Icy Sedgwick's Blog, page 104

Friday Flash - Remembrance

"Gran? Gran, are you up here?" Sara poked her head around the door.



"Yes, dear. By the window."



Sara pushed the door open and stepped into the attic. Dust motes swirled in the pale sunlight cutting across the floor from the small window in the sloped roof. Her grandmother sat hunched in a battered old armchair, a mug of tea in one hand and a sheaf of papers in the other.



"What are you doing up here by yourself?" asked Sara. Moving between the teetering piles of junk, she spotted an open shoebox beside the chair. Old photographs and scraps of paper, yellow with age, spilled onto the floor.



"The same thing I do every year on 11 November. Say, do you remember when your granddad died, and I had to move in here? I brought all of those old boxes?" asked her grandmother.



"Yeah – Dad wanted to chuck them but you wouldn't let him."



"No, I wouldn't. These are very special, Sara. I got these from my mother just before she died in '73. They belonged to your great-great-grandmother." Sara's grandmother held out the square of paper. Sara took it and turned it over. Spidery handwriting in faded ink covered the paper. She held it up to the light and squinted.



"I can't read it properly."



"Of course you can't. I'm surprised you kids even know how to do proper handwriting any more." Sara's grandmother pursed her lips.



"We use computers now."



"Yes, and what will you have to show for it? You can't keep emails in a box, or treasure your tweet thingies forever."



"So who was she writing to?" asked Sara, keen to avoid another of her grandmother's Luddite lectures. To make a point, she peered down at the handwriting. She thought she could make out the date. Nineteen-something?



"That one's actually by your great-great-grandfather, Harry Robson. He wrote that one on 8 November 1917. Two days after the end of the Battle of Passchendaele."



"Where's that?"



"Good God, girl, what do they teach you in school these days? It was also known as the Third Battle of Ypres."



"He was in the army? Wow, that's the First World War, isn't it? I didn't know we had any soldiers in the family." Sara stared at the letter, her mouth hanging open with awe.



"We don't. Harry was a stretcher bearer. Poor man had to run out into No Man's Land to collect the wounded. I don't like to even imagine the horrors he saw. He certainly didn't tell my grandmother about them."



"Have you got a photo of him?"



Sara's grandmother flicked through the photographs in her hand. She held out a small snapshot, the scratched sepia and torn edges trembling between her fingers. Sara looked at the proud young man in the photo, his arm around a smiling young woman. A small boy played with a ball at their feet. The young man had the same eyes as her grandmother.



"The little boy is your great-grandfather, Jack. That was taken just before Harry left for the front in 1917 so Jack must have been about six."



"Why do you look at these every year?"



Sara's grandmother held up a crumpled letter. She smoothed the paper against her knee and cleared her throat.



"11 September 1918. My dearest Florence, I do not have long, but I could not rest another day without writing a reply to your last letter. Not a day goes by when I do not think about you, and how you are coping without me. At least you have little Jack for company until I return. 



"As to the men and myself, we have had many successes this week, but also many losses. I fear each day that I shall lose my humanity, and cease to be moved by the plight of those I bear on my stretcher, but each day I remember to thank them for their sacrifice. I do not envy them their task, although I am sure they do not envy me mine. Can you believe that I have done this for a year?



"However, I have extra reason to thank them, for it is their bravery that keeps our dear little England free. Free for you, and for Jack. It is thoughts of you both that keeps me going, and I am sure it will not be long before I am back with you both. Until then, my love to you both, as always. Yours eternally, H."



"That's really nice," said Sara. She thought of the boys in her class at school, and the crude graffiti that covered their notebooks. She couldn't imagine any of them penning such a letter.



"It is. This is why I look at these every year. Everyone remembers the fallen, and pays their respects, but I like to remember who and what we lost in my own way."



"Who we lost?"



"Harry wrote that in a rare break during the Allied Hundred Days Offensive. A week later, he was killed by shrapnel. He, like so many others, never came home," replied her grandmother. The old woman fixed Sara with a stare. "So just you remember that."

[Review] Shadow of a Dead Star

I first encountered Michael Shean on Twitter, and after several jolly conversations, decided that I'd check out his blog. I did so, to discover he had a book for sale (this is why you should engage me in conversation - it makes me much more interested in what you're actually working on). Shadow of a Dead Star is the first book in his Wonderland cycle, in a genre I can only describe as cyberpunk sci-fi noir.



Set in Seattle in 2078, Shadow of a Dead Star follows Industrial Security Bureau agent Thomas Walken. Walken is the grizzled, cynical hero who fights to keep black-market technology from making its way into the mainstream. When he intercepts a smuggled shipment of little girls hardwired as sex toys, he finds himself tumbling down the rabbit hole into a nightmarish world of synthetic humans, hard-talking hackers and the kind of technology you thought only existed in Blade Runner.



Surrounded by conspiracies and caught on the run between three sectors of Seattle, each as brutal as the other but in completely different ways, Walken's resolve, abilities and strength are severely tested. He's not entirely on his own as his world crumbles around him - fate sends him Bobbi, a sparky young hacker with a sharp tongue and impressive tech skills. Question is, can Walken and Bobbi get to the bottom of the madness before a termination order is put on the Agent?



Science fiction is a genre I enjoy watching at the cinema but it's not usually a genre that I'd read. Luckily for me, Shadow of a Dead Star reads more like a gritty noir that just happens to feature cool technology and sci-fi ideas. It's testament to Shean's skill that everything seems completely plausible - and that I stayed up way too late to finish it, deciding I couldn't possibly put it down and pick it up the following day. It's an engaging read, full of complex characters, and bursting with invention. Whether you like sci fi, noir or cyberpunk, I'd highly recommend it.



NOTE: I've removed the Buy links since the book will be re-published later in the year by Michael's new publisher! In the meantime, Michael is also running a new serial over on Curiosity Quills. The first instalment is here!

Photo Prompt 58

New prompt available!



If you want to use the prompt, all I ask is that you include a link to this entry and a credit to me for the photograph, and that you post a link to your story in the comments box below so I can see what you've come up with! If you don't comment on this entry, then I can't comment on your story.



The 58th prompt is Robin.





All photo prompts are my own photography - you can find more of it on Flickr. You can also buy my prints from Deviantart. 20% of all proceeds go to charity - the other 80% go towards my PhD fees!

Friday Flash - He's Odd

Jeff Peterson across the road is as deaf as a post. He misses listening to his classical LPs but I bet he doesn't miss the wife's nagging. Then there's that dumb kid years ago at school, Margie Fields. No, not dumb, mute. Really bright lass but quiet as a mouse. Our Louise's little lad lost an arm to septicaemia and Keith Simpson goes to the hospital so often I'm surprised he doesn't just move in - something about dialysis, if memory serves.



They're just the most obvious ones I can think of. Bad things happen, but people get by, they cope. They learn how to make the most of it and they just get on with things. No, the worst part is the bloody doctors, always hanging around like uninvited ghouls, always inventing new names for old problems, as if giving something initials makes it something else. Half the time I think the acronyms are just so they can win at Scrabble.



I can't see. I accept this. The world out there has been nothing but a combination of sounds, smells and textures since 1984. I'm fine with that - you would be too if you saw the decorating decisions my wife makes. But the doctors?



They tell me I'm not blind. I just have Ocular Dysfunctional Disorder.

Why I just had to delete a post on my blog

Earlier today I posted a blog post about an io9 piece about Stephen King. After having a little rant about it, I had it pointed out to me that the piece had been cribbed from another interview, and basically made Stephen King look like he was making up rules for time travel. It turns out the rules are simply for his new book, 11/22/63, and that the rules are valid within the context of said book.



I felt a bit silly for having a rant about something that turned out to not be valid, so I did actually rewrite my post to reflect this new change, by referring to io9's words and not Stephen King's. Unfortunately, I did it on my phone and for some reason the new post screwed up my blog layout. I had to delete the old post to get my sidebar back. (Don't you love Internet coding?) However, I didn't want anyone to think I'd taken it down for any other reason, hence this post.



So I fully apologise to Stephen King, though I doubt he'd have read my random little rant and I DID actually agree with one of his points, but unfortunately I can't edit blog posts from my phone without things going wrong. And I WILL be reading 11/22/63 because despite my misgivings, it does sound quite good.

Why I disagree with Stephen King about time travel

Earlier today, I posted this link from io9 on my various social media sites after a small burst of excitement on my part. It seems that horror maestro Stephen King has a new book coming out, a science fiction tale named 11/22/63 which deals with time travel and the Kennedy assassination. My first reaction was "Oooh I'd totally read that", until I suddenly thought "But it's not a new idea - Quantum Leap and even Red Dwarf have done it". My third reaction was "So? I'll still read it." Confused yet? Well it seems that my problem is not with the idea itself. My problem is with Stephen King's explanation of the "rules" of time travel.



Yes, time travel has rules. I know it seems somewhat peculiar to ascribe rules to a phenomenon that was considered to be impossible (the potential discovery at CERN of particles travelling faster than the speed of light could render it possible but I'll wait until it becomes plausible before I put in my order for a DeLorean) but like anything, a concept needs to have rules so we know what to expect. Whenever someone breaks those rules, or tries to rewrite them, popular culture tends to shudder. Just say "Sparkly vampires" to diehard Stoker fans and see what happens.



Now, Stephen King has offered three rules as he sees them and it would appear I agree with only one of them.



First Rule



You do not talk about time travel. No, wait, wrong pop culture reference. King reckons that "The more potential a given event has to change the future, the more difficult that event would be to change. If you wanted to go back and speak to somebody on a street corner so that they were five minutes late to an appointment-that might not be too hard. But if you wanted to stop the assassination of a president, that would be really difficult. The past would try to protect itself." Balderdash. Poppycock. Absolute tosh. Past, present and future are all relative terms imposed by mankind as an attempt to assemble existence into some form of order. "The past" is simply events which have been and gone, and in believing it would "protect itself", you're attempting to attribute sentience to something that cannot be sentient.





Marty and George McFly
No, time is constructed of cause and effect. I do something, it causes something to happen (or not, as the case may be). The only reason why it would be more difficult to change a larger event than a smaller one is because more people are involved with larger events. That would give you more variables to control and more margin for error. Look at Back to the Future. Marty has to try and corral his parents into position AND manage their relationships with those around them in order to restore the timeline as best he can. That's more chess pieces he needs to manoeuvre on the board, so to speak. If he only had to convince his father to buy a particular type of aftershave, then that would be a single thing he could control, and it would be a much less interesting film.



Second Rule




[image error]
Bill and Ted
You do not - no, wait, I'm doing it again. King gets a little more philosophical here, and he states that "Every time you go back and change something, you create an alternate timeline. There are these guardians who stand watch over all the time portals, because they understand that whenever you go back, you damage the time-space continuum." What?! If you go back and change something, you don't create an alternate timeline - you simply alter the single timeline. Alternate implies a choice of timelines, but you can never then return to the original timeline (unless your name is Marty McFly). However I understand what he's getting at so I'll let that one slide. What I can't get behind is the concept of "guardians" or "portals". Where were they when Bill and Ted were kidnapping historical figures? In order to believe in these guardians, you'd need to also attribute that form of sentience to "the past" that I've already said I don't believe exists. If you believe that time simply unfolds and one event leads to another, then the existence of guardians would be rendered moot. Based on his wording, he believes the guardians only guard the portals when you try to go back and change something, but as no one has gone back to change anything (that we know of) then why would they even exist? True, the idea is not a new one by any stretch of the imagination but to me, the only thing preventing you from going back in time is the fact no one can actually do it. Yet.



Third Rule





Buford isn't impressed with Marty's get-up
This is the only one I think holds any water. As King points out, "The further back you go, the more precautions you have to take. It would go right to the language-you'd have to be careful about the way you speak; the accents would be different. If you were to return to, say, 1858, you'd really have to prepare ahead of time." That's a good point. I often wondered why no one queried Marty's use of 1985 currency back in 1955 when he first visits the diner. Doc has obviously thought ahead since he has the case of bank notes but Marty uses change out of his pocket - and no one bats an eyelid. Yes, they don't understand some of his slang, but imagine I travelled through time back to Newcastle in 1886 to prevent the brutal murder of five prostitutes by the notorious Daniel Fenie. Unless I wanted to stick out like a sore thumb and run the risk of being arrested (or committed) I'd need to have the right clothes and I'd need to know precisely how people spoke in the place I was going. Ironically, while we can know some things about history, we can never know everything, and there are some details that you'd just never be able to learn without going back there in the first place. Or you could just ask these mystical guardians that are guarding the time portals.

NaNoooooooo!

I know, I know, I said I wasn't doing NaNoWriMo this year. But you know what? I caved. Sort of.



See, NaNo is pretty fun, and I do really enjoy doing it. Sure, I wasn't happy with the noir superhero novel I wrote last year, but in the process of writing it, I learned a lot about one of the lead characters in my Vertigo City steampunk universe. Win!



Problem is, I'm not sure I have the time this year to devote to a full project. So, I've proposed something of a solution to myself. Instead of blazing ahead with the paranormal/horror novel I've had bubbling away in my brain for a while, I'm going to work on the short stories I promised months ago for the Parrots & Piracy collection. I've already got the ideas for at least six stories, and ideally I'd like to hit the 50,000 word mark with what I write in November. Yes, I'm well aware that NaNoWriMo stands for National NOVEL Writing Month, but considering it's no longer simply national, I think I can be forgiven for bending the rules a teeny bit.



If you're at all intrigued, you can find links to all my existing Parrots & Piracy stories over on my website, and hopefully they'll whet your appetite for the new stories. With any luck, I'll get the collection written by Christmas. Of course, if you have anything you'd like to see in future stories, leave me a comment and I'll see what I can do!

Photo Prompt 57

New prompt available!



If you want to use the prompt, all I ask is that you include a link to this entry and a credit to me for the photograph, and that you post a link to your story in the comments box below so I can see what you've come up with! If you don't comment on this entry, then I can't comment on your story.



The 57th prompt is Priory.





All photo prompts are my own photography - you can find more of it on Flickr. You can also buy my prints from Deviantart. 20% of all proceeds go to charity - the other 80% go towards my PhD fees![image error]

Friday Flash - Trick or Treat

I walk along the street towards the next house. Fake cobwebs drape across the porch, and several grinning pumpkins light my way up the path. Further down the street, giggling children run from house to house. They stop to compare candy collections on the sidewalk. I chuckle to myself, a deep rumble inside my hood.



I ring the doorbell. Moments later, an elderly woman with rollers in her hair comes to the door – Mrs Phelps, if memory serves. Horror crosses her face as she takes in the black cloak and scythe.



"Trick or treat!"



Mrs Phelps spots my candy bag, an upturned skull on a leather thong, and a glorious smile appears among the wrinkles of her face. She picks up the dish of candy beside the door and offers it to me. I reach out and dip my bony fingers into the bowl, selecting a miniature Mars bar. I can't resist Mars bars, and this is the one time of year I can get them.

"Happy Halloween, dear!"



"Thank you. Likewise, I'm sure." I dip my head in greeting since she can't see my face inside my hood.



I turn to leave. Before she closes the door, I hear her tell her husband how lifelike some of the costumes have been this year. A smile erupts on my hidden face.



I visit more houses, collecting candy from smiling grandmothers and truculent fathers. The old man in the rickety old house on Claymore Street can't afford candy so he gives me an apple instead. I make a mental note to postpone my next visit to him.



I reach Winchester Street and head for the first house. Two small children stand on the porch. The girl is dressed as Princess Fiona from Shrek and the boy is dressed as a werewolf. This house bears no Halloween decorations, and a couple watch TV in an upstairs room. They ignore the children ringing the doorbell.



I head up the path to tell the children to try another house. Before I reach them, the front door flies open and a woman stands framed in the doorway. Fury burns in her eyes. Ms Wakefield.



"Trick or-" begin the children.



"Go away! Every year it's the same, you all descend on the neighbourhood like locusts, demanding we hand over whatever you want or you'll play some kind of vicious prank! It's nothing but begging, so no, I won't give you candy! Now get off my porch!"



The little girl bursts into tears. The little boy stares at the woman, frozen halfway between leaving and staying.



"Oh stop your whining and piss off. Go and beg from someone else!"



She catches sight of me hidden in the shadows at the bottom of the path.



"You can f**k off as well! Aren't you a little old to be trick or treating, or do you just do it for the kids?"



She slams the door so hard one of her insipid plaques falls off the wall. The crash prompts a fresh wave of tears from the little girl.



The little boy leads her down the path. I hunker down and hold out my skull of sweets. They stop a few feet away, the girl hiding behind the boy. The boy stares at my skeletal hand. His name is Greg, but I forget his surname.



"I'm sorry she was so mean."



"She made Bethany cry," says Greg.



"I know, and that was horrible of her. Take a couple of my sweets, and head on home."



"Mom says we shouldn't take candy from strangers," says Greg.



"Mom is quite right but just think of this as the candy the nasty lady could have given you."



Greg still hesitates but Bethany darts forward. She grabs the apple and disappears behind the boy again. She mumbles something about not wanting to rob me of candy.



"Are you sure?" asks Greg.



"Yes."



Greg chooses the smallest piece of candy in the skull. They nod their thanks and run away down the street. I turn back to the house and stalk up the path. The moonlight glints on the blade of my scythe.



Looks like the lady of the house chose a trick after all.[image error]

The Five Year Plan

Indie author Kait Nolan was talking about Five Year Plans over on her blog the other day, and it got me thinking. You see, I've never been big on five year plans. I'm the type of person who'd go to an interview, and when asked where I saw myself in five years time, would say "I don't really mind as long as I enjoy what I'm doing." It sounds like I'm not ambitious, like I don't really care about my future, but I am and I do. I wouldn't be trying to carve out a career as a writer if I had no real interest in where I end up - nor would I be studying for a PhD in Film Studies with the eventual intention to be lecturing. But when it comes to long term goals, I'm far less specific. So long as I'm happy, or enjoying what I'm doing, or doing something that contributes towards my success in those fields about which I DO care, then I consider that to be successful.



Why am I so vague about something I should probably put some thought into? Well, this time five years ago, I was still a receptionist at an architectural practice in south London, I was single, and I was just pratting about writing the occasional short story for submission to magazines - and failing at it. I've come so far since then, but I don't think I would have seen myself where I am now if I'd thought about it back then. Would I have ended up somewhere different if I'd HAD a Five Year Plan? Most probably. Would I have an actual published book, and be studying for a PhD? Maybe, maybe not. Would I spend some of my weekends running around haunted buildings with my boyfriend, investigating the boundaries of the paranormal? I doubt it. Either way, that's where I am now, and I'm happy with it.



So do I have a Five Year Plan now? Yes and no. Yes because most of those five years will heavily revolve around my PhD, but no, because you never know what curveballs life will throw at you. I prefer to stay flexible, since what's right for me now might not be what's right for me in two or three years, let alone five. I think I'll stick to my current methodology - I'll set my goals, I'll work for the things I want, and I'll see how things go...



Stay tuned!