinkled her nose at the overpowering smell of onions and called out, “Jie? What are you doing?”
Jie Busiri leaned back from his dorm room desk, holding a chopping knife and said, “What’s it look like?”
“That you’re stinking up the whole dorm floor on purpose?”
“No, not stinking up anything. I’m calling the onion fairies,” he said it like he was  a little kid.
Leyla shook her head, “Another one of your lame attempts at recreating ancient fairy magic?”
“Hey! That’s not fair! Didn’t I make it rain last week after I did that Lakota rain dance?”
She snorted, “After checking the weather report for three weeks straight and then picking a day even the weather divas all agreed had a greater than ninety percent chance of rain.” She waved her hand in front of her face and backed up, “I don’t want to weep over spilled onion juice. I’ll come back...”
“No! Wait!” Jie grabbed something from his desk and strode across the room, chopping knife in one hand.
Leyla laughed, “If I hadn’t known you since pre-school, I’d have just gone running down the hall dialing 911 and telling them a freshman U of M student had just gone crazy.”
Jie shook his head, handing her a piece of pink gum. “Chew this, it’ll keep your eyes from watering.”
“Why didn’t you just soak them in cold salty water?”
He looked at her like she was crazy and said, “They won’t be magic then, stupid.”
“Hey! Don’t call me stupid! You’re the one they’d throw in the loony bin if they asked why you were chopping onions!” She chewed and stepped into the room and her eyes didn’t tear up automatically. “Hey, it works.”
He blew a bubble and said, “Why do you think I’m doing it?”
“I thought you wanted to be struck by your onion magic?”
He sniffed in disdain and went back to his chopping board. “I’m not interested in helping myself. I’m going to place the slices of onions with a slice of mushroom on top...”Leyla cut in, “If I get a pain hamburger from Mac’s, can I just put them on and make a Whopper?”
“Ha, ha, ha,” he said, chopping again. “Just wait and see how well our floor does on finals – then we’ll see who has the last laugh!”
They hung out the rest of the night and Leyla helped him place the mushroom and onion slices in the rooms of the people willing to go with his craziness. By the time they were done studying and onion-placing, it was past two in the morning. “I gotta get some sleep,” she said, “I have a chem final first thing.”
Jie gave her a hug, saying, “I made sure I put the biggest onion slice in your room and I piled the rest of the mushrooms on top of it.”
“Oh, thank you so much,” she dead-panned. “Thank you so, so much for your fairly wonderful generosity.”
He smirked then said, “Just you wait, Leyla Higgins, just you wait.”
She smiled at the MY FAIR LADY jab and headed for bed.
Names: ♀Iran, India, ; ♂ China, Egypt Image: http://www.skyscrapernews.com/images/pics/6255CaernarfonCastle_pic1.jpg