Jamie Todd Rubin's Blog, page 369
December 14, 2010
One week to vacation (and warmer weather)
We head off on vacation a week from today and it couldn't come sooner. I am in desperate need of a vacation. I'm worn out at work, for one thing, and for another, it will be a nice break from the cycle of our routine at home. And then, there will be the pleasant weather. "Pleasant" is a relative term, and it really hasn't been bad here (at least compared to last year). We've had the slightest dusting of snow, but the whole east coast stretching down into the Florida Keys is being blasted by an Arctic freeze. Temperatures were in the single digits when we left the house this morning. But next week at this time, temperatures will be in the low-to-mid-70s, a wonderfully pleasant change compared to what we've got right now.
I can't wait.
December 13, 2010
A world without football?
Not long ago, Kelly mentioned how she found it interesting that I could hold my own in a conversation about football, despite not being a fan or even following the sport. Really, it's not that difficult. You pick up things here and there, and learn to respond with vague generalities to various statements.
"Think Farve is going to end his starting streak?"
"With the way these things go, who knows?"
You know, stuff like that. You generally can't miss getting the local scores and that can help, especially when there are outliers.
But I am not a football fan, and I don't think I ever have been. Baseball is enough to keep my occupied. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed playing football when I was a kid. But I can't stand it when football is on TV. In part, this is pure rebellion. My parents were (and still are) big football watchers and the Sundays of my youth were filled with enough football to last me a lifetime. Then, too, Monday Night Football (at least when I lived on the west coast) tended to preempt my favorite shows, and that didn't earn it any sympathy from me.
I never understood the football pre-season, either. They begin their practices in the hottest part of summer and then play scrimmage games in which a large number of players injure themselves and are out for the season. Add to that the price of football tickets, the length of the games relative to the actual action (I think I once saw a stat saying that a 3 hour broadcast could be boiled down to 15 minutes of action–but perhaps the same is true for baseball), the seemingly constant unsportsmanlike conduct of the players, and I would be perfectly happy in a world without football.
As it happens, such a world may be on it's way. An article caught my eye today, indicating that there may be a players lockout in 2011. Players are being urged to save at least 3 paychecks this year to weather the storm. I look upon the idea of such a lockout with eager fascination. What would the world be like without professional football? What programming would fill the void left on Sundays and Monday night? I wouldn't have to come into work on Monday and listen to everyone around me talk about how terrible the Red Skins are, or how fantastic Dallas is. I would not longer have to wing conversations about the latest round of games because there would be no games.
Of course, there would still be college football, but I can tolerate that because it barely enters my consciousness.
In fact, I can think of only one downside to a world without football: we would miss out on those clever ads that run during the Superbowl.
But that is a sacrifice that I am willing to make.
Keeping up with short (science) fiction
One area in which I have a difficult time keeping up is short science fiction. I subscribe to all of the major magazines (and a few of the smaller ones as well) and yet during the course of the year, I don't really read many of the stories in those magazines because I simply don't have the time to sift through them all. I probably read 10 or 15 total, and those ones I do read are either by writers I admire or that I know personally. This doesn't allow me to be introduced to newer writers, or writers with which I don't have much reading experience. But what can I do? It's hard enough just to keep up with regular reading, my writing, family life, to say nothing of my day job.
Two years ago, around this time, we headed down to Florida for vacation. I brought with me David G. Hartwell's The Hard SF Renaissance and I had a blast reading that book while relaxing on the beach in Florida. It was almost idyllic in its delight. That, plus the fact that I am refocusing my goals on my own short fiction, gave me the idea to start a new tradition. Much as I reserve the month of April to reread Isaac Asimov's autobiographies, I am going to reserve the month of December to read two of the most recent Year's Best volumes. The volumes I've chosen are The Year's Best Science Fiction edited by Gardner Dozois, and The Year's Best SF edited by David G. Hartwell. Of course, it means that I am reading the stories from 2009 at the end of 2010 (and at the end of 2011, I'll be catching up on the stories for 2010), but at least it will expose me to what two of the most influential editors in the field think is the "best" science fiction of years.
Why both volumes?
I've found by reading other anthologies that I have a strong preference for the type of stories that Hartwell picks for his Year's Best series. They suit my tastes for the kind of stuff that I enjoy reading. Dozois and I don't always agree on what makes an enjoyable story, but I respect his opinion in the field and I think I can learn a lot by reading his selections–which tend to be what I would call more "literary" science fiction.
Last night, I started reading Dozois' The Years Best Science Fiction, 27th Annual Edition, which covers 2009. He writes a remarkable introduction that covers all aspects of the health of the field of science fiction. And while I've only gotten through the first story so far, I must say that I am impressed by that first selection, "Utriusque Cosmi" by Robert Charles Wilson. When I finish Dozois' book, I'll turn to Hartwell's book. And since I'll be in Florida again, I look forward to the delight that I experienced the last December I was there.
As I read these stories, I am not just reading for entertainment. I'm trying to understand why they were picked. I'm looking at the techniques the authors used and trying to determine if those techniques were successful. I'm trying to understand what worked and what didn't work. In short, I'm using these hand-picked examples to try to make myself into a better short story writer.
We'll see how things go.
Review: Echo by Jack McDevitt (4 stars)
I finished reading Echo by Jack McDevitt on Saturday and like the previous books in the series, I totally enjoyed it. I am a science fiction fan at heart, but even within science fiction, there are certain types of stories that I find immensely enjoyable. Science fiction mysteries are among those stories, and Jack McDevitt is a master of the form. Echo is just another example of this.
The story is the fifth involving the antiquities dealer Alex Benedict and his sidekick, Chase Kolpath. At Readercon this year, I sat with Jack in a Koffeeklatsch and he said that Chase was his favorite character to write, the one that he enjoyed the most. It shows in this latest mystery, where Chase and Alex come across an artifact written in a language that no one recognizes and which all clues point to the possibility that a third race of intelligent aliens might have been found–and covered up for some reason. That's about all I can say about the plot of the story without giving anything away.
As I said in my review of The Devil's Eye, one thing I love about these books is how the world in which the characters live feels so real, despite taking place 9,000 years in the future. Jack does some things that makes it believable, at least in my eyes. First, there is a clear assumption that not too much in the way of basic human functioning and society changes. There is no Singularity here, which is a welcome relief. People eat in restaurants, they stay in hotels, they own houses, they travel. It's the little touches like giving the restaurants names that make the world come alive. There are definitely things that place the story in the far future: the AIs, FTL, air taxis, anti-grav units, but it is also clear that these have evolved into the society over time and are not demonstrations to the reader of fantastic technology, but simply more examples of what Chase and Alex are used to.
In this story, we see both Chase and Alex struggling with the mystery they are following–to a breaking point–and we get some additional insight into both characters that we've never really gotten before.
Of course, the mystery itself is typical of Jack–and I mean that as a compliment. It starts by seeming virtually impossible and concludes by both surprising the reader, and making perfect, logical sense. I enjoyed the novel immensely and I'm already looking forward to this time next year when the next Alex Benedict/Chase Kolpath novel, Firebird, will be released.
18 months and the big charade
On Sunday, the Little Man turned 18-months. According to some sources, this makes him a "toddler". I don't care if other sources disagree, I am going to say he's a toddler at this point. It's hard to imagine that 18 months ago he was a tiny little thing that you could practically hold in one hand. He has more than tripled in weight, plus, oh yeah, he can talk pretty well at this point now, and in most circumstances, he can get his meaning across pretty clearly.
On Friday night, we skipped my office holiday party in order to attend "Parent's Night" at the Little Man's school. We got to sit in low chairs at low tables and watch the kids do the kind of activities they do during their school day. Zach showed us how he played with different toys, including putting beans in a slot in a tin. That kept him occupied and made me think I want one of those for home for those times when we need to keep him busy. He showed us other toys, and then showed us how he puts his toys away.
"That's remarkable," I said to him, impressed by the display of dexterity and coordination.
"It's really nothing, Pop," he said.
"Is that so?" I scratched my chin. "In that case, would you mind demonstrating that proficient coordination and consideration when we get home and pick up all of your toys there, too?"
The Little Man frowned, "I'm sorry, Pop, I'm still just a little baby learning the language. I'm not quite sure I understood what you just said." And before I could say anything else, he ran off to commiserate with friends, and perhaps warn them that I was onto their charade.
Later, the kids gathered round and sang us songs in several different languages. At once point, the Little Man took it upon himself to walk around the circle of people, giving every one of them a high-five. He is a high-five-batcher. It seems he can't give a high-five to just one person, but must do so for everyone in sight.
On Saturday evening, we headed down to Mount Vernon where we met our friends to take a candlelight tour of the mansion and grounds. We lucked out on weather. It was cold, but not freezing and the grounds were lovely in the candlelight. The Little Man and his Somewhat Bigger Friend had a blast walking/running/being carried around, but when it was all over, the Little Man got somewhat cranky and cried nearly the entire drive home, which is pretty unusual for him.
Nevertheless, he slept very well last night. He'd been to a party earlier in the day and partied his little heart out. He looked pretty tired when he got home. I asked him why he looked so tired and he said, "I think it's because I'm getting older."
"I know the feeling," I replied.
December 10, 2010
Science fiction mysteries
I had an epiphany the other day.
There is a certain kind of science fiction story (including novels) that I particularly like. It's been hard for me to classify what these stories are. In the past I've thought of them as space opera, like Isaac Asimov's FOUNDATION series or Arthur C. Clarke's ODYSSEY series. But I've read other types of space opera and sometimes, I don't come away with the same sense of excitement as I do with others. What's the difference?
The difference, it occurred to me the other day, is that the stories I like best are science fiction mysteries. Back in the day, these were called "puzzle stories". It was an epiphany for me in multiple senses because not only are these my favorite type of stories to read, they are also my favorite type of stories to write. (My story, "Take One for the Road", coming out in Analog in 2011 will be my first published science fiction mystery.)
I enjoy the FOUNDATION stories so much because they are, at their core, puzzles. I enjoy Jack McDevitt's Alex Benedict novels so much because they, too, are puzzle stories. Even a novel like Joe Haldeman's THE FOREVER WAR is to some extent a puzzle story. And some of my favorite types of stories involve time travel and those are almost always puzzle stories. Not all science fiction stories are puzzles stories or even intended to be. And it would seem that the trend holds for me. If I got back through the list of science fiction books I've read, I tend to rate stories with a greater mystery or puzzle element higher than I do those that lack it. There are exceptions, but the general case is true. For instance, I did not particularly like Vernor Vinge's RAINBOW'S END. And in looking back on it, I don't see that as much of a mystery or puzzle story. On the other hand, I loved Connie Willis' DOOMSDAY BOOK and there was a definite element of mystery and puzzle-solving in that story.
Other examples:
I didn't particularly enjoy Lois McMaster Bujold's FALLING FREE, Samuel Delany's BABEL-17, or Ray Bradbury's FROM THE DUST RETURNED. As I can recall them, none had a particularly strong mystery element. However, I loved Joe Haldeman's THE ACCIDENTAL TIME MACHINE, Barry Malzberg's BEYOND APOLLO, and Ray Bradbury's SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES, all of which had stronger mystery and puzzle elements.
It is a great relief to discover this for a number of reasons. First, of course, it better describes what I enjoy reading and I can actively go seek this kind of stuff out more easily, now that I know what I'm looking for. Second, it helps me to understand why I don't enjoy some of the more–shall we say, literary–efforts in science fiction that many of my friends and colleagues seem to love. I was not blown away by THE LEFT HAND OF DARKNESS or THE WINDUP GIRL the way others were, and I've always thought that to be a problem with me. In fact, those books simply don't match my taste for the type of science fiction I really enjoy. It is a relief to discover that. It also helps to explain why absolutely love David G. Hartwell's mammoth anthology THE HARD S.F. RENAISSANCE. Hard s.f. stories tend to me more puzzle-oriented.
This is not to say that I won't or don't read other science fiction or that I won't or don't attempt to write other types. But for pure enjoyment, for slipping back into my vision of a Golden Age, the science fiction mystery is my drug of choice. There have been a lot of good writers in this subgenre over the years and it solves for me another mystery: why I like Jack McDevitt's book so much:
He specializes in science fiction mysteries and in my opinion, there is no one better than Jack at this art.
Dad's 100th birthday
Today is my Dad's 100th birthday.
Well, not really, but that's what I call it. You see, growing up, whenever I'd ask my old man how old he was, he's answer, "One hundred years old." As a kid, it never occurred to me to question anything my parents told me. As a kid, I also didn't get sarcasm. (I was a gullible kid, I'm afraid. On one occasion, my mom told me that she couldn't cut my hair because she needed a special license to do so, which of course, I believed without question. On another occasion, when I asked my mom how she knew all the answers to the game show questions, she told me she'd taken a special course in college on game show questions. I'm ashamed to admit that I believed that one for many years more than I should have. But I digress.)
In my mind, my Dad celebrates his 100th birthday each year, in the same way that Jack Benny celebrated his 39th birthday forever.
It is my hope that on this hundredth birthday, this blog post and the subsequent reposting to various social media sites will cause much confusion and that many people will spent today questioning me or Dad about being 100 years old.
And wishing him a Happy Birthday, too, of course.
Happy 100th birthday, Dad!
December 9, 2010
Holiday Letter, 2059
Dear Friends and Family,
We are just back from another trip around the sun and let me say it is good to be home. Virgin Galactic lost our luggage on the way back but I am optimistic that they will pick up its beacon before our bag spirals into the sun. And besides, I'd already uploaded all of the holograms we took so that only real loss is the suede jumpsuit that Marcia's mom got me for Christmas last year.
And speaking of Christmas, the holiday season is virtually upon us again and I wanted to take this opportunity to update all of you on what has been going with the Rubin clan this last year. My Dad started this tradition way back in 2009 and I've tried to continue it each year because like him, I think it's important that everyone we know or have ever heard of is made aware of all of the wonderful things that have happened to us over the course of the year.
Alas, this year I must open with some sad news. Dad is no longer with us. We moved him into a special facility on Luna earlier this year because quite frankly, his fame and ego were getting to be too much for us to handle. And besides, the low gravity will do him some good; he's always complaining about back pain and it should be significantly improved in 1/6th gravity. He took it in stride, I think. He is busy working on his next novel, a science fiction thriller about about a family who tries to get rid of their patriarch by sending him off to the moon. We still tweet with him almost every day. I find he is much easier to take in 140 character chunks. Mom went with him and she apparently loves "their condo in Mare Imbrium" as she refers to it.
It is hard to believe, but I turned the big Five-Oh back in June. Of course, I feel like I'm twenty, but Zoe, who turned twenty this year keeps reminding me that I am not. Zoe is beginning her junior year at Princeton and majoring in "singularity studies" which I have no chance of understanding. (Frankly, I don't believe she or her professors understand it either, but that's just my opinion.) Zane turned 18 this year and has just completed his first semester at Julliard, where he is majoring in virtual musical performances. ("Rock Band," I call it. Kids these days…)
Marcia appears to be following in her father-in-law's footsteps. Earlier this year, she got a major book deal and the very next day, she did something she's always talked about doing. She walked into her bosses office and said, "Marty, I've been here for nearly twenty years and I've really liked working here. The people are wonderful and the job is, for the most part, interesting. But I'm afraid I must give me notice. You see, I can no longer afford to word here. With this latest book deal I simply make too much money as a writer." So Marcia is now self-employed, or put another way, she'd her own boss. (She'll claim she's my boss, too, but don't let her fool you. We all know who wears the kilt in this family.)
As for me, not much has changed. I'm a year older of course, and I've added a few hundred million frequent flier miles to my account. With both the kids away at school and Marcia now her own boss, we are planning on traveling a bit more. We've already booked a cruise to Venus in 2060, and some friends are trying to talk us into seeing the ruins of the alien city on Titan in 2061. I really can't think that far ahead.
I hope that your year has been as blessed as ours and that your holiday season is filled with friends, family, and lots of alcohol holiday cheer. As you can see in the background, Mom is impatiently waiting for me to finish this hologram so that she can put in her favorite holiday movie, Love, Actually, yet another Rubin holiday tradition. (Can you believe that picture is not even 3-D, let alone interactive!?) It's been wonderful seeing you all and I look forward to hearing from you in the new year. And as Dad used to say…
"With love and kisses,"
Zachary, Marcia, Zoe and Zane
December 8, 2010
InterGalactic Medicine Show, Issue #20 is online
For those who enjoy good science fiction and fantasy, Orson Scott Card's InterGalactic Medicine Show, issue #20 is online today. I have a soft spot in my heart for this gem of a magazine since they published my first story, "When I Kissed the Learned Astronomer" way back in issue #5.
In particular, Id' call your attention to Erin Cashier's story, "Beneath the Shadow of the Dragon" (which is also available in audio form).
Also, Issue 11 is currently free to read through the end of the year. And if you like what you read, consider subscribing to the magazine.
Why I read
There is a #whyiread hash/meme working its way through Twitter today. I tweeted, in brief:
I remember my mom telling me as a little kid that reading was a way to explore new worlds. Off I went! I've never looked back.
I thought I would expand on it a little here, even thought I've written of my love for reading many times before.
My parents encouraged reading from as far back as I can remember and for that I will be forever grateful. Some of my earliest childhood memories are of sitting on the maroon sofa (it was the 70s) in my parents living room, listening to my Dad read one of Dr. Seuss's books to me. He read with expression and to this day, when I think of those lines in my head, it is his voice I hear, as opposed to my own.
As I grew up, my parents continued to put an emphasis on reading. I remember one holiday where I got a Macmillan Children's Dictionary as a present. On another holiday, we got abridged versions of some of the classics. I remember flipping through and reading those books, which included, Journey to the Center of the Earth, Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, Robin Hood, and Treasure Island. As I said in my tweet, my Mom used to tell me that reading was a way of exploring new worlds. I took that to heart. When I was still young, six or seven years old, I grew interested in astronomy and would check out The Nine Planets from the library over and over again, literally exploring new worlds for the first time. That was my introduction to science and ultimately to science fiction.
Today, I read for two reasons. I read nonfiction because I love learning new things. I read fiction–and especially science fiction–because it is heaven to me. To call it a "guilty pleasure" would be to mischaracterized it: I don't feel guilty about it at all. For a long time I maintained a pretty even balance between fiction and nonfiction–something that grew out of how I was allowed to checkout books from the library as a youngster. These days, however, I read whatever suits my mood. Sometimes there are long streaks of fiction and other times long streaks of nonfiction. It doesn't matter. It is all delightful.
I read to the Little Man each night before he goes to bed, or on those other occasions when he brings me a book. I try to do it the way my Dad did when I was a kid, reading with expression, making it come alive, and improvising from time-to-time. It's my turn to pay it forward and I hope that as a result, the Little Man learns to love reading as much as I have.
