David Erik Nelson's Blog, page 44
April 19, 2012
Kickstart Jim Munroe's "Ghosts with Shit Jobs"!
Tour for GHOSTS WITH SHIT JOBS, a Lo-fi Sci-fi Feature by Jim Munroe — Kickstarter
I've gushed about Jim Munroe in the past, and am super-pleased to be supporting this project. Brass tacks: $10 is a *totally fair* price for an advance, full-quality download of this lo-fi sci-fi feature. Please kick in some dough so this project goes live; I really want my early-bird backer's copy--which, *bonus*, will basically come almost in time for my birthday!
What's Dave-o Been Up To? Sleepy Babies, Writerly Advice, and Clockwork Sexbots!
Hey Mojonauts and Mojoketeers,
Just a quick post about what I've been up to between tweets, diapers, and soul-crushing research about the Soviet occupation of Afghanistan (*SPOILER ALERT* Things have been pretty uncool in Afghanistan since 1806, apart from a brief OK-spell from 1923-1979).
Anywho, I continue to write a regular column for the Ann Arbor Chronicle; latest installment covers babies, sleep, neuroplasticity, and DSM-IV-TR 300.21 (more so than other columns, this one is all in the footnotes):
Three years later – a period during which I never slept more than four hours at a time, and little of it “restful” – I started having panic attacks. If you delve into crowds and find yourself squeezed by the visceral conviction that you’ll likely need to fend off a pack of bears at any moment … well, it doesn’t take a genius to conclude that the best course of action is to stay in the damn house. “Hypervigilance” was ultimately listed among my symptoms.
(Just to clarify: I didn’t have an irrational fear of bears; I had the sudden, irrational sensation of some impending mortal threat, and I had it basically all the time, and I basically just wanted to be the hell away from people. Hence DSM-IV-TR 300.21. To this day my fear of bears – when bears are verifiably present – is entirely rational.)
My psychiatric history notwithstanding, here’s the point of this interlude: The above essay celebrates the adaptive advantageousness of sleep-deprivation-driven neuroplasticity, but fails to acknowledge the dark side of that coin, because when I wrote the original essay I did not yet know it was one of those two-sided sorts of coins. I know better now.
This week I'm also blogging about Voice for Shimmer:
Listen: Voice isn’t gravy.
It’s not something you pour over a story once the meat and veggies–the plot, the characters, the setting–are cooked and ready to plate. Steampunk isn’t alt-history slopped with a ladle of cogs and dirigibles; literary fiction isn’t YA with the last half of the final chapter cut off and a schmeer of 50-cent words.
The voice of a piece–and your Voice as a writer–arises from stripping everything else out, not piling more crap on.
Right on the face of it, I’m sure this sounds absolutely absurd. . . .
(Attentive Mojonauts will recall that Poor Mojo's Giant Squid has been featured in this same fine publication, both in print and online. Check that out!)
Finally, I've *finally* gotten to the second stage of my steampunk sexbot novella scheme: Releasing the damn thing for platforms other than the Kindle.
You can now enjoy the escapades of Dicker Tucker--that much-celebrated, crippled, alcoholic Johnny Reb--on basically any device, or even paper (*gasp!*). Details here: "Tucker Teaches the Clockies to Copulate" Pick-What-You-Pay ebooks
So, click those links! Then reclick them! Tweet them and retweet them! Share them until you are exhausted by your sheer volume of shares! You have my appreciation and my blessings!
Thanks!
April 8, 2012
The "Trolley Problem," concisely presented as an 8-bit video game
April 7, 2012
Local Boys Make Good: Poor Mojo's Giant Squid to be featured in upcoming steampunk anthology
Ecstatic Days -- Blog Archive -- Steampunk Revolution – Announcing the TOC
Mojo, Fritz, and Dave-o are pleased to brag that one of their Giant Squid stories--"An Exhortation to Young Writers (Advice Tendered by Poor Mojo's Giant Squid)"--shall be featured in Ann VanderMeer's upcoming anthology Steampunk III: Steampunk Revolution alongside works by such luminaries as Lev Grossman, Garth Nix, Cherie Priest, Bruce Sterling, and Catherynne M. Valente.
{*squeeeeee!!!*}
A Pretty Lil Infographic on "True" iPhone Costs
(FYI: Can't really be viewed on an iPhone)
This is pretty and thought-provoking, so I'm posting it, but I encourage you to apply grains of salt as you deem fit; some of the claims here are janky, in my humble.
e.g., This infographic whips out the old "coltan" chestnut (in a nutshell: you need the mineral coltan to make iPhones, and the bulk of coltan is mined in places in Africa mostly known for Very Bad Things, ergo: buying an iPhone funds the brainwashing of child soldiers, systemic sexualized warfare, African political turmoil, etc.) But coltan isn't the magically talky-juice that makes cell phones go; it's used to make tantalum capacitors--which aren't just used in iPhones or cellphones, but in *everything.* Your computer or laptop definitely has them, as does your TV, your clock-radio, your car, probably your dishwasher, likely the digital thermometer at the doctor's office, etc., ad infinitum, ad nauseam. My point being that the ethical problem of coltan ins't an iPhone problem, it's a Living in the Industrialized World problem. Bringing it up here is sort of a weird red herring. Where's the pretty infographic about how my dishwasher is the driving force behind orphan armies systematically raping entire villages?
The lil "nomophobia" bit is likewise suspect. As near as I can tell this figure comes from a study of ~2,000 Brits conducted on behalf of the UK Post Office. So, that blurb in the infographic should actually read "Over half the population of the few thousand British people polled by their post office have developed nomophobia--a disorder recognized by no medical professionals in the Western world" (I'm hedging because there *was* a 200-student study on nomophobia published in the peer-reviewed Indian Journal of Community Medicine earlier this year--but it had *very* different findings: less than one-fifth of this study's subjects were "nomophobic." Anyway, my point is that one tiny peer-reviewed study and one British marketing survey don't constitute an epidemiologically meaningful finding.)
Created by MBAonline.com
April 5, 2012
Poor Mojo's Almanac(k) Classic issue #422 (published February 19, 2009): "It could be a beaker full of death."
This post will remain here for one day. Scroll down for new news.
Poor Mojo's Almanac(k) Classic issue #422 (published February 19, 2009)
It could be a beaker full of death.
Giant Squid: Ask the Giant Squid: In Search Of Tycho Brahe's Nose (A Tahitian Tale; part three of not more than four) by the Giant Squid[This piece has been pulled so we can prepare the forthcoming expanded, rectified, re-mastered, epic ebook edition. If you have any questions, please contact us at pmj.editors@poormojo.org]
Fiction: They're My Arms Now by Lane KareskaThe dogs jumped in their traces. Eight dogs divided into two columns. Forepaws in the dry snow. Their breath smoked in the arctic air. They'd only done ten miles since last night's camp and were eager to do more. The youngest whined about it aloud until one of his seniors nipped him silent. . . .
Poetry: Up to the Heavens by Alex GalperOutside, on a different planet
somewhere
Arctic winds chill
to the bone
and winter bites.
But here . . .
Rant: The Third Book of Occult Philosophy by Heinrich Cornelius AgrippaConcerning the bodies of Angels, there is a great dissension betwixt the late Divines, and Philosophers; for Thomas affirms that all angels are incorporeal, yea evil angels, yet that they do assume bodies sometimes, which after awhile they put off again; Dionysius in Divine Names strongly affirms that Angels are incorporeal. Yet Austin [Augustine] . . .
March 29, 2012
Poor Mojo's Almanac(k) Classic issue #170 (published March 11, 2004): "Snorkeling with Ophelia."
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Poor Mojo's Almanac(k) Classic issue #170 (published March 11, 2004)
Snorkeling with Ophelia.
Giant Squid: Notes from the Giant Squid: His Name, It Is My Name, Too? by the Giant Squid. . . Of the occasion, I acquire much of the shame at the general slow and petty pace of my answering of queries, and become much motivated to seek and "put to the bed" those the most griefsome in their neglect. In this process, Rob sorted through the queue, occasionally intoning: "How 'bout this, Lord A.", or somesuch similar thing, and then dictating his finding. It was as such that the above, the question at hand, came once again, after its long hiatus, to my attention.
And, of course, I dismissed it out-of-manipulator as frivolous in the extreme. We continued on, but were soon distracting by the revelation of distressing temperature irregularities within the core of chief lab technician Sang's Easy-to-Bake Oven, and our attentions were thus engaged for the remainder of the night.
But Rob, having of the spirit and spunk, did persist.
"This is a good question, man," he did repeat, a-throned in his cubicle before his computer monitor.
"Leave me to be, Rob! There is a grave ill in Sang's Easy-to-Bake oven, and I shall resolve it!" But little rest and respite could I acquire— let alone the proper time and solemnity of silence for the due consideration of Sang's most sadly disfunctioning appliance— for Rob would not quit of his taping upon my tank's glass, holding there-against a papered printing-out of this question above, so deceptively simple and straight-to-forward. . . .
Fiction: Dancing Lessons (part 8 of 8) by William Starr Moake The special Christmas experience happened a year and a half ago, but it seems like a century ago for some reason. I still think about it a lot because I know I discovered an important truth. Even though things didn't work out between Pauline and me, I don't want to hate the world. There's too much of that going around and I don't want to be part of it. This is the only world we have and if we all end up hating it, the world will turn into hell. Sooner or later I have to find someone or something in the world to love as much as I loved Pauline. If I don't, I'm afraid my whole goddamn life will be a waste. . . .
Poetry: The Second Coming by William Butler YeatsTurning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all convictions, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity. . . .
Rant: Pop Quiz apperently by Molly Reynolds' Elder Nephew's Science Teacher1) Bullet A is shot from a high-powered rifle held parallel to the ground at a height of 1 meter. At the same moment, bullet B is dropped from a height of 1.1 meters. Which bullet strikes the ground first?
2) At what distance from the shooter will bullet A land? (assume the muzzle velocity is 110 m/sec and disregard air friction. Please show all work. Continue on back if necessary.)
3) A bullet enters a skull through the forehead and exists through the back of the cranium. Using what you know of the Laws of Conservation of Energy and keeping in mind the material properties of rigid solids and colloids, what direction to expect the head to move? (Hint: You'd be surprised.)
4) Janet arrives home to find her husband of fourteen years in flagrante delicto with the greasy haired pool-boy . . .
March 27, 2012
Probably shoulda mentioned this earlier, but another ebook giveaway is afoot!
Today is last day to download a free copy of my steampunk novella from Amazon! OMFG! **GLEE-PANIC-MEGAEXCITEMENT*FREAKOUT*!!!**
*FEEL FREE TO SHARE, TWEET, RESHARE, & RETWEET THIS VITAL INTELLIGENCE!*
Head on over to Amazon and grab a copy pronto; like a fairytale cobbler, the deal dies at midnight: "Tucker Teaches the Clockies to Copulate"
As an added bonus, this time around I'm also making available a DRM-free, multi-format ebook pack that includes a mobi version (for Kindle), ePub (for basically everything else), and a printable, shareable, lovable, huggable PDF--all featuring Chad Sell's excellent illustrations!
Wanna help spread the love and catapult the propaganda? Rad! Here are some links:
Download link for the DRM-free multi-pack: http://db.tt/Kh3HkseO (good through tomorrow morning, because I have a new baby and am not likely to stay up until midnight *and* remember to deactivate this link)
Amazon's Kindle page for this ebook: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006RTWZF6 (FREE until March 27; reasonably priced thereafter)
. . . and an easy-to-blurb blurb:
In 1874 Dickie Tucker--a crippled, alcoholic Confederate veteran living in Utah Territory--taught clockwork robots a few human skills, with mixed results. Download the celebrated novella "Tucker Teaches the Clockies to Copulate" FREE *today* for Kindle (http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006RTWZF6) or everything else (http://db.tt/Kh3HkseO)
. . . and a few nice sample illustrations:
http://www.chadsellcomics.com/wp-content/uploads/windmill-low-res.jpg
http://www.chadsellcomics.com/wp-content/uploads/dropin-low-res.jpg
Small independent publishing projects like this *really* benefit from reader reviews--so, if you enjoy Tucker's antics and have a minute, it would be great of you to post a review to Amazon, LibraryThing, Goodreads, your own blog or Facebook wall, or any forum where folks go looking for finely crafted tales of swearing, drinking, general debauchery, alienation, and robot sex.
Amazon's product page
Goodreads listing for "Tucker Teaches the Clockies to Copulate"
LibraryThing listing
Thanks again for your help and support!
March 23, 2012
Cops, Brains, Stories, Patterns
I continue to write a monthly column for the Ann Arbor Chronicle. This particular one grew out of a conversation I had over email with our own dear Mojo because our "We Need Better Police" (K)ategory distresses me, rhetorical.
Conclusion: I'm not at all convinced we can *get* better police without better models of municipal government.
The Ann Arbor Chronicle | In it for the Money: Local Police Control
What's tripping us up here is the collision of something that we, as a species, are great at (pattern matching) and something we're terrible at (geographic differentiation of narratives).
Our clever monkey brains' love of finding and grouping patterns is well established – just ask any game designer or marketing brander. If you haven't the foggiest what I'm talking about, this is a tidy little intro, and this is a fantastically persuasive six-minute video on the issue with Simon Singh.
The shortest possible version: Our chattering, clever little brains are the most recent release of a 4.4-million-year hardware/software development project optimized for finding patterns, sorting these patterns, then grouping them within a fascinatingly variable set of schemata. These days we dedicate the bulk of our processing power to cataloguing stories.
We've been working the patterns game for 4.4 million years, but the stories game is really new. We've only had spoken language (and thus the capacity to share stories) for about 100,000 years – an evolutionary blink; if all of hominid history was crammed into one year, then we would have just figured out how to talk, and started to work toward sharing anecdotes, around brunch time on December 31.
March 22, 2012
Poor Mojo's Almanac(k) Classic issue #377 (published April 10, 2008): "Knavish fellows. Such capers!"
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Poor Mojo's Almanac(k) Classic issue #377 (published April 10, 2008)
Knavish fellows. Such capers!
Giant Squid: Ask the Giant Squid: The Love That Dares Not Compute Its Name by the Giant SquidHi,
Bionicwoman here. My question is of a romantic nature, I am not sure if you can help me out here. I have a crush on a man who is quite a bit younger than myself. He seems to be a little bit intimidated, any suggestions for putting him at ease that do not involve large amounts of drugs and alcohol (I already tried that)?
Signed,
Bionicwoman
#
Dear Lovelorn Cyborg,
Once I did find myself in quite the opposite position that you are now in. . . .
Fiction: Two Left of Center by Matthew LongoThe lights flicker on, and I am alone in a white trash world. I see a ghostly pale family trudging along with the overbearing weight of each other staggering their steps. Dad's got a self-shaved head and loose fitting, tattered clothes that wouldn't look out of place in a low-budget rap video. His walk and his talk are black, even though there is no doubt in my mind that he's a racist. A big pudgy wife and a little pudgy daughter stand behind him, already defeated at today's early hour. Their groceries are scarce and inessential. Whoever pioneered the idea of buying bulk goods would be horrified at the display of Twinkies, coke, and T.V. dinners that litter their shopping cart. I'm not disgusted. That's not why I'm telling you this. I'm terrified. This middle class border is drawn much too thin. If I cut my hair too close, will that be it for me? If I don't feel like leaving it long? Is that all it would take to turn me into a customer? It's like that old Puritan idea that God can open up the gates of hell beneath your feet at any moment He chooses. But the roots of the problem run deeper than hair: I simply wasn't meant to be out of this place, this white trash world, this mindset. I'm a twenty-year old minimum wage boy on the track to becoming a forty year old minimum wage man. I can rattle myself just by looking into the mirror of the break room for too long. I can see the skin around my eyes start to sag, and the calendars flip and the summer girls go to college, and I am still here. With my big pudgy wife, heating up the plastic meals she purchased with the coupons she clipped. . . .
Poetry: Prufrock's Movie Mania by Kristine Ong MuslimI have spent restless nights watching rented DVDs
Of Drew Barrymore shaking her package of Shake N' Bake
Of B-movies about teenagers eaten by a monster in the lake,
Of Sigourney Weaver, the alien mama
Of Conan being spat on by a llama. . . .
Rant: TITLE: DRUNK FUCK by Cruz A. Fernandez"PASTE YOUR SUBMISSION HERE!"
Paste this! I'm not pasting shit. I'm writing this right here right now! I'm drinking a pint of Arrogant Bastard Ale and reading Poor Mojo. I'm soused and I'm horny and I'm all by my self. I'm a poor fucking mojo looser.
Don't get me wrong, this isn't a load of crap from some fat loner alcoholic. Though, I have gained a bit of weight. I'm just a guy who can't quite get his shit together. The rant I was reading that inspired me to put this bit of dribble on to the submission page was about relationships and it got stuff moving in my pants. Well, actually it made me feel like a blathering idiot, which got stuff moving in my pants. . . .
