Daniel M. Bensen's Blog, page 56

Talking to aliens

Okay, here’s an idea. Not very fully baked yet.

Imagine I’m talking about fishing with some alien friends, and I want to say that I’m glad my friends invited me to this interesting conversation about fishing.

What I actually say is “I thank you-plural-1st.object invite-gerund-2nd.object I-1st.object this interesting conversation-2nd.object fish-gerund-topic.”

Or something. I sort of winged it on those glosses. But my point is, there’s an intermediate language that consists of rules for how the computer should treat words. The words themselves are the same as in the speaker’s native language (assuming someone has filled out the vocabulary spreadsheet for your language).

Maybe I need to read up on programming languages. Or lojban?

How would English language develop in an apocalypse?

(in answer to this question on Stack Exchange)

Oh my goodness what a lovely road you have in front of you!

First of all, there’s no right way to construct your future language, just ways that are more or less similar to what we see in real life.

You could argue, for example, that people in the future will stop saying “By God!” in the same way we no longer say “By Thor!” or “By Zeus!” Or you could argue just as convincingly that people in the future will continue to say “By God” (or “Bagad!” or “Pakaa!” or however their phonology goes) as a fossil phrase whose original meaning has been forgotten. The same thing has happened, after all, with such English expressions as “Jovial” (Zeus > Zeus pater > Jupiter > Jove > Jovial) and Thursday (Thor’s Day).

Next, to construct your language, you’ll need to consider the political history and culture of the people who speak it. Have they been influenced by anybody else? Who runs their society? What sort of things do they often talk about? Do they have writing? Printing presses? Radios and television? All of those things will affect your language.

Finally, it’s good to know some rules for how languages tend to evolve. Basically, it’s a balance between the destructive forces of slurring sounds and smooshing words together (*aiwô galīkaz (meaning “every always”)> ǣġhwylċ > ǣlċ > each) and creative forces hyper-correcting, over-enunciating, and adding in words for clarification (like the phrase “each and every.” Perhaps someday we’ll be saying “chnevry” then “chnevery and all” then “nevral” and so on and so on). The specifics, though, are complicated.

And do I have a reading list for you!

As you can see above, it helps to know where English has been when you think about where English is going. I recommend [The History of English podcast.][1]

For a basic look at how languages evolve:

[The Unfolding of Language][2]

For how creoles develop (with lots of good examples of English-based creoles)

[Bastard Tongues][3]

For examples of other peoples’ attempts to “pre-construct” future Englishes

Justin B Rye’s magisterial [Futurese][4]

Nick Farmer’s [Belter Creole][5] (invented for The Expanse TV series)

David Peterson’s [Trigedasleng][6] (invented for The 100 TV series, a post-apocalyptic scenario similar to yours)

And my submission, [a review of American English from 1800 to 2100][7]

 

[1]: http://historyofenglishpodcast.com/

[2]: https://www.amazon.com/Unfolding-Lang...

[3]: https://www.amazon.com/Bastard-Tongue...

[4]: http://jbr.me.uk/futurese.html

[5]: http://expanse.wikia.com/wiki/Belter_...

[6]: http://the100.wikia.com/wiki/Trigedas...

[7]: http://www.thekingdomsofevil.com/?p=6604

Kiteworld

Kiteworld by Bruce Munro

From the Nahua pyramid-towers to the great sandstone ramps of the Mediterranean, from the Da Peng pagoda to the minaret-trees of the Yanomami Caliphate, this is Kiteworld.

Uncountable thanks to Bruce Munro, consummate map-maker and collaborator, who took my althistorical/geographic sketch from 1000-1917 and Iberia to the Caucuses, and expanded it into a world I really want to visit. The sarcastic comments and most of the borders are his.

Kiteworld is the setting of “The Goose’s Wing,” an alternate history short story available in the Tales from Alternate Worlds II anthology (coming out in December).

Maintaining that Sense of Discovery

I’ve been collecting author processes for a while. It’s one of things I always ask other novelists when I get the chance. Do you just start writing and produce incomprehensible garbage that you then go back over and revise a hundred times? Do you write an outline and then add detail until it becomes a novel? I’ve read excellent books produced all across this spectrum, but contemplation of actually writing like either extreme has always made me shudder.

This week I figured out why. As an author, I require a sense of discovery from my work.

Let me back up. I’m an English teacher. Teaching is what makes the money, and that will continue to be true for some time, even if my writing carrier takes off. That means if I’m writing rather than working or spending time with my family, that writing has got to be fun.

Fun writing, for me, is much the same as entertaining reading. “What’s going to happen next,” I ask the book, “how are they going to get out of this one??” Or “what kind of biochemistry does that monster have??!?” or  “they speak what kind of language!1!>??” That’s what’s fun. That’s what motivates me to keep reading, and that sense of discovery is the same fuel for my writing. Well, that and knowing people enjoyed my stuff, but that comes later.

So the pantsing-plus-lots-of-revisions fails for me for the same reason as the the outlining-expanding-into-a-book fails. After I’ve finished the book, I know what will happen — the discovery is lost.

The times I have tried to muddle through and fix problems later, the fixing turned out to be writing an entirely new story. I ended up with a choose-your-own-adventure with fractally diverging plot-lines. Super-outlining was a similar wash. I had this whole detailed plan of what was going to happen, but I was like, “you know it would actually be more interesting if…” and had to scrap everything downstream of that change.

The compromise I ended up with was to write a moderately detailed outline with the beginning end and some set pieces in the middle. Then I applied my algorithms for worldbuilding (What if x? Then y. What if y? Then z. What sort of people would be created by a z-full society?) and writing craft (scene n+1 is more tense than scene n, the protagonist will have their own reaction to events, which makes them make mistakes until it’s time for the denouement) and that filled in a lot of the blanks.

But also I just started writing. When dialogue occurred to me (it’s mostly dialogue that comes first), I wrote it interspersed with directions like “describe house here” and “she feels bad here.” And, starting at the beginning, I wrote the damn book one line at a time. Not too much skipping around the outline. No non-linear chronology. Just writing from A to B to C with enough work on the outline ahead of me to make sure I wasn’t headed for a dead end.

Appropriately for a book about trains, my story has been chugging along steadily for a year and a half now. I hope to finish the first draft in another six months. Fingers crossed.

Ropes Course

Happy birthday to Simon Roy! He makes scifi comics and has a Patreon. Yup. Go give him money and read his stuff.

And if you want something more to read, here’s a new Fellow Tetrapod story.

 

“Shambling ape!” Cawed the Pick ambassador. “I demand to know the function of this barbaric term: ‘team-building session’!”

“It’s a ropes course,” I said as heartily as I could. “It’s supposed to foster bonds of comradeship through a sense of shared danger.”

Ambassador Soughing to the Lower Northeast cocked her head at me. First one beady eye, then the other focused on the trees the ropes the zip-lines. She shifted position, titanium-wrapped claws scratching across the shoulder-perch of her slave hominid. “You think heights are dangerous?” A human might have snickered. Ambassador Soughing shat off her mount’s shoulder.

I pulled myself up the nearest ladder. “We can’t fly.”

“So your plan is to abase yourself before me!”

“No,” I muttered. I just didn’t think this through very well.”

I was fifteen feet off the ground now and feeling dizzy.

Soughing cawed laughter. “I am amused by your antics! Undress me.”

That last was a command to her mount, which gently pulled off Soughing’s harness of golden chain, her platinum and mother-of-pearl helmet, and the titanium tines on her talons. The slave-hominid removed Soughing’s iridescent samite and neatly folded them, leaving the ambassador nude and ready for flight.

Or so I assume happened. I wasn’t watching because I was afraid of looking down. All I knew was that as I was reaching up toward the rope platform, a giant sapient raven flapped up behind me and dug her talons into my scalp.

“Ow!” I said.

“Yes!” she crowed. “I hurt you!”

Pick psychology is very different from human. It isn’t just that they’re all assholes.

Scalp stinging and the smell of Soughing’s preen oil in my nose, I hauled myself onto the platform and stood.

“Yes,” the Pick Ambassador said. “Now walk across the rope to the next tree. Hold out your arms for balance and spread your fingers. Yes! It looks as though you’re trying to fly, but you can’t fly, you silly primate! You if you lose your balance, you’ll fall.” More laughter.

“Well,” I said, sliding my feet along the rope and, yes, holding out my arms, “at least my fear of heights is stronger than my embarrassment.”

“Oh, but that will come later,” Soughing flew past me to perch on the rope in front of me.

While I swallowed bile and tried to deal with the ripples from her landing, her white feathers bristled. She puffed up her throat sack and boomed: “slave, take our picture! ‘Caption: UN/Pick relations soar to new heights.’ Much sarcasm!”

I didn’t look at the slave-hominid with the camera. That would mean looking down.

The rope swayed under me. My rib cage vibrated with my frantic heartbeats. I tried to remind myself I was wearing an anti-gravity vest. When that didn’t work, I tried to imagine that the ground was only a few inches under the robe. Yes, that’s right. I wasn’t twenty feet up after all. I was just walking along a rope on a pretty sunny day and if I fell, it wouldn’t –

“Look at me, I’m a flightless hominid,” screamed Soughing, and she launched herself from the rope. “Shit!” I cried as my eyes followed her and the took in whole terrifying volume of empty air around me.

The rope shimmied. My arms flailed. I fought for balance. Found it.

Soughing flapped into my face and seized my shoulder.

I shrieked, jumped backward, and fell off the rope.

Slowly.

The vest’s anti-gravity field kicked in, which was good, I suppose. I didn’t think so at the time, though, since it gave me a nice slow fall in which Sough could slap me with her wings and claw my sweater to ribbons. She didn’t let go the whole way down.

Once we’d landed and I’d caught my breath and gotten my anger under control, I asked. “Why did you do that?”

“Pratfall,” Ambassador Soughing hopped to the ground and looked up at me. “Humiliation of monkey falling from tree.” She looked at me through the other eye. “And a lesson in humility me as well.”

“You could have just let go and glided down.” I grumbled, not understanding that last bit. “You didn’t have to hold on to me while I fell.”

“You didn’t have to climb a tree and walk along a rope.” Soughing nibbled at her tail feathers.”Falling is gene-deep fear for a human. For a raven, the fear is flightlessness. So I shared your plummet.”

I stared at her.

Ambassador Soughing gave her wings a flap and puffed out her throat. “I declare this team to have been built.”

Asking Why

Here’s how I got rid of my writer’s block today.

I was having trouble with The Centuries Unlimited because I realized there was a plot hole in my outline. I came up with a fix, but that introduced new plot holes, and fixing them created more. So I stopped before the book dissolved in front of me.

I slept on the problem, which didn’t suggest any solutions, but at least blunted my sense of panic. Then I picked up Story Genius and read this:

Asking “Why?” is what burns through the fog, allowing you to envision your story’s cause-and-effect trajectory—clear, precise, and waiting for you to bring it to life.

And I said. “Okay, I’ll do the exercise. I know how the scene is supposed to begin and end: the good guy and the bad guy want to capture and interrogate each other > they each escape from each other.”

Here’s what I wrote:

bad guy escapes alone

why does he escape? – he wants to

And BAM! I didn’t finish writing the sentence because it all hit me right then. I won’t tell you how I solved the problem, but it all came to me at once, linking up everything in a much more satisfying way than the dull garbage that was in my outline before.

Thanks, Story Genius!

“Goblin Phonemes and Irregular Orcs”

The inestimable Viergatch had a dream about me in which I wrote a book called “Goblin Phonemes and Irregular Orcs.” This book must come to be! But where to start? Perhaps with lentition, the process by which consonants become more “vowely.”

lentition

p > b > m > u > 0

p > ɸ > β > w > u (ɸ=ph β=bh)

p > f > v > w > u

p > f > m > ʋ > a (ʋ=vh)

t > d > n > e > 0

t > θ > ð > r > e (θ=th ð=dh)

t > s > z > r > e

t > d > n > l > o

k > g > ŋ > i > 0 (ŋ=ng)

k > ʃ > ʒ > j > i (ʃ=sh ʒ=zh)

k > x > ɣ > j > i (x=kh ɣ=gh)

k > h > ɦ > j > ʌ (ɦ=hh ʌ=y)

Taking English in that direction, we get a very Orcish: “Ngyn wei, ze e unu. Ui i niekhs i dy ry ‘eezys ‘hhofmo boz ‘vyze?” (the apostrophes represent stress)

Going in the other direction (fortition), we get a rather Goblinesque: “Kijt ‘erferdijg, tijer ler bavhtavhb. ‘Berij ‘Avhij tavh’ijdher zhuw uw ther ‘dijzert l’nijt ‘avhijterz?” (apostraphies still equal stress, and the Js make a y-sound)

Can you figure out the original English sentence?

I’m on Gnooks!

The author-recommendation algorithm has finally smiled upon me!

And look at all those excellent authors who I also like who are listed as close to me! Perhaps because I’m the one who put my name into the system and trained it with my favorite authors? Pshaw, sir! Psh shaw!

If you want the system to be more accurate, go to gnooks and plug in “Daniel M. Bensen” and two of your OTHER favorite authors. The system will suggest authors you might like.

Wordy Wednesday with me!

Want to learn how well I give an interview while the last of the anesthesia sweats out of my system? Wonder no more! Tattooed Mummy asked me some hard-hitting questions and did I ever answer them. Want to know what my favorite cookie is? Yeah, I bet you do, you maniac.

Thanks, Tattooed Mummy!

Poly-synthetic English

Wouldn’t it be whackey if we wrote English like this?

Thisz w’tsh me’ we se’ th’ w’tshw spe’. ‘N naa wz taam tbiu’ frum thbaarr’m vpi, tuu thaa’. Dou hoba’. Aam pak’n mbaz ‘n giv’n thjkarr’mii retshe’. Aarrouwaa’n lerraautsh. Aarrouwaa’n liiv vtaau. Afrraa, wthssirrii rrousliip ‘naa’. Duz taam tbegi? Aage’ mobig b’ rr’mi’ w’rraam thsem z wz. Doutsh unsta’? Aarroum nev tshedzh’n huuwjam.

These are the first three stanzas of a song that you probably know. Can you guess which ones?

If not, how about some grammar? Here’s the conjugation of “to be.”

To be= tbii, I am= -m, you are = -w, he/she/it is= -z, we/they are= -j (past forms -wz, -w, -wz, -w)

Maybe some pronouns?

First person singular nominative= aa-, possessive= m-, objective= –mii, conjunctive= –w’rraa , negative= aarrou-  rhetorical= dourraa, declarative=huuwja

Second person singular nominative= iij-, possessive= j-, objective= –tsh, conjuctive= – w’tsh, negative= iijaa rhetorical= doutsh, declarative= huuwjaa

Third person agentive singular nominative= 0-, possessive= s-, objective= –m, conjunctive= –waade, negative= iirrou, rhetorical=duzii, declarative= huuwii

Third person unagentive singular nominative= w-, possessive= v- objective= -0, conjunctive= –waad’, negative= rrou, rhetorical=duz, declarative= waarr

Although of course a musician might sing in a more redundant and way, with a few archaic words (in italics):

Sthisz w’tsh met’h

We iijse’ th’ iijuuw spet’h

‘N naa wz taam tbiu’ frum thbaarr’m vpi’, raa’ tuu thtsaaph

Dou hobuakh

Pak’n mbaz ‘n giv’n thjkarr’mii retshe’

Aarrouevwaa’n letsh daau

Aarrouevwaa’n liiv thstaau

Kzafrraa

Thssirrii nev sliips ‘naa’

Z taam tbegi, iz’ni’?

Aage’ lirrlbi’ big’ bthe aarr’mi’

Aam dzhus thsem z aa wuz

Naa doutsh unstan

Aam nev tshedzh’n huuwjam

Is that any better? If not, how about a phonetic transcription?

səðɪsəz wəʔtʃə mɛth

wɛ ijəsɛʔ ðəʔ ijuwə spɛth

n̩ na wəz tam təbɪʊʔ fɹʌm ðəbarm̩ əvəpɪʔ, ɹaʔ tu ðəcaɸ

doʊ hoʊbʊæx

pækn̩ məbæz n̩ gɪvn̩ ðəjəkærm̩i əɹɛtʃɛʔ

aroʊɛvəwaʔnə lɛtʃə daʊ

aroʊɛvəwaʔnə liv ðəstaʊ

kəzæfrəɔ

ðəssɪri nɛvə slips əʔ naʔ

z tam təbɛgɪ, ɪzn̩ɪʔ

agɛʔ əlɪrəlbɪʔ bɪgə bəðɛ ɔ arəʔmɪʔ

am dʒʌs ðəsɛm əz a wʌz

na doʊtʃə ʌnəstæʔ

am nɛvə tʃɛdʒn̩ huwəjæm

Give up? Fine.