J.K. Ullrich's Blog, page 23

Finding Jabba: Rediscovering Star Wars, Space Opera, and Myself

One of my earliest memories is of Jabba the Hutt. I can’t have been more than two years old, playing behind the couch while my parents watched Return of the Jedi on their 13-inch TV. Deep guffaws echoed in the living room. It sounded a little like Santa Claus, only…wrong. Peering around the furniture, I stared transfixed at the vaguely humanoid face on screen. Who was this creature, and where was this world? My passion for science fiction ignited in that moment. Today I’m an award-winning author in the genre, but I started out as a humble Star Wars fan.

I spent the first decade of my life obsessed with Star Wars. Make-believe play frequently took me to a galaxy far, far away. Bike rides turned into speeder chases. Snowstorms invited reenactments of scenes on Planet Hoth. “Nerfherder” was the first expletive I ever unleashed on my sister. Action figures went everywhere from the sandbox (Tatooine) to the bathtub (Dagobah) to sleeping on my pillow, where they probably dreamed of a calmer “mint in box” existence. I watched the films so many times that, to this day, I’m conditioned to expect the opening blast of a John Williams theme after I hear the drumroll of 20th Century Fox.

The author circa 1997, wearing a Star Wars t-shirt and sketching an Ewok. Thankfully, there is no photographic evidence of the improvised Princess Leia slave bikini I improvised from bandanas and dress-up jewelry.

Forget Cinderella and Snow White: the princess I idolized packed a laser gun. My father, ever indulgent of my imagination, even bought me a toy blaster at the last remaining Woolworths in town. The white and blue plastic casing lit up in red when I squeezed the satisfyingly heavy trigger, firing bursts of obnoxious sound all over the family abode. Dad crafted a holster from cardboard, covered it in duct tape for a chrome finish, and inscribed it with “Princess Leia Organa” in permanent marker. (I still have it.)

This kind of family involvement made Star Wars inextricable from my childhood memories. My parents, fans since the introduction of A New Hope scrolled over movie screens in 1977, regaled us with the original film experience:

“Seeing that destroyer come over our heads in the opening scene…wow!”

“We had to wait two years to find out if Darth Vader was Luke’s father!”

“Until Star Wars, the most high-tech sci-fi we had was ‘beam me up, Scotty’!”

They took us to see the 30th anniversary re-release of the trilogy and even led a family pilgrimage to the Smithsonian Air and Space museum in Washington, DC to venerate the geek relics in the “Star Wars: The Magic of Myth” exhibit. But I still longed to experience the excitement of a first-run Star Wars film. It seemed the day had come when The Phantom Menace debuted. I wanted to like it. I really did. But the prequel underwhelmed me and subsequent installments disappointed even further.

Maybe it was all the CGI, or just my penchant for teenaged contempt, but I disengaged from Star Wars. The universe that once felt rich and immersive now seemed like a thin caricature of itself. I lamented the original films’ superiority with the tragic ennui of a culture critic, the same tone I used for statements like “ugh, Jewel was sooooo much better as a folk singer, she totally sold out.” Other epics captured my imagination, namely Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings. I still loved science fiction, but my tastes shifted toward social dystopias that validated my adolescent disaffection.

Science fiction still dominated my writing, too, but in college I found myself battling an academic “empire” that banned the genre in creative writing workshops and attempted to freeze my rebellious imagination in carbonite. I didn’t think much about Star Wars until 2012, when Lucasfilm sold the franchise to Disney. My initial reaction was utter horror.  My beloved childhood universe would be relegated to puerile Sunday morning television; my former heroine Leia, reimagined with a tiara and an anatomically improbable waistline, would be banished to the pink aisle alongside the other princesses.

The announcement of a new film trilogy only deepened the dread, although my curiosity stirred a bit when I learned they’d entrusted the project to J.J. Abrams. His success with Star Trek had proved him capable of handling cult reboots with an alchemical blend of innovation and homage, while movies like Super 8 demonstrated an even rarer quality: understanding that the heart of good sci-fi lies not in exotic planets and flashy space battles, but in characters’ journeys. With Abrams at the helm, I felt—dare I say it?—a new hope. Still, I found it hard to muster much enthusiasm. The prequel debacle had sorely shaken my faith. It made not only Star Wars but the entire space opera genre a cultural laughingstock. How could I recover from such apostasy?

Devout people often speak of “childlike faith”. I don’t think I ever fully grasped that concept until this fall, when Star Wars merchandise began inundating stores.

“Can I have this for Christmas?” I squealed over a remote control X-Wing fighter in Costco, while my husband loaded cereal into the cart and pretended not to know me.

Anyone who knows me will attest that behind my remorseless pragmatism and cynical snark is a hyperactive kid, and the parade of Star Wars-themed artifacts reawakened this part of my nature. As if toys weren’t enough, the commercial brains behind the franchise were savvy enough to recognize they now had two generations of adult fans with money to burn. Both the inner nine-year-old and the exterior twenty-nine-year-old delighted in a Death Star waffle maker, wookie bathrobes, or Lightsaber chopsticks. Silly material artifacts reactivated all the old neural connections that associated Star Wars with awe and happiness.

So when I take my seat for The Force Awakens this evening, I’ll still be a little apprehensive.  I may never have the same perfect acceptance of its fictions that I had as a child, but I also have a more refined appreciation of all it offers. After all these years, I think I’ve figured out why Jabba’s chortling mug initially captivated me: because it touched the essence of what good science fiction does. It shows us a distorted reflection of ourselves. It challenges us, sometimes mocks us. It takes us out of our world so that we can look back at it from a new vantage. Space opera reminds us there is wonder in the universe and invites us to share it with people we love.

Fandom shouldn’t be a clandestine fixation. It’s a communal joy. Releasing the film a week before Christmas allowed me to incorporate it into the holiday visit with my family: I get to take my parents to see Star Wars. The circle, and the nerd-stalgia, will be complete.  Whatever the movie’s critical reception, I’m enjoying my re-acquaincance with Star Wars. My duct-tape holster may be long-disintegrated, but my space opera fan’s heart beats strong and merry again. And who knows? Maybe there’s even a remote-control Millennium Falcon waiting for me under the tree.

Blue Karma Scores a Hat Trick

My debut novel just went 3-for-3 in independent publishing awards! Blue Karma made finalist in the Shelf Unbound indie book competition. Thousands of authors submitted their novels (so I’m told) so top six is a terrific accomplishment. Sarah (@sarahplusbook) the dystopian editor for Shelf Unbound, reviewed Blue Karma this summer and encouraged me to submit it. Thanks, Sarah: here’s further proof that authors need to listen to their readers!

Seeing my book cover (and my face) in a magazine, even a digital one, is surreal. Check out the December/January issue of Shelf Unbound to read my interview. I discuss why I write science fiction, how I developed the main characters in Blue Karma, and dish on The Darksider. There’s even a short excerpt from Blue Karma, so if you’re still hesitant about trying the book, here’s a peek! If cli-fi isn’t for you, Shelf Unbound features many other great independent and small-press books, so you’re sure to discover some hidden literary gems for your holiday reading.

Chocolate and the Death of Adventurous Reading

Chocolate isn’t supposed to make you sad. Usually the kitschy inspirational messages on Dove wrappers bring me a pleasantly contemptuous chuckle (except the one that reads “Be more loquacious. Start by learning the word ‘loquacious’.” Really, Dove? Making assumptions about the extent of my vocabulary? Your place is to indulge me, not insult me). But tonight’s foil fortune was more bittersweet than the chocolate it contained:

“Actually go to a bookstore.” Maybe a passenger pigeon can lead me there?

From twee Oprah-isms to daggers in my heart. How did they know I’d been thinking about bookstores only hours before? I’d been responding to an interview for one of Blue Karma’s recent awards; the question asked which books I’d enjoyed recently and would recommend to readers. As I pondered, it occurred to me that nearly all the books I’ve read this year have been on recommendations. My Laddie, my dad, and the occasional magazine book review are my main sources for titles these days. The decline of brick-and-mortar bookstores, I realized in horror, has correlated with homogenization of my reading material.

Most bibliophiles lament the loss of the bookstore experience: the scent of coffee and virgin paper, losing oneself in the gleaming rows of spines. I’m no exception. Bookstore excursions were regular events in my household, so my affection for them is inextricably linked to fond family memories. But that’s not what I miss the most. I miss the exploration. Walking into a bookstore is a journey into the unknown every time. What displayed cover will lure me to pick it up? What unusual title will prompt me to ease a book from the shelf? A detour down a seldom visited aisle might yield a hidden treasure. Don’t even get me started on the thrill of poking through sale bins! The point is, bookstores lets us encounter things we might otherwise never read. It’s an opportunity to discover something new, both in the pages and in ourselves. Browsing the “more like this” links on Amazon just isn’t as satisfying.

I would love to “actually go to a bookstore”. But right now, I wouldn’t even know where to find one. At summer’s end, I stopped by our favorite neighborhood used bookshop. Towering shelves and precarious stacks were gone. The store had closed quietly, like a weary crone expiring in her sleep. I stood in the middle of a busy mall and stared at the storefront’s dim, empty husk. With that business gone, I don’t even know where to find the nearest bookstore. There’s not one along our usual errand routes. Is this it, then?  Extinction? Bookstores gone the way of the dodo, the thylacine, and Blockbuster Video? Sighing about it won’t resurrect them. But I still keep my Borders card in a drawer, a nostalgic souvenir of more adventurous days.

Pencils: Not Just For Writing Anymore

My husband is a superhero. At least on paper. As part of an inside joke, I draw comic book covers featuring my Laddie as the office version of Captain America.  Armed with a 128-oz coffee mug and a bandolier of Clif bars, this mighty alter-ego battles the insidious forces of bureaucracy. He hangs them at his desk, where (he tells me) they make his co-workers laugh. Recently one of his colleagues remarked that I should include more original art on my blog.

Once I recovered from the shock than anyone other than the odd misdirected Goodreads member reads my blog, it struck me as a fun idea. Although I don’t think I’m especially good at it, I’ve always enjoyed drawing (I have a fond childhood memory of a Draw Star Wars Characters book that I checked out of the library at every opportunity). I just don’t have much opportunity for it these days. Other than the comics for my Laddie or the occasional self-indulgent bit of fanart, it’s mainly a meeting survival strategy: doodling helps me keep focused during lengthy PowerPoint presentations. I illustrated one blog post back in April, but never thought I had time to make it a regular feature. Now I’m rising to the challenge.

From this day forth, whenever possible and/or appropriate, I will accompany my posts with an original doodle. They won’t be polished or pretty, but I hope they bring you a chuckle just like my Laddie’s office mates. To kick off this project, I’ve updated two of my recent “Story Fuel” posts with new graphics. If I was better at generating blog traffic, I’d make you hunt for them, but I have too much respect for busy schedules. Check out “Planet Atlantis” and “Approved Asteroid Mining” for goofy sketches. I look forward to sharing a different facet of my creativity. Just don’t let me upload mp3s of my musical compositions!

Story Fuel: Planet Atlantis

As world leaders bicker over emissions caps in Paris this week, people on the far side of the globe fight to keep the ocean off their doorsteps. Low-lying Pacific Island nations like Kiribati, Tuvalu, and the Marshall Islands lie barely above the waves. Just a one- or two-meter rise in sea level could submerge these coral atolls entirely. On Tuesday, leaders of six island nations spoke out again about how climate change threatens their communities.

Conception of an “artificial island”, one proposed solution to rising sea levels

Water erodes the seawalls. Saline contaminates the drinking supply. Buildings and graveyards drift out on the tide. People protect their homes as best they can, but ultimately the only choice may be relocation. Kiribati preemptively purchased land on a Fijian island as an emergency refuge for its population; several years ago, Kiribati’s president even discussed building artificial islands. Citizens of the Marshall Islands are allowed to emigrate to the United States, thanks to a 1986 agreement acknowledging the long-standing military ties between the two countries. Pacific Islands are home to an estimated ten million people. Where would they go if the ocean swallowed their homes? How would host nations react to an influx of climate refugees?

Perhaps the the most shocking part of this story is that all the Pacific Islands together generate only 0.03% of global carbon emissions. Although they’ve barely contributed to the climate crisis that threatens to wash their homes from the map, they are among the first to face its devastating impacts. Perhaps climate talks would enjoy more urgency if, instead of dry French conference rooms, they took place in a real-life Pacific Atlantis.

Read more, and see incredible photo and video, from the New York Times, CNN, and the Wall Street Journal.

Top Five Wednesday: Books For Which I’m Thankful

Yes, I restructured the original wording of the challenge to avoid ending the sentence with a preposition. I’m thankful for grammar, okay?

The Hunger Games, by Suzanne Collins. As discussed in last week’s T5W post, this book reignited my love of YA fiction and got me writing again. (Hopefully none of you have to play real “hunger games” this Thanksgiving; put down the knife, there’s enough pie for everyone.)
The Harry Potter series, by JK. Rowling. This series, beloved of my youth, is the literary equivalent of a favorite cozy sweater. Every thread is familiar. It’s comforting to curl up inside it. The marvelously immersive world never fails to whisk me away from the ordinary.
Cosmos, by Carl Sagan. I discovered the uplifting side of science in this book. Sagan writes of the universe—and humanity’s place in it—with stunning, evocative lyricism. It makes me thankful to be hurtling through space on this beautiful blue marble.
The Aubrey-Maturin Novels, by Patrick O’Brian. Admittedly, I didn’t read most of these, but listened to them on audiobook. Jack and Stephen are the best road trip companions EVER. Their meandering voyages made mine so much more enjoyable. I can’t imagine driving all those miles without them.
Random House Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary. The most expansive dictionary available in a single volume, it’s one of my prized possessions. Being someone with a formidable vocabulary, I seldom encounter new words in the wild. But this book is a language safari, a treasure hunt bound in red leather. I never get tired of browsing its gossamer onionskin pages!

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Happy Thanksgiving to all of you celebrating it tomorrow. For the rest, I wish you a wonderful November Thursday full of reasons to be cheerful.

Top 5 Wednesday is the creation of Lainey over at Goodreads. Check out the group and join the other “Wednesday-ers“!

Story Fuel: The Antibiotic Apocalypse

It seems like a harmless little cut. An accident. When it starts looking a little inflamed, your doctor gives you antibiotic to treat a mild infection. But it only gets worse. The infection spreads. The doctor tries one medicine after another, looking more somber with each new prescription. It’s resistant. Unchecked, the bacteria continues its deadly march into your bloodstream. Nothing can be done.

It’s a horror scenario for sure, but it’s not fiction. Chinese scientists recently discovered a new mutation in E. coli that makes it less susceptible to colistin, a “last resort” drug only used on humans when antibiotics with fewer negative side effects have failed. Even more troubling, the resistant gene—MCR-1—can be transferred to other bacteria, and it has already been identified in several other pathogens. The MCR-1 mutation most likely emerged in China’s extensive livestock farms, where antibiotics are often used to fatten pigs for slaughter. But don’t expect it to stay contained. Evidence suggests these bacteria have already spread to Laos and Malaysia.

Health experts around the world are expressing dismay at the new report and urging action on the issue of antibiotic overuse. It isn’t a new problem. Two million Americans are infected with antibiotic-resistant bacteria every year, according to The US Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) and more than 20,000 of them die from those infections. However, the spread of MCR-1 threatens “pan-resistant” bacteria immune to all medicines. BBC.com featured this disturbing infographic on projected deaths from antibiotic-resistant diseases:

Is this the beginning of the “post-antibiotic” era? Imagine the devastation if common bacteria no longer responded to treatment. A skinned knee or a sinus infection could become life-threatening; surgeries, exposing patient’s insides to the air, could be a death sentence. Humanity’s nightmare epidemic won’t be a zombie virus or a bioengineered plague, but a mundane bug we’ve lost the means to cure.

Fall, Freelancing, and Fixes: update on “The Darksider”

I can’t believe November is almost over! Is everyone frantically pounding the keys for the final week of NaNoWriMo? I thought about signing up this year, but I wanted to dedicate myself to The Darksider, and working with a manuscript that’s already more than 20,000 words seemed like cheating!

Admittedly, the draft should be much longer by now. Summer’s end found me on a roll. At one point (in a fit of creative hubris) I thought if I can keep up this momentum, I might finish the draft by Christmas! Well, that’s not going to happen. In September I landed a freelance project for NASA–yes, the rocket people! How awesome is that?–and devoted much of autumn’s writing time to that effort. But now the work is nearly complete, so I can get back to my neglected novel.

A second, troubling reason also stalled my progress on The Darksider this fall: I was dissatisfied with my protagonist. He seemed like a dull pawn. Then a few weeks ago, Anela at the Amid the Imaginary book blog posted her review of Blue Karma. She commented that the characters were a bit too reactive. Things happened to them, but they weren’t inciting action themselves until later in the story. Upon considering this critique, I realized the same problem plagued the early chapters of The Darksider. Ash just had stuff happen to him. That was the root of his affliction.

So this weekend I’ve been making subtle but critical changes to the narrative. I restructured key plot elements so events result from Ash’s behavior, rather than things imposed on him. It solved two problems at once! My protagonist now exhibits more agency, and he’s also started coming alive as a unique personality. Thanks, Anela, for the observation that inspired this fix. Hopefully by the end of today I’ll be back where I left off, ready to write new material. A finished draft by December might be overly ambitious, but I can still be productive. Winter is my favorite season for writing: it’s a perfect hibernation activity!

Top 5 Wednesday: Favorite “Hunger Games” Moments

Clunk. My friend slapped the hardback book, stripped of its dust jacket, onto my desk.

“This is the book I was telling you about,” he said, with the same expression of distaste he wore when I suggested any remotely exotic cuisine for lunch. “Bunch of kids killing each other. It’s awful. You have to read it for yourself.”

Other than this glowing review, I knew little about the Hunger Games trilogy. But, struggling through a particularly dark and stressful period of my young adult life, I desperately needed that immersive escape only fiction can provide. So, one fateful winter night, I curled up by the miniature fireplace in my first apartment and lost myself in Panem.

I finished the book in about two days, waited an agonizing 48 hours for Amazon to ship the companion novels overnight, and devoured the entire trilogy in a single sleepless week. The stories had a profound impact on me. Identifying with Katniss helped me re-discover the strength I needed to get past a bad situation, but something more important happened: Suzanne Collins re-introduced me to young adult fiction and all its potential. This is the kind of story I want to write, I thought. Soon after, I started writing again and eventually began work on Blue Karma.

So I have tremendous affection for the Hunger Games stories. Picking my favorite moments wasn’t easy—I’m sure I overlooked a few—but here are five of which I’m especially fond. In chronological order….

Katniss shoots at the Gamemakers (The Hunger Games, Chapter 7)

I see this as the moment rebellion truly begins. After volunteering to save Prim at the Reaping, Katniss is swept along by events until she steps into the Gamemakers’ hall for evaluation. She gets mad and gets their attention with such vicious elegance that we know she’s going to be a heroine worth rooting for. It’s one of my favorite scenes in the first movie as well. J-Law delivers that line with such magnificent snark: “thank you for your consideration.” I’ve closed several publisher queries with that phrase, appropriating her dry confidence for my own literary “hunger games”.

2. Drawing in the family herbal (Catching Fire, Chapter 11)

Confession: when I first read this trilogy in my early 20s, I had a wicked book crush on Peeta. Those steady, contemplative introverts win me every time (my husband is proof of that). So I can see why Katniss enjoys the hours they spend adding new pages to the Everdeen family’s botanical guide. As she herself observes, it’s the first time in the series she and Peeta do anything “normal” together. The sweet, quiet moment stands out in a story rife with violence and heartbreak.

3. Rooftop picnic (Catching Fire, Chapter 17)

Like the drawing scene, this is one of the only times where Katniss and Peeta are not pretending or performing or fighting to survive. For one afternoon, they’re like typical teenagers. An impromptu picnic, a game of catch, dozing in each other’s laps…all in what could be their last hours alive. That fragility makes this moment incredibly poignant.

4. Katniss and Peeta on the beach (Catching Fire, Chapter 24)

In the middle of their second arena, constantly watched by thousands of eyes, the “star-crossed lovers from District 12” steal an unscripted moment. Beside the dark sea, Katniss suddenly realizes something she’d overlooked beneath all the romantic pretense: she doesn’t want to be without Peeta. About time! If non-fictional people needed that many near-death experiences to accept that they love someone, we’d all be dreadfully lonely. But it’s still one of my favorite moments, accompanied by the couple’s first authentic kiss in the whole series thus far.

5. The Mockingjay sings (Mockingjay, Chapter 27)

Katniss all but gives up on living,  then remembers the songs her father taught her. She (literally) rediscovers her voice, lifting herself up from tragedy on the refrains of old folk airs. Singing helps her heal. As a singer myself, I know how music can express things too painful to articulate without a melody, or transport us on soaring hopeful notes. This gave the scene personal resonance for me. I also liked added thematic significance of bringing the Mockingjay’s journey full circle, from singing her sister lullabies to singing herself free of despair.

Recapping highlights from the books makes me want to read them all again…I’ve still got 36 hours before Mockingly Part 2 hits theaters, right?

Top 5 Wednesday is the creation of Lainey over at Goodreads. Check out the group and join the other “Wednesday-ers“!

Story Fuel: Approved Asteroid Mining

Almost three years ago, when I was but a blogging neophyte, I wrote about how several private companies had announced plans to mine raw material from asteroids . Back in January, I posted on this site about China’s lunar mining ambitions. Well, as of yesterday, businesses like those have legislative support to commercialize the cosmos. The United States Senate passed the Space Act of 2015. Among other provisions designed to boost the American space industry, the Act allows US citizens and corporations to exploit “space resources”:

“A United States citizen engaged in commercial recovery of an asteroid resource or a space resource under this chapter shall be entitled to any asteroid resource or space resource obtained, including to possess, own, transport, use, and sell the asteroid resource or space resource obtained in accordance with applicable law…”

(Don’t worry, E.T! “Resources” includes only non-living material, such as water and ore, so space prospectors can’t profit from any alien organisms they might encounter.)

Acknowledging recent growth in the commercial spaceflight sector, the bill grants resource rights to entrepreneurs who can obtain them. But it also makes no overt claims of ownership; that would be a violation of the 1967 Outer Space Treaty, which forbids any country from claiming celestial bodies on the grounds that space is common heritage to all humans. This leaves companies concerned they may not have ownership of space resources they invest millions to obtain.

Despite posing some concerns for both commercial interests and the international community, the Space Act marks a dramatic step in humanity’s extra-planetary endeavors. If the bill meets approval in the House of Representatives and the President signs it into law, it could spark a new era of interstellar industry. Our grandfathers mined beneath the Earth; our grandsons and granddaughters might mine beyond it.

Read more about the Space Act from Popular Science and Wired.