Guy Stewart's Blog, page 124

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 234

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: Archaeological Arms Race (http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/ArchaeologicalArmsRace)
Current Event: http://io9.com/carbon-nanotubes-were-an-ancient-superweapon-1707615687, http://www.ryot.org/autistic-teen-becomes-youngest-astrophysicist-world/394809, http://msc.tsinghua.edu.cn/sanya/StringMath2015/speakers.aspx
Puteri Etini shook sand from his hands and stood up, brushing it from his jeans. “What are we supposed to do with it once we get it?”
Marama Daeng looked up from the excavation and said, “This sword was supposed to be able to split the hair of a vicuna into identical halves with ease.”
“And The Massachusetts Institute of Technology needs it…why?” She shrugged and continued her work of brushing debris from the object they were unearthing. “You think it has anything to do with the superstring energy project in Moscow?” She snorted then sneezed, doubling over the hole, intent.
She straightened up and looking into the distance, she said, “They’ve tried magnets – super-cooled and room-temperature, dipole and monopoles; they’ve tried coherent EM radiation at every frequency imaginable from radio to gamma; electrical fields of every strength. They have captured a string, balanced between Earth and the Sun. Everyone is in Vysokaya Lomonosov MoscowState University – and everyone’s enemies have gathered around to see what they do.”
“Who’s the idiot who thinks a depression in the space-time continuum can be touched by something physical?”
“Jakob Barnett.”
“The man who can’t speak? He’s...he’s…” Pateri said.
“…the intellectual equivalent of Hawking, Kadanof, Ellis, Dyson, Leung, Becker, and Silk all-rolled-into-one are the name’s you’re thinking of.”
“How...”
“If I knew that, then I wouldn’t be digging  in the sand in a remote corner not far from the Syria- Iraq border, south of the Euphrates River. I can only believe that he can do what he says. How about you?”
He sniffed, grinned, and drew the .45 from his shoulder holster…
Names: ♀Malaysia; ♂ Tahiti                       Image: http://history.cultural-china.com/chinaWH/upload/images/S4.jpg

Slice of PIE: Writing From An Ethnic Point Of View NOT My Own…

[image error]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 #3105 (page 72). The link is provided below…?
AfroFuturism in Comics & Science Fiction
“Afro-futurism is a new field in academia and science fiction themed media…the philosophical and artistic expression of alternative realities relating to people of African descent. We will explore what it means to be identified as “alien” or “other” as seen through the black cultural lens of various comic art/sequential art speculative milieus…As we analyze the thematic development and expression of Afrofuturist
phenomena in comics, the discussion will descend into the realm of African mythology…We will discuss the notion of having the world’s most technologically advanced society—the Kingdom of Wakanda—on the continent of Africa. The presentation will remix historical perceptions and re-imagine racial identity. Ajani Brown…”
I am NOT a comic book geek, though my daughter and future son-in-law are, so I won’t be discussing this from a comic book POV. The session description sparked in me a recollection of books I’ve read in this vein, and that’s what I’d like to talk about here – and my “question to the Universe”: Can I write stories that have black characters in them?
First to look at Afrofuturist books and stories with which I am familiar.
Octavia Butler’s novel (pictured above in the edition in which I read it), SURVIVOR, was my first of hers and though it wasn’t explicitly an African-based future AND was repudiated by her (“Butler repudiated the novel and refused to allow it to be reprinted: ‘When I was young, a lot of people wrote about going to another world and finding either little green men or little brown men, and they were always less in some way. They were a little sly, or a little like “the natives” in a very bad, old movie…People ask me why I don’t like Survivor…it feels a little bit like that. Some humans go up to another world, and immediately begin mating with the aliens and having children with them. I think of it as my Star Trek novel.’”), it was an introduction to her work. This led eventually to Samuel R. Delany’s DHALGREN and others in my “new wave” phase. Eventually I came back to Butler’s XENOGENESIS trilogy passing through Nancy Farmer’s THE EAR, THE EYE, AND THE ARM and on to Steven Barne's sadly incomplete INSH’ALLAH series, the rest of Butler’s work, and finally into Nalo Hopkinson (BROWN GIRL IN THE RING; I wrote her after I read that, asking what she thought about me using black characters…she never answered) and finally Nnedi Okorafor (I voted her first book, THE SHADOW SPEAKER, on to the Norton Award ballot…it didn’t win…) and Alayna Dawn Johnson (THE SUMMER PRINCE, which I voted on to the ballot and ALSO didn’t win…).
My own work reflects my belief that SF needs more people of color: “Mystery on Space Station COURAGE” and “The Penguin Whisperer” feature the same young lady, Candace Mooney, as well as Dejario Reynas. A conversation with a Latina student of mine about fiction revealed that she has NEVER seen herself reflected in YA mysteries she’s read. HEIRS OF THE SHATTERED SPHERES: Emerald of Earth’s main character is a Latina named Emerald Marcillon. The main character of a novel I have in submission now is Noah Bemisemagak, whose ancestry is Ojibwe. The next novel I have coming out (contemporary YA) has a biracial boy’s POV…
Am I right or wrong to be writing from other ethnic backgrounds? I do the research; I talk regularly to people from whichever background I write; oftentimes I ask them to read and comment on my work in progress…Or should I cut it out and stick to what I know – the life of a big, fat, old, white guy?
Program Book: http://sasquan.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/06/ConGuide.toupload.pdfReferences: http://www.tor.com/2009/02/05/qmy-star-trek-novelq-octavia-butlers-survivor/Image: http://pictures.abebooks.com/isbn/9780451086730-us-300.jpg

JOURNEY TO THE PORTRAIT’S SECRET #80: July, 30 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. 
Tommy Hastings and Freddie Merrill looked at each other, then Tommy turned to  and blurted, “The Socialists are on their way to kill my mom and steal a portrait!”
Edwina Olds, Lieutenant, WACS (ret.) didn’t react at all, upshifting once more and then goosing the engine until they were rumbling along fairly smoothly. She glanced at them then said, “Remember what I said when I dropped you off in Thunder Bay?” They looked at each other. Ed grunted, then said, “‘It’s been a fine trip and the two of you’se have made an otherwise boring drive one of uncommon adventure.’”
“I remember that,” said Tommy.
“Yeah, well, it seems that we’ve got a little more ‘uncommon adventure’ still ahead of us.”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t think I’m gonna just leave you boys to face the Socialists alone, do ya?”
Tommy and Freddie turned to look at each other. Tommy said, “You’re gonna help us?”
She glanced at them, winked, and said, “O’ course. You don’t think I spent all that time in the service just to see the world and get rich, do ya?”
“But…but…you’re a lady!” Freddie exclaimed.
Ed burst out laughing, roaring for several moments while the truck flew down the highway. The sun set, a long, drawn-out, spectacularly orange affair. She didn’t say anything else until they reached Isle. By then, the sun had kissed the horizon and then slid behind it fast, blazing like a forest fire until it vanished. As they angled west, they passed a resort, Freddie point, slid down in his seat until his knees touched the dashboard and his words came out squashed, “That’s where we met the witch. And the Socialists are there again!”
Ed laughed, then said, “Perfect. Means we turned their head start into our head start.” She sniffed, “Hope they sleep in late tomorrow morning.”
Freddie was staring into his lap, scowling. Finally he said, “You’re a lady!” He looked up at her.
Ed flashed him a smile. “I’ll also be a police officer in not too many months.”
“A cop!” Freddie cried.
Tommy laughed. Ed scowled at him in the now dark cab. Tommy covered his mouth with both hands, then said, “That’s not why I’m laughing!”
“Then you’ll be kind enough to tell me exactly why you laughed.”
Tommy uncovered his mouth, looked at Freddie, widening his eyes. Freddie suddenly shook his head wildly. Tommy blurted, “If I don’t say why I laughed, she’ll stop and throw both of us out!”
Freddie’s eyes almost bulged out of his head. “Would you?”
Ed scratched her chin, her hand ghostly green and red in the instrument panel lights.
Freddie exclaimed, “I don’t want you to be a cop ‘cause I want to...I want to...I want to...”
“He wants you to marry him!”
There was a long silence broken only by the hum of the tires on the asphalt. A sign drifted past, announcing that Onamia was only five miles away. Then she cleared her throat, hawked, rolled down the window, spit, rolled it back up and finally said, “Well young man, I’m mighty flattered and I thank you, but I’m saving myself for someone special.”
Freddie’s surly reply was, “Arnie Voltz. I knew it.”
Ed reached across Tommy and patted his 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.”
Image: http://farm8.static.flickr.com/7004/6486346833_e9612270a4_m.jpg

IDEAS ON TUESDAY 233

[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.
H Trope: amusement park goes berserkCurrent Event: http://www.reuters.com/article/2011/07/11/us-theme-park-death-idUSTRE76A64O20110711
On a sweltering, record-heat summer day with nothing else to do, fourteen-year-old Wakou Itou and his friends scoot under the fence of the FUN-ON-WHEELS amusement park and have themselves a fun day – mostly by following cute girls, scaring animals and mocking park workers.
Especially one of the clowns at the entrance of the (very) unbusy “Kiddie Land”.
Security chases them away a few times; and once the clown himself gets mad and chases after them, a well-thrown rock from him catches Wakou in the ear. Furious he turns to beat up the clown – and security walks around the corner.
Him and his friends leave the “Kiddie Land” to go to the closed roller coaster, Plunge Of Death. It’s been closed for a month while police and other authorities investigated the death of an Iraq War veteran who plunged from the heights in an as-yet unexplained accident.
Wakou and friends spend half an hour looking for the exact place he hit the ground by looking for blood stains. The sun goes down and the closing of the park is imminent.
“Let’s go kick that stupid clown’s butt,” Wakou exclaims and leads the pack back to “Kiddie Land”. Overhead, there’s a flash of heat lightning and Wakou feels a strange surge of something at the back of his neck. Ahead, the lights of “Kiddie Land” flicker, blaze then fade. Under the arch of lights, the clown is staring at them. His red wig seems to glow…
Names: ♂ JapanImage: http://cache4.asset-cache.net/gc/496528247-clown-of-hell-gettyimages.jpg?v=1&c=IWSAsset&k=2&d=Z8s%2BAfu5rH%2FZ6KWYu695kyYyg9Em4HToTnT5Fiq%2Fha9nIshARZQYIevpyCrkhJiI

POSSIBLY IRRITATING ESSAYS: Using The Solar System As A Human Expansion Resource

[image error]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 #3084. The link is provided below...
2015: The Year of the Dwarf Planets     In 2015, spacecraft visited the dwarf Planets Ceres and Pluto for the first time. I will discuss what a “dwarf planet is,” and then take a look at Ceres and Pluto, and how they may help the settlement of the Solar System. Both bodies look to be reservoirs of large amounts of relatively accessible ice and, in Pluto’s case, other elements, such as nitrogen, needed to sustain colonies in space.
G. David Nordley.
I’ve been reading G. David Nordley’s science fiction for over twenty years and have enjoyed every minute of it. Often the thing I enjoy most is the “reality” of his fiction. From his own website: “As a writer, his main interest is the future of human exploration and settlement of space, and his stories typically focus on the dramatic aspects of individual lives within the broad sweep of a plausible human future. Trying to keep up with just what is plausible is a challenge, but he recycles his research for occasional nonfiction articles. He continues to write a few pieces of short fiction each year, but is currently concentrating on novels, with three complete books looking for publishers and two more in serious production efforts.”
While I’m probably wrong, I don’t RECALL any of this stories including Faster Than Light spaceships, interstellar empires, or aliens, though his recent collection AMONG THE STARS has eight that take place beyond Earth – though without aliens in the classic sense.
Most of the time, he wrote about people interacting with realistic technology in the near future close to home. He’s an astrophysicist by training and an astronautical engineer by military experience and advanced education, so his grounding in reality is solid. While I like aliens, I also enjoy thinking about the real future my grandchildren might experience among the planets and stars.
Tangent to this discussion, I’ve begun to read the MARS books of Kim Stanley Robinson, and I’m almost done with RED MARS. In it, there’s much discussion of smashing asteroids and comets into the surface to help create an atmosphere; and there’s an important scene where the first ice asteroid skims the air envelope of Mars and vaporizes, adding water and elemental oxygen and hydrogen to an atmosphere that is primarily carbon dioxide.
Nordley’s seminar on the use of Pluto and Ceres – so-called dwarf planets – to create Solar colonies must have been fascinating, but after reading RED MARS, I wondered if any of the moral issues raised in Robinson’s book made it into the discussion. Much of RED MARS is about technological advances playing out on the surface of the red planet; everything from humidifiers, “pollution gas generators”, moholes, genetically engineered algae, and super trees, all the way to the modification of the Human genome to extend life. The book is thick with technological ideas.
But I think that the reason it was so popular was that it delved into the moral and religious issues of Human “manifest destiny”. Certain characters repeatedly question the rightness of terraforming Mars to Human specifications. Some want Mars to remain pristine and untouched; others want the technology to be restrained; others want to slam asteroids into the surface and change everything right away.
I have no idea if the argument ever arose here. Given G. David Nordley’s body of work, if the issue was raised, it wasn’t a major plot point; if it wasn’t, maybe it’s something we, as a writing and reading community need to “insist” on at gatherings like this. Maybe it’s something we as writers need to make sure we include, because Human manifest destiny is an idea I’m not sure Humans, as a species, have managed to shake. Take the poisonous air of New Delhi (http://qz.com/281251/here-is-why-india-has-no-clue-how-bad-its-air-pollution-problem-is/) and invisible sunrises in Beijing (http://world.time.com/2014/01/17/sunrise-in-smoggy-beijing/) as two pieces of evidence backing up my statement.
I hope we talk about it a lot.
Program Book: http://sasquan.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/06/ConGuide.toupload.pdf
Image: http://www.breakingnewsenglish.com/1401/140121-sunrise.jpg

LOVE IN A TIME OF ALIEN INVASION -- Chapter 36

[image error]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. The Braiders accidentally created a resonance wave that will destroy the Milky Way and the only way to stop it is for the Yown’Hoo-Kiiote-Human Triads to build a physical wall. The merger of Human-Kiiote-Yown’Hoo into a van der Walls Society may produce the Membrane to stop the wave.
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 was another long silence and I said, “What are you – and how well did you know my uncle?” I shouted into the silence.
Lieutenant Commander Patrick Bakhsh (ret), whom I’d started calling Retired since this whole fleeing refugee thing started a few days ago, didn’t say anything. Finally, “I was a farm hand for your uncle when I was fourteen.”
“When?”
He grunted like I’d punched him. Then he said, “Seventy years ago.”
“He was alive – I mean, really alive – then, wasn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know there were aliens on his farm?”
“Not at first. Then one day when I was feeding the llamas,” from behind them, the Herd gave an angry snort all together. I was glad I wasn’t back there. Comparison to the Earth animals was a grave insult whose only response was severe trampling. Or an attempt to do so. Retired raised him voice, shouting them down, “I didn’t know any better! In fact, as far as we knew in the 1970s, we were alone in the universe!” The stamping in the back calmed down and he continued, “When I was feeding what I thought were llamas, I petted one. In the distance, I saw what I thought was a wolf come up over a rise. Then it stood up and pointed a stick at us. The Yown’Hoo I was petting snarled, reared and unsheathed its tentacles. The rest of the Herd did the same.
“The Kiiote dropped back to all fours and ran away. By then, your uncle, who was still a Human then, had run out. He leveled something that looked like a ray gun at the place where the Kiiote had been and fire. A missile streaked out and hit, but instead of exploding, a bubble of sound twanged. I covered my ears and fell over. I must have passed out, because when I came to, I was in your uncle’s house. Your aunt...”
“I didn’t know I had an aunt!” I exclaimed.
“You did.” He paused for a long time, then added, “My own mother had died of pneumonia not long after I was born, so your aunt was my favorite person after your uncle.” He fell into a silence as we bumped along a bare stretch of dirt and gravel. We passed something that had been technological once. Retired said abruptly, “Ethanol plant.”
Qap said, “That is not plant. Nor a tree. Nor anything else I recognize.”
Retired laughed, a strange sound coming from him. He said, “Humans had no luck developing fusion power and depended on fossil fuels to generate electricity. When the oil supply came to an end...”
He never got to finish his sentence because a flash of light followed by a thunderous roar made the truck swerve wildly. The autopilot took over and suddenly, Retired had a gun in his hands. The truck stopped and ahead of us, the ground was glowing green. He said, “I think our enemies may have found us.”
Image: http://www.the-big-picture.org.uk/wp/wp-content/uploads/2012/10/The-Invaders-Beachhead.jpg

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 232

[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.
F Trope: Conjuring…
Current Event: http://www.spellsofmagic.com/spells/spiritual_spells/conjuring_spells/390/page.html



Jacob Adams scowled, shivering in the cold. He wore black jeans and boots, but all he wore on top was a baseball cap turned backwards and an A-shirt. “All I want is a fire to keep warm! I said the spell, how come it’s not working?” His breath puffed out a white cloud with every word.

Ada Contepomi stood with her fists balled on her hips. She was wearing her light blue parka, mittens and knee-high Mukluks. She said, “What exactly did you expect?”
“Fire! The website said that all I needed to do was, like, imagine the fire then speak the words and I’d have it.”

“So if ‘conjuring fire’ was so easy, don’t you think that everybody and their mother would be doing it right now?” She sniffed. “You should try and find a spell for something useful – like conjuring a tank of gas or a Big Mac with fries and a large, hot peppermint mocha!”
There was a sharp snap that had nothing to do with icicles falling from the roof of Jacob’s house and a ball of fire suddenly flared up, hovering over the snow in the driveway. “Oh, my gosh!” Jacob said, dropping to his chest on the frozen driveway, staring at the flickering ball of flame. He held out his hand then looked up at Ada, “Hey! It’s not hot or anything. It’s no warmer than the air!

Ada looked disgusted and said, “So even though your magic spell worked – it didn’t make what you wanted it to make?” Shaking her head, she said, “When you’re ready to give up this crazy stunt, come in and we’ll watch Wheel Of Fortune.” She turned and stalked away.
Jacob lay in the driveway, staring at the whirling flame ball. Holding his palm to the flame, he moved his hand slowly closer until he was almost touching it. “Maybe it’s only hot on the surface or something.” He uncurled a finger and reached slowly toward it, ready to jerk it back in case the little flame ball was actually hot.

He didn’t realize what was happening until he noticed that his finger had disappeared up to the knuckles.

Names: ♂ USA ; ♂ Argentina
Image: http://thumbs.dreamstime.com/x/fire-hand-7914949.jpg

WRITING ADVICE: What Went RIGHT With “Whey Station” (ANALOG April 2015) Guy Stewart #27

[image error]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!
When ANALOG published my first “real” short story fifteen years ago (http://faithandsciencefiction.blogspot.com/2014/12/writing-advice-what-went-right-with-pig.html), then-editor, Stanley Schmidt commented that it had a “Clifford D. Simak feel” to it.
Really? Really?! He couldn’t have planned a more powerful compliment!
I’d read everything Simak wrote by the time I’d finally started submitting to ANALOG, eventually discovering that Mr. Simak lived only a few miles from me! Of course, being a little kid and all, it wasn’t like I could just drive over there and say, “Hey! I’m a big fan of yours!” I didn’t even know there WERE conventions until I was in my thirties. He appeared at the local Minicon in 1968, 1969, 1970, and 1982 (I was 11, 12, 13, and 25 (but had no IDEA what “cons” were)) and passed away in 1988, so I missed my chance to meet him in real life.
But I loved his writing. I still re-read CEMETERY WORLD every few years as well as WAY STATION and THE VISITOR – and I now know that Simak’s style is pastoral. I like the style and I’m working at writing in that way as well – though I’m too much of a city boy to extoll the wonders of country life too much! On the other hand, with friends who run a certified organic dairy farm, we are aware of both the challenges and the joys of “country life” and having spent time with them, I can get my facts straight. That first ANALOG story took place on a farm we stayed at during the summer of 1993 and the “neighbors” in the story are all based on real people.
“Whey Station” popped into my head after re-reading WAY STATION a year or so ago, and I wrote it in an hour. It was an unabashed paean to the book and the only way you could understand it is if you knew the novel well. Trevor Quachri got it and noted that even though it was obscure, the people who knew and loved Simak’s style would get it.
Even so, I had several people actually track me down and ask what it meant, so I prepared this statement:
“"Whey Station" is a play on words. Clifford D. Simak (who is a fellow Minnesotan gone these last 27 years) was awarded 3 Hugos, a Nebula, and a SFWA Grandmaster as well as a Bram Stoker Award for Lifetime Achievement.)
“I wondered what would have happened to such a farm if the caretaker died suddenly and his family quickly sold it -- without having any idea what it was? Ni and Rey bought this farm and in the process of renovating activate the TRANSFER POINT again.
I upgraded the ambient technology (chest freezers, flat screen displays, and plastic tables) and then had the screen activate with an incoming transfer.
“At the beginning of Chapter 5 of Simak's book, WAY STATION, you'll find the message:
"NO. 406301 TO STATION 18327. TRAVELER AT 16097.38. NATIVE THUBAN VI. NO BAGGAGE. NO. 3 LIQUID TANK. SOLUTION 27. DEPART FOR STATION 12892 AT 16439.16. CONFIRM"
“It's letting the caretaker of the station, Enoch Wallace, know exactly what to expect of the alien transferring through and what kind of preparations he should have.
“My message in “Whey Station” was: wstat120254 2 whey-stat 18328 NatOnyxyfmII. N2checkon. 2LIQ-Tank. SOLN 27. DEP4 wstat31591 @615.5.05.00084.0000141. Rog?
I wrote it so that it was an updated version of Simak’s older, non-computer-age message. Translation:
wstat120254 2 = the station Rey and Ni purchased (secondary to the one presumed to have been in Wisconsin)
whey-stat 18328 = the end station (note: one number different from Simak's destination station)
NatOnyxyfmII = Native of Onyxyfm II (an alien people from another story I wrote)
N2checkon = two pieces of check on luggage
2LIQ-Tank = second-type of liquid tank (liquid nitrogen, if you wanted to know) necessary for the traveler
SOLN 27 = lifted it from Simak
DEP4 wstat31591 = Departing for whey (way) station 31591
@615.5.05.00084.0000141 = a time expressed in some sort of universal, intergalactic time; I thought it should be more complex than Simak did...
Rog? = 21st century US is a bit less formal than 1960s US, so "roger" instead of CONFIRM...”
What did I learn from this exercise?
1) Imitation is the sincerest form of appreciation. I won’t ever go beyond this, though I sort of wonder what happened to Rey and Ni and if they took over the way station, but it’s Simak’s world and his masterpiece and he never saw any reason to go farther than that book – so who am I to do so?
2) Have fun when you write!
3) While it’s good to be mindful of what has come before, we can’t “go back”. Simak lived in the latter part of the 20th Century; I live in the early part of the 21st. They are not the same world. (Mindfulness of this is what’s driving me to write my YA novels in a Heinlein style with a 21st Century mindset…)
What do you think?
Image: http://static4.quoteswave.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/06/We-are-all-apprentices.jpg

Have A Blessed Thanksgiving

Have a BLESSED Thanksgiving; a time to meet and eat with family and friends.Image: http://newspaperrock.bluecorncomics.com/2012/11/the-wampanoag-side-of-thanksgiving.html

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 231

[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.
SF Trope: Evil de-evolutionCurrent Event: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Devolution_(biology)(Fascinating article in which an evolutionists tap-dances around the idea that the dissemination of correct information is NOT the responsibility of scientists but of...um...Everybody, Somebody, Anybody, but ultimately Nobody and CERTAINLY not them…(http://www.corsinet.com/braincandy/hlife.html))
Ugnė Mertens flipped her pigtail back again as she stared at the image on her laptop. Muttering, she stepped sideways to the microscope and moved the slide using the X-Y translational control knobs fine adjustment. The image of the chromosome she was studying moved fractionally.
Naranbaatar Todorov picked at his thin, first beard and said, “Staring at it isn’t going to make the genes magically appear, Ug.”
“That’s what you think,” she straightened up, she smiled and added, “Baaaaa,” drawing out the stereotypical sheep sound. “Watch.” She touched a pressure toggle on an odd, goose-necked device standing beside the microscope. The computer’s screen fuzzed suddenly, then the single chromosome lit up as if it was a candy cane.
Baa started, looked at the lamp and exclaimed, “What is that thing?”
“Something I invented and you didn’t,” Ug said, sitting on the lab stool, leaning forward.
Baa swallowed hard, pursed his lips then said, “Listen, I know you don’t much like me...”
Ug reached out and typed an entry into the text box then said, “If I had a choice between dissecting three-day-old roadkill and having lunch with you...” she paused, made a face, then said, “I’m not sure which one I’d pick.”
Baa glanced at the clock on the wall. He still had four hours left of his shift. He couldn’t skip it or Dr. Harber would find out and dock him points. But he wasn’t sure he could keep his feet still and not kick Ugnė in the butt. He took a deep breath and said, “Must be an infrared to ultraviolet, rotating frequency projector.”
She shot him a look then went back to making notes on her computer. Occasionally she tapped her smartphone as well, which lay next to the laptop. “Lucky guess.”
“So that means, ‘yes’. Then you must have bathed the chromosomes in a solution that would...” Naranbaatar hooked another stool with his foot to drag it closer. Shrieking as it vibrated along the floor tiles, he winced and said, “Sorry.”Ugnė sniffed but didn’t reply. Finally she said, “I used a mix that the older the gene, the less fluorescing compound it would pick up.”

Baa frowned then asked, “What are the chromosomes from?”
"A narn.”
“You’re kidding!” he exclaimed. Reports had been circulating for years about animals whose genes had suddenly started evolving – a quantum evolution event – from static forms to much, much more intelligent forms.
“These are chromosomes from raccoons killed in southern Minnesota.”
“We have narns here?” Baa exclaimed, backing away from the microscope.
Ug turned to look at him. “The genes aren’t contagious, idiot! This isn’t a disease – it’s animal chromosomes. Dyed and fixed at that! What are you afraid of?”
“Nothing. Nothing!” He spun around and took long strides out of the lab. He didn’t care if he lost hours – all he could see in his mind’s eye was the raccoon he’d nearly run over when he was biking on rural trails near his family’s home in an outer ring suburb of what was slowly becoming the three, four-kilometer-tall towers of the Minneapolis-St. Paul Vertical Village.
He would never forget the look on its face as it held out a mangled aw to him and said, “Help...”
Names: ♀ Lithuanian, Belgian; ♂ Mongolian, Bulgarian
Sidebar: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Punctuated_equilibrium
Image: http://media.mnn.com/assets/images/2015/07/melanie%20racoon.jpg.653x0_q80_crop-smart.jpg