Guy Stewart's Blog, page 122

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 240

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: “Grave Clouds for the variant where the weather is simply miserable at graveyards and other creepy areas, and which is possibly a sister trope to this. See also Evil Is Not Well Lit…”Current Event: http://science.howstuffworks.com/science-vs-myth/afterlife/scary-graveyard1.htm

Niaria Xiong-Walker squinted, trying to see through the gathering mist that apparently hung over the cemetery every night. She said, “How can mist hang over this place EVERY night? Fog’s a function of temperature, humidity, and dew point.”
Seth Bakhsh stood near an obelisk, pitted from ages of lower-than-water pH acid rain that drizzled from the Rochester, NY sky on a regular basis, giving it the dubious distinction of the being the American city with the most rainy days and its unofficial slogan, “If it rains, it’s Rochester”. He said, “It’s the oldest municipal graveyard in the US and has 400,000 dead people in it. Don’t you think that all those ghosts might have an effect on the weather?”
Niaria snorted and said, “They don’t even act as creeped out as you are doing in my parents old village in Nigeria! You’re a wimp, Seth!”
He snorted just as loudly, “I prefer to think that I’m prepared for all eventualities – even ephemeral ones.”Shaking her head, she tapped her tablet computer and plugged in a cord. “I’m going to see if there’s any truth to the old wives tale that cemeteries are always foggy and creepy at night.”

“How many have you tested?” he asked. He usually ignored her scientific researches in favor of tapping her fascination in anime movies by presenting her with the latest rerun of her favorite Miyazaki film.
“Sixteen,” she replied.
“What?” he stepped from the obelisk, saying, “This isn’t the first time you’ve done this?”
“Duh,” she grabbed the tip of the cord and pulled, a long sensor extended, glowing blue.
“What’s that?”
“A data staff. It collects information and feeds it into a program I wrote.”
“So you can detect monsters?”
“Nothing so solid. Ephemerals. Like you said.”
“Ghosts?” he breathed the word – and his breath fogged in front of his face. “How come it’s so cold here?”
She shook her head, “Because the temperature’s low, dummy.”
“No – I mean it wasn’t cold a second ago and now I can see my breath.” 
She looked at her tablet then back up at Seth, “The data confirm your sensations.”
“Duh.”
She looked around, scowling. “But there isn’t any reason…” As she said the words, something congealed out of the fog. It wasn’t humaniform, more like a lizard-like; possibly saurian, large as the obelisk.
Seth said, “It’s coming out of that gravestone...”
“It’s a monument…”
“Whatever it is, I think it has big claws.”
Names: ♀  India, Hmong, English-Scottish; ♂Hebrew, Pakistan
Image: https://c1.staticflickr.com/1/123/379357775_08f2329707.jpg

POSSIBLY IRRITATING ESSAYS: “Galaxy Quest”, Alan Rickman, Reality…but MOSTLY “Galaxy Quest”

[image error]

I thought I’d written this before!
In the earlier part of this century, I wrote a series of essays for an online discussion group called THE FRIDAY CHALLENGE. The editor Bruce Bethke, challenged all sorts of my pre-conceptions, the first one being to explore why Michael Shaara, the Pulitzer Prize-winning author of THE KILLER ANGELS had dropped out of the science fiction business...
At any rate, I also wrote comebacks for the critical panning of “Green Lantern” and its star, Ryan Reynolds; as well as against the lukewarm reception of “Men In Black 3”. I even wrote at paean to the archetype time travel movies, “Back To The Future”.
I could have sworn I’d written about “Galaxy Quest”…but I was mistaken and today I’ll take make a few of my own observations.
First of all is that GQ was entirely a parody of Star Trek: The Original Series. While this is obviously true, it was far more than that.  Certainly, it used ST:TOS as a jumping off point to show what the writers might have done with the show using today’s sensibilities and technology.
But it was more than just a parody. For example, toward the end of the movie, the alien Quellek is murdered by the aliens who serve Sarris, a vaguely lobster-oid alien with a screwed in eyepatch like the Klingon captain, Chang in “ST: The Undiscovered Country”. Unlike Spock, whom Rickman is intended to mock, his character Dr. Lazarus is not only intelligent, but caring and passionate as well. The moment Quellek dies is a turning point for the character Alexander Dane – all of a sudden, he realizes that there has been an underlying power in the part he’d played so blithely for the three years the show was in production (this is never mentioned so I assume that the length was the same as ST:TOS).
While virtually all the reviews I read dealt with the parody aspect of the film, how well it was executed, how closely it paralleled ST, and how everyone fell off their seats laughing, I believe there was something more. I believe GQ mocked all of us and our absurd glorification of unreality.
The Thermians in the movie are part of a highly advanced technological civilization, that much is undeniable given the movie’s premise, going so far as to use some sort of technology hinted at in another ST television show, VOYAGER. In that series, technology was used that I have never seen discussed anywhere: circuitry in the form of “neural gel packs”. GQ makes graphic note that the Thermians use such technology when the “phaser pistol” is crushed by the “chompers” leaving a gun’s shell in a mass of bluish goo. They have a tremendous ethical system as well, being not only unfamiliar with lies and deceit, but also incapable of subterfuge: it takes no prompting at all from Captain Nesmith to induce them to tell the entire truth about their captain and show the graphic video files of her torture and demise. They refer to the GQ series episodes as historical documents.
This seems to tickle the funny bones of the reviewers of the movie – and not once does anyone mention that we are as naïve as the Thermians. We’re not as virtuous, nor are we as technologically advanced, nor are we as brave, nor as committed to relationships – but we are as idiotic in how we watch television and use all of the other media at our disposal (and I mean that in the literal sense).
We avidly watch “reality” TV – shows like THE BIGGEST LOSER and AMERICAN IDOL and SURVIVOR suck us into their universes and we gobble them up without pausing to think that the weekly “show” we watch is editorial cuts, compilations, and intentional deceit made to lead us to absurd conclusions that we too can lose hundreds of pounds; become a superstar; survive horrendous conditions – all on our own. The TV shows are, after all, sold as “reality TV”.
When Mathesar, the leader of the last remnant of Thermian civilization finally realizes that GQ was a lie, he is horrified. He realizes to Sarris’ huge amusement, that everything his people believed is false.
That would be a great message, but GQ insists on giving our “reality TV” shows back to us by saying, “Nah! Just kidding! BIGGEST LOSER, AMERICAN IDOL, SURVIVOR… they’re all really real!!! You can win the Powerball!!!! You can really win the Publisher’s Clearing House zillion dollar grand prize!!!!! Hahahahaha!!!!!!! We were just kidding about ‘reality’!!!!!!! We are reality...”
And that is what I think is the saddest thing about the movie. It had a chance to say something important. It said it.
Then it chickened out and unsaid it.
*sigh*
Image: https://www.flickr.com/photos/neokrisys/5363215128

MARTIAN HOLIDAY 77: Paolo At Burroughs

[image error]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. ?zZ
Paolo Marcillon scowled for a long time, then accessed the satellite owned by an underground church and railroad – a shadow organization of the Cydonia Fellowship of Free Martians that the congregation just called “the fellowship” – and reprogrammed their ‘bug’s destination for Cydonia and what the 20thCentury had dubbed The Face On Mars.
Nodding, he reprogrammed his own ‘bug for intercept, then settled back. He’d meet the   four vatmates in Cydonia. Until then, they had a long journey, probably fraught, probably dangerous, certainly not direct.
He might die.
One or all of them might die as well. He could program their ‘bug; he could program his own; but he could not program events. They would have to play out – or unravel – as they would. Most likely there would be no miraculous God interventions here on the surface of Mars.
With a sigh, he settled back and closed his eyes; not to sleep, but to pray for wisdom and guidance. As an afterthought, he programmed the ‘bug to follow the least third-least-probable path to a distance greater than four kilometers from Burroughs and stop at a place he could scope out the lay of the land and monitor internal. Sighing, he lay back and started with a confession…
 
When he woke finally, the marsbug had come to a stop. Partially concealed by the base of an upthrust fault and aligned with a crack in a boulder resting at the base of the cliff, he had a clear view of the second largest city on Mars. He tapped his database through the ‘bug’s console rather than through his link. He’d jiggered the console to route any external activity through three or four different nets and satellites. He was traceable, no doubt to people in Mars Authority – but only if they knew enough about him to deduce his trail.
There weren’t many people like that.
One of them lived in Burroughs, though Paolo wasn’t certain it would be safe to see him. Still, the vine had it that he’d not only converted, he was serving the community. He studied the Dome. Going in to speak to Natan Wallach, the ostensible Hero of the Faith Wars wasn’t his idea of a safe trip. The man had single-handedly led dozens of purges. He’d personally overseen the Martyrdom of the Six hundred and Sixty-Six. He’d deliberately chosen each and every one of the group. Certainly there’d been a convicted child molester, no rapists or murderers that he knew of, a gene thief, and a garden variety air thief, a pair of embezzlers caught, sentenced, escaped, and caught at least twice more. The Domes figured that was about enough repeating and sentenced them to death by exposure. The other six hundred and sixty-one had been a mixed bag of ninety-four Jews captured in a kibbutz in the shadow of Olympus, fifty-three Buddhists from a deep-desert underground seitch, another even hundred Muslims and Hindu men, women, and children detained and accused of religious terrorism, forty-nine Artificial Humans. The other three hundred and sixty-five were an Earth-significant number of Christians.
All of them were herded into an industrial airlock. After some debate, the Five Councils had decided that explosive decompression would be more humane than slow suffocation.
Wallach had not only led the assault on the kibbutz and the ashram where Hindu monks had been sheltering Muslim refugees at Lewis Outpost, but had held pitched battle with a secret colony of Artificial Humans at the South Pole. Paolo paused and pulled up the file. Natan’s image leaped into high definition three dimensions over the console. Paolo held his breath – if he was going to look for the man, he needed to know what he looked like. At least what he’d looked like a decade ago. He tapped the play key and listened: “Humanity has stood divided for millennia, probably since our first prehistoric ancestors. At first, those divisions were necessary, driving Homo sapiens to evolve, to dominate, and to eventually win a spot on this world using their brain as the most flexible and powerful weapon. Once that had happened, Humanity discovered ways to not only grow food, but to grow a society. There were thousands of experiments with structures – both physical and sociological.
“I will be the first to admit that among the constructs created by Humanity, religion had a place – it took the place of science, before our primitive, stupid forebears were able to comprehend the world around them, it was necessary to assign unstoppable powers to unseen forces – to create gods. Certainly organized religions allowed the movement of material and capital and people. Certainly, there was a time when religions served a purpose. But Humans outgrew the need for religions as science began to understand and quantify the unseen. Once it was quantified, Humans learned to manipulate the unknown. They became, in a sense gods – though no more divine than you or I.” The gathered crowd, standing silent until this time laughed and then cheered.
“However, the time came when not only did we not need gods or goddesses or religions, but the useful construct began to fight back. Rather than fade peacefully into the same closet as other antiquated social constructs like race, gender, and law, religions chose to stay, maintaining their sway over Humanity, turning their gentle leadings into iron-fisted dominance. They waged war against intelligence, against racial harmony, against sexual freedom, and the exercise of free will! They pretended to hold superior views to those who did not agree with them. When the rest of Humanity cowered under their brutal control, they began to war against each other. That war still rages on Earth.
“Mars is Humanity’s last, best hope to shake off the chains of religion’s inherent superiority ideology. These religious ideologies have not only led to the slaughter of millions of innocents, but to the unchecked reversion of scientific knowledge, the cessation of the free growth of the individual, and the stagnation of Human society on all of the planets and moons of this Solar System. The people of Mars have chosen to stand in the gap and deny these people the freedom to chain Humanity to its dismal and dark past.” The crowd roared its approval. Wallach thundered, in the best tradition of evangelical street preachers he raised his hands, “We will not go down again under the yoke of bondage!” He slammed them down on the emergency evacuation plunger, blowing the doors off the airlock and ending the lives of the six hundred and sixty-six martyrs.
Paolo sat watching the empty air over the console. His pulse pounded in his ears. He had spent months in prayer. He had spent days in prayer. He had spent every moment he was awake on his way to this place in prayer. But the answer – the compulsion – had not lessened. He had to talk to Natan Wallach.
He had to talk to the Hero of the Faith Wars; a man who was a close to him as a brother. Because they WERE brothers...
Image: http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_x2tsYqz5q3c/TFpRAD3RNyI/AAAAAAAAC70/ASN65Y_L4lQ/s1600/Astronauta+Marcos+C%C3%A9sar+Pontes.bmp

VICTORY OF FISTS Set To Release February 23!!!!!

My NEW book, VICTORY OF FISTS is due out February 23, 2016! It's currently on the banner of MUSE IT UP, Publishing! You can pre-order it now from MuseItUp or from Amazon.com...
https://museituppublishing.com/bookstore/index.php/coming-soon/victory-of-fists-detail

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 239

[image error]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.
Fantasy Trope: The QuestCurrent Event: http://contemplativequest.com/, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alice's_Adventures_in_Wonderland
Světlana Angelika pursed her lips, looking out over the hectares of forest. In the MSP Vertical Village, it was mostly deciduous trees – oak, maple, patches of white-barked birch, poplar – with a sprinkling of pine trees. The concourse she and Uthman Aali were on was packed with people. Not a hundred thousand, for sure, but too many to think. “We need to go somewhere,” she said abruptly, speaking in the too loud manner of all the inhabitants of Vertical Villages everywhere.
Uthman gave her a look that said, “You’re crazy.”
She slugged him in the shoulder. It was a little kid move – but then, they’d been friends since they were three years old. “No, I’m serious. We need to go somewhere real.”
Without changing his stare, Uthman said, “We can go up to the six hundredth floor...”
“No! I don’t mean here. This is all so...boring. We need to go,” she pause, “through a looking glass.”
“A what?”
“A looking glass! Haven’t you ever read Alice in Wonderland?”
“I might have seen a threevee of it once. Wasn’t it a cartoon?”
“Yes – and no, you haven’t seen this. Lewis Carroll wrote a novel, it’s true. But he was a mathematician. His logic is all over the book. Math. Everything.”
Uthman snorted, “It sounds like science fiction.”
“It’s fantasy – she steps through a mirror.”
“If it’s math and logic, it’s science fiction.”
“There are talking rabbits,” said Světlana. “And a talking, disappearing cat. As well as a talking, smoking caterpillar, talking mice, and soldiers made of playing cards.”
“OK. You win. It’s a fantasy. But what does it have to do with us? What kind of mirror can we jump through? I’m sure there are some here – but...”
“The windows. We can jump through one of those.”
“A window?”
“Come on, let’s go to the outer walls. We’ll leap through one of those!” She turned and ran, Uthman running after her.
Names: ♀ Czech, Roman; ♂ Arabic, HinduImage: http://meetgray.com/Media/Default/%D0%9B%D1%8C%D1%8E%D0%B8%D1%20%D0%9A%D1%8D%D1%D1%D0%BE%D0%BB/Lewis_Carroll_Guildford_6-700x525.JPG

WRITING ADVICE: What Happened When I Read Ursula K. LeGuin’s Newly Revised Book, STEERING THE CRAFT: A 21st Century Guide to Sailing the Sea of Story (September 2015) Guy Stewart #29

[image error]“We are all apprentices
in a craft where no one
ever becomes a master.”
Ernest Hemingway
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, Lin Oliver speak at a convention hosted by the Minnesota Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators. Since then, I have shared (with their permission) and applied the writing wisdom of Lin Oliver, Jack McDevitt, Nathan Bransford, Mike Duran, Kristine Kathryn Rusch, SL Veihl, Bruce Bethke, and Julie Czerneda. Together they write in genres broad and deep, and have acted as agents, editors, publishers, columnists, and teachers. Since then, I figured I’ve got enough publications now that I can share some of the things I did “right” and I’m busy sharing that with you.
While I don’t write full-time, nor do I make enough money with my writing to live off of it...neither do all of the professional writers above...someone pays for and publishes ten percent of what I write. When I started this blog, that was NOT true, so I may have reached a point where my own advice is reasonably good. We shall see! Hemingway’s quote above will now remain unchanged as I work to increase my writing output and sales! As always, your comments are welcome!
Addendum: Compared to Ursula K. LeGuin, most speculative writer’s work fall short of literary merit. But LeGuin won The annual 2004 Edwards Award, the panel noting that: “LeGuin ‘has inspired four generations of young adults to read beautifully constructed language, visit fantasy worlds that inform them about their own lives, and think about their ideas that are neither easy nor inconsequential’” (Wikipedia)
(The following is how I started the last Writing Advice Entry – but it’s necessary to set the stage for my observations beginning in paragraph four…)
I started reading this book (the 2015 edition), which was originally published in 1998, a few days ago. I have found it slow going – not because it’s badly written, but because every sentence invites me to pause and reflect.
Before her, only two other writers – and I mean no offense here – have inspired me to consider their non-fiction works with the same kind of attention. Dietrich Bonhoeffer and C.S. Lewis have given me such pause that it seemed to take forever to read THE COST OF DISCIPLESHIP and MERE CHRISTIANITY because I was marking, underlining, or commenting on two or three things on every page.
I mean no offense because I am well-aware of LeGuin’s opinion of religion, and of Christianity in particular, but my writing is almost as important to me as my faith – and LeGuin has forced me to think about my writing in a way I have never done before.
And so, to work: “I see the biggest difference between past and present tenses not as immediacy but as complexity and size of field…the difference between a narrow beam flashlight and sunlight. One shows a small, intense, brightly lit field with nothing around it. The other shows the world.” (p 52); “So make sure, if you change tenses in midstory, that you know that you’re doing it, and why. And if you do it, make sure you carry your readers effortlessly with you, and don’t maroon them like the hapless crew of the Enterprise, in a Temporal Anomaly that they can only get out of only by using Warp Speed Ten.” (p 56)
I have a book coming out this year in which I did this deliberately: I flipped from past and present tenses EVERY CHAPTER…I very likely made it almost impossible to find a publisher for the book, but I honestly couldn’t see any other way to make the point I wanted to make.
In VICTORY OF FISTS (you can read the first two chapters in first-draftform here: http://theworkandworksheetsofguystewart.blogspot.com/), Langston Hughes Jones has a big problem with fighting. He’s been defending himself  by punching people’s lights out since kindergarten. He’s smart too, and knows that he had to find some way to deal with that anger or he’d destroy his future.
So he writes poetry. Lots of it. All the time. He writes it after he has to deal with things that make him mad and he writes to deflect that anger.
I wanted to show (among other things) that we don’t have to choose self-destructive behavior. STUDENTS don’t have to choose self-destructive behavior. They can choose to deal with the world in ways that will move them closer to their goals and their dreams.
I wanted Langston to achieve his dreams; but I wanted more than that. I wanted the reader to SEE him working out his future. They needed to see him get mad repeatedly and then work through the anger.
The only way to do that was to show the incident and then show his thought processes. So, I used third person, past tense when I was describing what happened and first person – past tense (I hate writing in present tense. For some reason it makes me, pardon the pun, “tense”) when he wrote poetry. He makes notes, talks to the reader/himself, and then finds a format of poetry that fits what he wants to say. He does one in the style of Seuss, one in the style of Shel Silverstein, another in Shakespearean sonnet form, still another like the poems of Walt Whitman. It was hard to communicate his thought processes any other way but by getting into his head.
That created another problem. How could I make poetry violent? How could I make a teenager writing poetry exciting?
LeGuin clearly defined what I needed to do: “I define story as a narrative of events (external or psychological) that moves through time or implies the passage of time and that involves change. I define plot as a form of story that uses action as its mode, usually in the form of conflict, and that closely  and intricately connects one act to another, usually through a causal chain, ending in a climax.” (p 122) So I had to make writing poetry active.
*sigh* It was hard, but I think I accomplished what I set out to do: make a cross between FIGHT CLUB and CRANK…
What did I learn? Obviously NOTHING! Ms. LeGuin would probably hate me for what I did in VICTORY OF FISTS…
Image: http://static4.quoteswave.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/06/We-are-all-apprentices.jpg

JOURNEY TO THE PORTRAIT’S SECRET #81: July 31, 1946

[image error]This series is a little bit biographical and a little bit imaginary about my dad and a road trip he took in the summer of 1946, when he turned fifteen. He and a friend hitchhiked from Loring Park to Duluth, into Canada and back again. He was gone from home for a month. I was astonished and fascinated by the tale. So, I added some speculation about things I've always wondered about and this series is the result. To read earlier SHORT LONG JOURNEY NORTH clips, click on the label to the right, scroll down to and click OLDER ENTRIES seven or eight times. The FIRST entry is on the bottom of the last page.
Edwina Olds, Lieutenant, WACS (ret.), “Ed” by choice, reached across Tommy Hastings and patted Freddie Merrill’s knee, “If it weren’t for Arnie, I’d take you up on your offer, son.” She sighed, “But you know how truck drivers and cops are.”
“I don’t know!” Freddie exclaimed.
“Rock solid, son. Rock solid through and through.”
Freddie sighed, closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. As they drove on into the night, his fake sleep turned real; and Tommy wasn’t far behind. Ed smiled at the boys fondly and whispered, “But I sure hope I have some boys like you two someday.”
 
It was still dark when they woke up, but as Tommy looked around blearily, he said, “Where are we?”
The truck was slowing, Ed down-shifting as they approached an intersection. “Milaca.”
Freddie groaned, stretched his arms, elbowing Tommy’s ear. “Ouch! Watch where you’re poking that thing! Like you got a bayonet for a elbow!”
“Sorry,” he muttered, not meaning anything by it.
Tommy elbowed him back. Freddie twisted sideways, his hands going for Tommy’s neck.
“Stop,” Ed said suddenly, her voice soft – but cracking like a whip of a lion tamer. Both boys froze in mid-motion.
“What’s wrong?” Tommy whispered.
Ed turned to them, and by the green light from the dashboard, she looked like the Bride of Frankenstein. Both boys shrank away from her. The tractor trailer drifted into the tiny town. Four lights lit the main street, backlighting for just a second, a round shadow. Freddie began, “What’s that…”
Ed’s hand lashed out. Cupped over his mouth, her fingers exerted such pressure that they squeezed his jaw closed and pressed him against the back of the trailer window. The glass groaned.
So did Freddie.
She released him and his slid down the seat and into the well. Tommy did the same as she geared the truck up slowly, passing the island of light in an otherwise inky darkness. The drove for what seemed like an hour before she said, “You can get up now.”
His voice weird, Freddie managed to say, “I can’t. My jaw’s broken. In six places.”
“It’s not broken,” said Ed. “If it was, you wouldn’t be able to talk at all and you’d be screaming in pain.” She paused, “I know. I’ve broken the jaws of several men. And arms. A couple of legs and at least one neck.” She paused again, then added, “Besides, you can still move – even if I had accidently broken it. Which I didn’t.”
“Then...”
“The Socialists were there. Waiting for you.”
“You could have protected us!” said Tommy.Ed snorted. “I’m strong boys, but not that strong. Certainly not strong enough to take on fifteen armed men by myself.”

“You got us!” Freddie exclaimed.
Ed barked, cleared her throat then said, “I do, and we could probably take them all on.” She jerked her chin to one side, “But we now have a bigger problem.”
Both boys said together, “What?”
“We’re running out of gas,” she gestured through the windshield, “And there’s not a gas station within miles.” She paused, “And the tank is almost empty.”
Image: http://www.lakesnwoods.com/images/Milaca20.gif

Read An Article. Horrified.

THE $7500 BLOGGING MISTAKE EVERY BLOGGER NEEDS TO AVOID!


From a site called living for naptime...you can search for it yourself. I'm afraid if I link it, the extortionist will search and follow it back before I can delete my pix.

Ideas On Tuesdays 237

 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: The rag-tag rebel army/fleet struggles valiantly to overthrow the Evil Empire (The TV series FIREFLY used this trope to great effect!)
Current Event: http://metro.co.uk/2013/06/25/star-wars-actor-warwick-davis-id-love-to-be-a-villain-with-a-lightsaber-in-episode-7-3854887/
Zehra Borg bit her lower lip, then remembered that it wasn’t exactly the most impressive look in the world. Captain Fenwick was up front, trying to cut a deal with the insectoid Krkrach swarm leader. They’d watched the entire classic movie, DISTRICT 9 in order to get them ready for this.
Still, the things were creepier than all get out – and she wasn’t helping to create a fearsome Human image by biting her lip.
Beside her, Warwick Yilmaz dug his elbow into her side, leaned over and whispered, “They really do look like crickets on steroids!”
“That’s ‘allies’ to you, boy!”
He subsided and grunted. They needed all the help they could get. The upper stratosphere of the Empire was controlled entirely by Humans. There wasn’t a single alien in any position higher than the Secretary of Inter-Species Affairs – and it’s job was mostly ceremonial. The real decisions were made by the Human Director of Inter-Species Affairs. The Secretary, while it certainly seemed to be an intelligent snail-like being, didn’t seem overly smart. She sighed. That was how she’d gotten involved in this whole rebellion.
From behind her, a thorny creature known to Humans as an Athing, nudged her, nearly knocking her off her feet. While most Athings were polite, philosophical if somewhat long-winded beings, this one was rude, obnoxious – and seemed to be out to get her goat.
Warwick saw what Geffner – that’s what this one’s name (or title, she wasn’t sure) was – did. He flushed red and balled his fists, muttering, “If the captain weren’t trying to negotiate help...”
Geffner rumbled something back and while none of them had their translator circuits tuned at the moment, its intent was clear. Warwick murmured back, “You and what part of the squad?”
Suddenly the Captain turned around and snapped, “Geffner, Borg, Yilmaz and Kachuh’Gna – forward!”
Zehra’s eyes widened and she glanced at Warwick as she snapped to attention and went forward. Geffner farted – an Athing’s response to unexpected stress. She wasn’t exactly sure what Kachuh’Gna did, but the amorphous alien was suddenly resting near the Captain, it’s pangolin-like pet seated on top of its pulsating blob of a body.
Zehra and Warwick stepped lively, though Warwick had to step faster than she did because his legs were markedly shorter – he was from Human stock that had once been called “midgets”. Kachuh’Gna was already there and after a moment of immobility, Geffner had lumbered up to join them.
The Captain said, “You four are going to be doing a solider exchange. We need to better understand the Krkrach. You four are the best we have at adapting to alternative life forms. So you’re going to live with the Swarm for the next two  months. You’re going to share your ideas with each other and you’re going to make the integration of our two forces go smoothly and without a hitch. The Flota de Rebelde is planning an major incursion into Imperial space and we need every advantage we can get – including a thorough understanding of our new allies’ military and communication abilities.” She nodded to them, then turned and bowed to the Head Cricket On Steroids...
Names: ♀ Turkey, Malta ; ♂ England, Turkey  
Image: http://themovieblog.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/07/thing.jpg

A Slice of PIE: Where is Asimov When You Need Him? (Condescending Scientists Have Killed Science Reporting)

Using the panel discussions of the most recent World Science Fiction Convention in Spokane, August 2015, 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 #3207 . The link is provided below…

Science Reporting: Science plays an important part of our lives. Our ability to understand science is dependent, in part, on how science is reported in the news. An on-going trend is the loss of science beat reporters, but also the rise of professional scientists as bloggers. How well is science reported in today’s new media? How might this change? What are sources of science news that you can rely on? Anne Hoppe (m), Frank Catalano, Janet Freeman-Daily, Charlotte Lewis Brown(This essay is not in direct response to this event -- it just sparked a line of thought!)When I think of the best science reporters – not the smartest, or best in their field, or with the most letters behind their names, or the most insistent that they are “right” – I think of Isaac Asimov.
“…professor of biochemistry at Boston University, best known for his works of science fiction and for his popular science books. Asimov was prolific and wrote or edited more than 500 books and an estimated 90,000 letters and postcards. His books have been published in 9 of the 10 major categories of the Dewey Decimal Classification.” (Wikipedia)
We have no Asimov today. In fact, I can think of no scientist-author-newspaper columnist anywhere…one that’s not condescending, that is. Currently, AGW warming alarmists have set themselves at the very forefront of science reporting hecklers. The people they heckle, unfortunately, are people who are NOT scientists. Try this on for size:  http://www.huffingtonpost.com/justin-stoneman/post_868_b_720398.html
This one’s about obesity and stupid Americans. Or how about this one: http://news.discovery.com/space/astronomy/1-in-4-americans-dont-know-earth-orbits-the-sun-yes-really-140214.htmabout how stupid Americans don’t know that the Earth orbits the sun. Or this one regarding democracy: http://blog.sfgate.com/politics/2012/03/09/scientists-say-america-is-too-dumb-for-democracy-to-thrive/. How about the simple fact that we’re psychologically messed up: https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/wired-success/201407/anti-intellectualism-and-the-dumbing-down-america. And then there’s the Democratic Party’s American “whipping boy” – the GOP is stupid (by implication anyone who is a Republican is stupid…so roughly half of the US) http://www.addictinginfo.org/2015/12/18/obama-calls-gop-stupid-on-climate-change-even-far-right-european-parties-agree-video/.
This article, however, is both NOT par-for-the-course and well-done: http://www.nytimes.com/2015/01/04/opinion/sunday/playing-dumb-on-climate-change.html?_r=0
Not ONCE did Asimov begin with “Americans are so stupid” or “The GOP is so stupid” or any other deprecatory statement of ANY group of people. He educated. He wrote clearly and on everything. He educated without malice and with a sense of humor. He wrote quizzes that people actually took – my local “newspaper” still does them! (http://www.startribune.com/isaac-asimov-s-super-quiz/129322923/)
For a complete list of his work, go here: http://www.asimovonline.com/oldsite/essay_guide.html
As for his essays, “Though perhaps best known throughout the world for his science fiction, Isaac Asimov was also regarded as one of the great explainers of science. His essays exemplified his skill at making complex subjects understandable, and were written in an unformal style, liberally sprinkled with personal anecdotes that endeared him to a legion of faithful readers.”
Even as intelligent as he was; even though he knew he probably knew more than most of the people he met, he responded this way in the Fall of 1989: “I RECEIVED a letter the other day. It was handwritten in crabbed penmanship so that it was very difficult to read. Nevertheless, I tried to make it out just in case it might prove to be important. In the first sentence, the writer told me he was majoring in English literature, but felt he needed to teach me science. (I sighed a bit, for I knew very few English Lit majors who are equipped to teach me science, but I am very aware of the vast state of my ignorance and I am prepared to learn as much as I can from anyone, so I read on.)” (http://chem.tufts.edu/answersinscience/relativityofwrong.htm)
Would that more science writers took Asimov’s stance; spoke more eloquently; AND judged less harshly, maybe the whole GMO issue, and AGW issue, and stem cell issue, and vaccine issue, and every OTHER issue regular folk respond to with fear; might never have come to BE issues if more science writers worked at educating people gently rather than with the “I HAVE A PHD AND SO I KNOW MORE THAN ALL OF YOU STUPID [choose your group] PEOPLE SO YOU HAVE TO LISTEN TO ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”(I actually had a person write this to me because of a blog post.) that I’ve seen so often in so many paper and online publications.
So, is there any science writer out there with the “spirit” of Asimov?
(PS – I picked the quote above because I am certain that scientists and writers who are most critical of “the rest of us” automatically assume that they would “of course” be with Asimov in laughing at stupid people. But I can’t find a single reference to him completing the statement with, “Except for scientists and people who think other people are stupid.” I’m pretty sure that “society” includes all of us – and I’m pretty sure Asimov would have included himself in “society (‘the aggregate of people living together in a more or less ordered community.’)”)
Program Book: http://sasquan.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/06/ConGuide.toupload.pdfImage: http://img15.deviantart.net/8e00/i/2015/104/f/f/isaac_asimov_man_among_robots_by_roberlan-d8cp5ag.jpg