Rob Osterman's Blog, page 15

Short Story: Missed Connections

Hey.  You see me every morning.  I order the same coffee, and the same breakfast.  We make small talk while you make it, and you ask about my day, or my night, or anything to pass the time.  I doubt you even really notice me in the crowds that pass through every morning.  But I have noticed you and hope against hope you've noticed me.  If you have, and would like to make more than small talk across the counter, email me back, and tell me what my morning coffee is.

Goeff stared at the screen and the words he'd typed in.  They had joked so much about Craigslist and the dramas.  She let slip that morning that she'd always considered the Missed Connections postings to be sweet and romantic.

"Wouldn't it be so romantic," Micky had asked, "to see someone, and share that look?"  She had handed his coffee over, her eyes lost in thought.  "And then see later that it really wasn't just in your mind, that you really did have a connection?"

"Do people really check those?" he had asked.

She had blushed.  "Well, it's not that odd to just skim through them for the stories."

He had nodded and smiled and said something that he had hoped sounded witty.  He couldn't remember now what it was.  In hindsight he was convinced it was anything but witty.

He reviewed the ad again.  It sounded corny.  It sounded desperate.  He clicked into text box and highlighted all of the text in the ad.  His finger hovered over the delete key.  This was a horrible idea, really.  

But instead he moved his hand to the mouse and clicked "post".  Now it was just a matter of time to see what happened.


* * * * * * *

"So," Geoff said as he handed over his debit card, "are you still checking Craigslist?"  He was hoping to sound casual.  Micky hadn't said much to him all week, instead just taking his card, and then moving off to the side to make up his drink while the cinnamon bun warmed.  Five days in a row and so little had been said between them.   He had made a point not to bring it up until now but his curiosity and impatience won out.

She looked up at him.  Her eyes met his, and he smiled at her.  She did not smile back.  Instead she stared back at him with wide eyes, her face almost paling.  There was a long awkward silence before she swallowed and spoke.  "I have been," she offered.  She ran the card through the machine and watched the icons on the screen changing over as it was processed and approved.  It seemed a reasonable way for her to avoid his gaze.

Geoff took the card back and tapped it against his palm while he waited.  He had already opened the dialogue.  There was little point in not following through.  "Anything catch your eye?"

She sighed and put her hands on the sides of the register.  She lowered her head as she thought, locks of her auburn hair slipping down to partly cover her face.  She shook her head a little as she considered what to say.  

"Can I help you over here?" the other barista asked of the woman standing behind Geoff in line.  She stepped around Geoff and made her order.  A second woman behind her also stepped to the side.

Micky looked up and forced a smile.  "I'm sorry I didn't email you."

There it was.  She had seen the ad, and she had decided not to respond.  He had stepped out there on the plank and she had pushed him over to the sharks.  He pressed his lips together and drew in a long slow breath through his nose.  Now came the awkward moment where they had to figure out how to go on.

"That's okay," he said smiling again.  "It's been a busy week around here, with midterms and spring break and stuff."  Perhaps by offering an easy out the ship could be saved from the iceberg looming in his mind's eye.

Micky shook her head. "No, I'm really sorry, but that's not it."  She looked to her side and her coworker standing right next to her.  She bit her lip, then looked back at Geoff.  Finally she turned around to take his cinnamon bun out of the warmer.  "Here," she said, "let me find you a napkin for this."  She walked to the far end of the counter, and leaned her elbows on it.  Geoff followed from his side and regarded her curiously.  When she spoke her voice was low, clearly not wanting the other barista to overhear.  "It's not that I don't like you.  I do.  You're charming and sweet and handsome.  You're just not really who I'm looking to be with right now."

"But you just said that I was," he stammered, struggling to keep his own voice low.  "I mean, is being charming a bad thing?"

"It is, sort of," Micky answered, pausing to look over her shoulder at the blonde woman now completing her order for an iced mocha.  "But," she looked back at Geoff.  "I'm gay."

He stared at her.  For four years now he had come here.  Sure it had been small talk but he had told her about his first job, the first client he landed for the firm.  She had talked about graduation, about starting classes and about her changes of majors.  Maybe there was nothing between them.  Maybe he had read too much into their laughter, their in-jokes, their daily five minutes of contact.  

He could not believe that she would lie to him like this.  

"That's okay," he said standing up.  "It's fine.  You don't need to say anything, really."  He chuckled a little.  "You definitely don't need to make up some story about being gay."

He took the small paper bag with his bun, and lifted his coffee.  "Have a good one."  He was going to walk out with his head up.  He might even come back for tomorrow's coffee.  So she was not into him.  That was nothing to be embarrassed by.  He still had some pride.

* * * * *

She watched him walk out, unable to respond.  Her mouth was open a little, as though the shock of his words had been an open palm to her cheek.  He was one of the first people she served when she started four years ago.  He was one of the bright spots in her morning.  Through all the horrible break ups, all the wretched first dates, he seemed like the last person who would judge her.  No matter how wretched her morning had been, he had always tried to cheer her up.  

She lowered her head to the counter.  She had spent all week trying to find a way to tell him without hurting his feelings.  She wished that it was different, that she just felt differently about him.  

"You okay, Micky?"  Her supervisor came up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder.  "Something happen?"

She stood up and blinked a few times.  "I'm fine," she said.  "How are we on breaks?"

The supervisor turned to look at the clock. "We're managing.  Go ahead and take a tener."

Micky nodded and pulled her tablet PC out from under the counter.  She held it to her chest as she walked out into the shop and took a place at a table in the corner.  The screen lit up at her touch and she scrolled through her email.  There was the usual spam, and sadly nothing of interest.

She opened up a web browser and started to skim through the ads on Craigslist like she usually did to kill some time.  She took a deep breath and tapped on the link labeled "Place an Ad."  Her fingers danced over the keys.

Hey.  You come in every morning and get coffee from me, the awkward one with the freckles and the red hair, the one who probably talks too much.  I really wanted to talk to you today, to tell you that I think you're beautiful, or to tell you that your skirt looked great or to ask you to stay and hang out while I was on break, or to just say hello again.   I'm sorry I didn't get to serve you your drink this morning, being busy and all.  I don't know if I'm looking for a date, but I do know I need someone to talk to.  Hopefully you need that too.  The guy ahead of you got a caramel mocha.  What did you get?  Email me so we can complete our missed connection.

The balancing act

One of the things I find difficult as I work on both the Queen's Fury (what I'm calling my space epic; it's one of several working titles) is how I want to balance my sharing of the short fictions I'm writing to complement it.  For example I have mostly finished a short story that details events from Mercy's time at the academy.  Not a bad story, if I do say so myself, but I'm not entirely sure what I want to do with it.



On the one hand I think it might help generate interest if I post it publicly.  I can always turn around if I self publish and put it in the eBook edition.  You see something like this in Freakonomics where the authors include some of their favorite blog entries as extra chapters at the end of the book.

The problem with this plan is that it's predicated on me self publishing.  Ideally I won't be, so once the story is published to the web it becomes useless for other publication.  I don't know how a future publisher will feel with me having given so much away during the design and brainstorming phases.

On the other hand I can try selling the story to a magazine or collection.  Of course part of the problem with this plan is that it can take weeks or months to find out if a given story is accepted, and if it is, I lose some of my rights to it.  Add to this the challenge of selling short stories as stand alones when the intention is to keep them part of the world itself.  Will I actually sell any stories if I'm writing in a some what unique world that might not be immediately accessible to those who haven't read any of the other ones?

I feel more pulled towards the first and accept that everything I can do to build interest will have a greater net value overall.  I'm not sure the pace I want to share short fictions, though so I will have to pace myself as well.  Though, I think I may have to put some effort into writing sale-able stories as well.  It's all a balancing act....

If you're going to be offended...

So it appears there is a little bit of a curfuffle over the use of a sexualized Jennifer Lawrence on the cover of Glamour magazine.  Elle LaPraim over at her blog shares the following critique:

Who is the audience they are going for here? It appears to be men over the age of eighteen, which is a demographic extremely unlikely to go see this film. The moviegoers mostly likely to see The Hunger Games are young girls between the age of 12-17, along with their mothers. That is an audience that clearly does not need to see a character's cleavage in order to want to rush out and buy tickets to the movie.

 Of all the things to be offended by, I'm not sure I understand why this would be the point of rage.

Warning:  There are spoilers for the movie under the cut

 
 Now to be fair, I don't see anything that overly done for Glamour magazine.  It is an adult beauty magazine and it features on its pages an adult looking beautiful.  In fact, I barely recognize Jennifer Lawrence in the pictures from her appearance in The Hunger Games, given how radically different she looks with her hair up and without the soft makeup to give her face some age.

But what does concern me is the assertion that the target audience for The Hunger Games is girls aged 12-17 and their mothers, and not adult men over the age of 18.

Again for those not familiar:  It's a story about a girl who competes in to the death combat against 23 other children aged 12 to 18.  It's about how many of those "Tributes" are not fellow competators but simply cannon fodder so that the Districts can say that they sent their tribute.  I was told by one of my classes that upon the death of one particular character that there was a walk out of the theater because too many of the younger audience members couldn't handle it anymore.  Good on those parents for recognizing that this wasn't a movie for 10 year olds, and shame on them for not doing a little more homework before taking them.

I think that rather than being upset at the sexualization of an adult, there is better anger to be directed at the effort to present such violence and darkness as entertainment to children who don't have the emotional maturity to handle it.

The Hunger Games - Movie Review

This is the first in a multi-part series discussing the movie adaptation of The Hunger Games.  I have not read the novel and do not expect to in the near future (I may this summer but I don't consider that "near".)  It may contain light spoilers for the movie (and thus novel).  I will do my best to keep it spoiler free but if you wish to remain pure you may wish to skip these posts.

Watching The Hunger Games I had an opportunity to have many reactions and thoughts.  The movie was intense, longish, with a cast of characters and some very strong imagery wrapped around some incredible effects and shots. Before I delve into my reactions as an author and a parent I thought I'd begin with a general movie review as a viewer.



Now I have to take a moment to pause and talk about audiences.  I know that The Hunger Games is considered Young Adult.  That's fine and all, but the movie I saw was rated PG13, and I'm going on the assumption that it was intended for people who are either older than 13 or are there with parents who understand that there will be content inappropriate for their children.  Personally, I find it unfair to review/ rate the movie, or indeed discuss its implications and relevance outside of those parameters as that is how the movie is presented.  I will only offer one comment on those who take children under the age of 11 to see it:  Really?

Over all the movie was well paced with a good deal of suspense, drama, light moments when appropriate and some serious action.  It was easy to tell who to root for and who to root against and they did a nice job of giving me reasons for that beyond the obvious "look here are the bad guys".

I also have to give positive marks to the cast in general.  They were believable, genuine and across the board turned in top rated performances.  It was good to see Woody Harelson in the role of Haymitch, a washed out former champion turned mentor and power broker.  His affections and biases were made to appear natural and honest.  I also think that Jennifer Lawrence as Katniss did an amazing job for 80% of the movie.  Where I think things broke down was late in the film and really can't be discussed without spoiling it.  Suffice it to say, I think that even young talented actors can over act.  Or perhaps be over-directed.  Or perhaps be made to appear like they're overacting due to poor editing.

And a last comment on the acting.  See Stanley Tucci in Captain America.  Then see him in The Hunger Games.  Then try to tell me that the man is anything less than brilliant.

I've read some concerns about the style of film making, that there are a lot of shake cam shots, and that most of the combat (it is a movie about kids fighting to the death) is done "off camera".  Let's be honest here.  Would the movie have gotten a PG13 rating if they'd done full choreographed fights that end with the 13 year old losing an arm and then falling over dead?  Did I mention that the combat is done with medieval weapons?  Yep, not laser pistols or even rifles for a clean shot.  They go old school and hack, slash and pepper with arrows.

On the subject of film making, the movie did include some obvious and subtle references and images.  During the "Reaping", the children from District 12 are herded to together and registered for the drawings.  They are all dressed in "nice clothes" all of which have a very 1940's vibe.  As the guards look on from towers and behind fences it was impossible to not see the parallel to Nazi round ups of the Jews.

The other one that struck me, and perhaps it was accidental, was also early on.  The commentators were discussing previous Hunger Games and showing footage of a boy about to bash in the head of his opponent with a large brick.  The dialogue was "You never forget moments like these.  Moments when Champions are made."  From my seat I had a different take.  I was taken back to The Lord of the Flies and the moment that the boys went from unruly to savage:  The death of Piggy, done in by a rock to the head.  Perhaps I read too much symbolism into that visual.  But I found that it put a very fine point on how detached this society had become to death.  The moment in one novel that marked the end of the hope for redemption is heralded in this story as the coming of age.

And that is really what this movie is about:  A society that has cheapened life so much that the ritual sacrifice and execution of children is entertainment.  It is disturbing and off putting and I think it should be.  Make no mistake, you know very early on that this is not a competition for most of the "tributes".  It's an execution on live TV for the entertainment of the masses.  It's a society where not only do the kids fight to the death, but the public can pool money to send them trinkets to help them succeed.

Visually stunning and entrancing while at the same time repulsive and disturbing.  If nothing else it generates conversation and that is a good thing.  I admit that there were moments I thought it went too far (which I will discuss later, dear readers), but overall I think it was very solid.

So, Narrator Smurf, how are you?

The 2011 Smurf movie introduced us to a variety of unique smurfs, among them Gutsy (a kilted smurf) and Narrator (shown above).  At one point in the movie, while Narrator is describing the ongoing battle scene another smurf looks at him and shouts "Really?  Now?"  At this Narrator shrugs and says "It's what I do."

When it comes to 1st Person Past Tense writing I find that the idea of the narrator is profoundly problematic and one of the least understood or acknowledged challenges in writing, especially among young or new writers.  There is a distinctive appeal to having someone relate their accounts of events in their own words.  We, as readers, are treated to their thoughts, their statements of their feelings, and their interpretations of the story.



But we are also treated to their selective memory, their bias, and their agenda, hidden or otherwise.

Reading something in 1st Person, I need to know what the context of this dialogue with the narrator is.  Is this, as is the case in Catcher in the Rye, a single therapy session?  In the case of World War Z, it is the first hand stories of multiple survivors, talking to a historian and journalist.    Or is it a diary, as Twilight is implied to be?

Once I have context I then move to asking how much I should believe the narrator.  In the case of World War Z, I believe that most of what we read is honest.  Without spoilers, the characters admit to some pretty horrible things that they were forced to do as part of surviving the zombie apocalypse.  They are not stories that someone would make up to look good.

In contrast, consider Bella's self descriptions in Twilight and compare them to the actions of those around her.  She insists that she is unattractive, plain, and clumsy.  Yet she is so much an object of affection of the boys around her that they ask her to go to the girl's choice dance.  She insists that she has no redeeming qualities, yet the most attractive boys in the school demand to be with her.  Simply put, someone is not telling the whole truth.

When I first started writing short stories I mostly focused on 1st person.  I wanted to tell stories as I imagined myself living them.  I wanted to be the main character and I think that makes that narrative style a popular one, especially among young writers.  Now, I don't mean to imply that everyone who writes in this format is an immature narcissist.  Many great books (the aforementioned Catcher in the Rye for example) use this style to great effect.

I do believe, however, that it is one of the more challenging styles to use well.  A writer has to either make the character believable and reliable, or to account for that unreliability and thus be certain that it is not just the narrative but the character's view of the narrative that we, as readers, are given.

Short Story: Another First Date

Rebecca smiled back at her date, easing herself down into the car seat.  She tried to swing her legs into car as demurely as she could; this was the first date she'd been on that the guy had insisted on opening the car door for her.  He eased the door shut and then gave it a firm shove to latch.  While he jogged around the front of the hood, she smoothed her knee-length skirt over her legs.  So far this was the perfect night.

Kyle opened his own door and easily slid into the driver's seat. "I'm so sorry about that.  It's an older car and that door's been tricky for weeks.  I really need to get it into the shop to be looked at."  

Rebecca leaned towards him and kissed his cheek.  "Oh don't apologize for being a gentleman."  She eased back in her seat and looked up at the car's ceiling.  "There are hardly any left it seems."

"All the better for me," Kyle answered, turning the key and starting up the engine.  He grinned.  "I do hate competition."  He turned the car out of the restaurant parking lot and onto the main road.  The pavement glistened from the recent rain as the tires splashed from one small puddle to the next.  

"Doesn't competition bring out the best in us?"  Rebecca watched the various store fronts and parking lots pass the window as the car worked its way through the college down she called home.

Kyle shook his head. "I prefer a good individual challenge.  A One on One affair, not me versus the masses."

There was a nice stretch of pleasant silence in the car as it slowed to turn a corner and continue along its way.  Now they were passing the movie theater, the big box store, and a few of the outlying hotels.

"So," Rebecca said, breaking the silence.  "Since most of dinner was spent speculating on season two of Game of Thrones, I know you're a Martin fan."  She curled her finger around several strands of her hair.  "What do you think of, say, Tolkien?"

Kyle thought about the question a moment before answering.  "He is the master, but in comparison to the newer books I think you really see his age.  The books are good, but they're just not..."  He tapped the steering wheel as he mentally sought out the word.

"Relatable?"

He snapped his fingers.  "Yes, 'Relatable'.  You see the same thing with Lewis.  I mean, the movies were gorgeous but they strayed so much from the novels to make them work for a modern audience it really just shows how much times have changed."

"I know,"  Rebecca agreed with a contented smile.  "I understand that they couldn't have both of the girls just be window dressing like they were in the novels but I think you just lose so much of the historical perspective when you change them."

"At least we weren't treated to the idea that wearing make up keeps you out of Narnia," Kyle said.  He reached up to adjust the rear view mirror, though no one was following them.

"I always hated that about those books.  I think that was the moment I started to lose respect for Lewis," Rebecca sighed.

"He was a product of his times."

Rebecca nodded in agreement.  She had said the same thing many times before.

It was Kyle's turn to smile at her. "Okay so which was worse?  Throne of Jade or The Black Powder War?"

Rebecca blinked. "Oh god," she began.  "After how awesome His Majesty's Dragon was, it was just so painful to read those.  I mean those had to be two of the biggest let downs for me last year."  She continued to curl her hair around her finger, using the nervous energy as she thought.  She looked over at Kyle.  "Why would you ask me about those two books?"

He shrugged.  "They were my two biggest disappointments, too?"

It was Rebecca's turn to smile.  "They were good but so not up to standards of the first."

"The fourth redeemed the series."

"It did!"  Rebecca sat back and watched the trees race past.  It was starting to get darker and the shadows were closing in on the road slowly.  She realized she hadn't seen another car in a while.  "What about the latest Martin novel?  We didn't talk about that at all over dinner."

Kyle scratched his chin again.  "I'm afraid I won't have much of an opinion on that until I read your review."

"Read my what?"

"Read your review," Kyle repeated.  "It helps to know what you like to read so I can establish a rapport through common interests.  I really can't say what I think of that book until I have an idea of what you like.  That way we can pleasantly agree and feel that much more connected."


"How do you know what books I like?"  Rebecca reached for her cell phone but realized her purse was gone.

Kyle remained focused on the road, the car accelerating more.  "If you're looking for your phone, I'm afraid it's still back at Nick's Cafe, on the table, under a napkin."  He reached over to pat the top of her thigh.  "It was very sporting of you to agree to put our phones on the table and hide them like that.  Of course, mine was a throwaway phone I bought this morning so I doubt I'll miss it."

She moved her hand to the door handle and closed her fingers around it.  He couldn't have seen her motion, not while focused on the road before them.  He continued.

"As to the books, well, it wasn't hard at all to read back over your reviews on that Best Books website you frequent.  You have it linked on your Facebook page."

"So the fact that we agreed so much about our favorite books was...."

Kyle finished her sentence, "Because I knew the answers you wanted to hear."  

Rebecca could feel her face growing cool as the blood slowly drained.  "And you were reading that Evanovich book before class Monday.."

Kyle finished for her again.  "Because you have it listed on your 'to-read' list.  I thought you should be the one to ask me about it, which is nice because it shifts the game.  I am not pursuing you; you are pursuing me."

Rebecca blinked back at him, her mouth still slightly open.  "But how did you even know my name to look me up?  I mean, did you go through my purse or something?  I can't be the only Rebecca on campus."

Kyle tapped her thigh again.  She held her breath as his hand was in contact with the skin above her knee.  "No you certainly aren't.  I only wish it had been a little more challenging to find you."  He returned his hand to the steering wheel.  "You're smart enough to pursue a chemistry major, let's see if you can figure it out.  It starts with the name Jewel."

Rebecca slid away from him towards the door.  She tightened her grip on the door's handle.  As soon as the car slowed she would have to make a leap.  She just needed to be ready when the opportunity presented itself.  Playing along made sense.

"Jewel.  Okay."  She rolled her fingers on the handle.  "Well that's my friend's name."  She thought some more about the connection between the two of them.  "But all of her pictures are friend locked though.  Did you hack her account?"

Kyle held up a hand in a three fingered salute.  "Scout's honor: I do not hack into computers.  Too much work, really."  He smiled at her as he eased up on the gas to make a long slow curve.  "You do have such lovely freckles."

Rebecca swallowed.  She was finding it harder to breathe, the car feeling as though it were getting smaller around her.  She had to get out.  "Then how did you know my full name?"

"Oh, think, my dear girl."  His tone was becoming impatient.  "I'm not such a clever man."

Rebecca's mind blanked.  The more he glanced at her, the more she knew she had to get out of the car.  It began to slow.  There was a stop sign ahead.  He was slowing down to turn, the sound of the blinker filling the car.  As he guided the car around the corner, he turned away from Rebecca.  She pulled up on the handle and pushed her body hard against the door, ready to fall out onto the wet pavement.

Nothing happened.  The door did not move.

The car steadily picked up speed again as it straightened out.  "I'm sorry.  I told you when I picked you up that those doors were finicky.  I really should get that looked at."

She stared back at him, her hand still on the door handle, clinging to it as though it would prove her salvation later.  

"And to be sporting," he explained, "it really was not hard at all.  Your friend, Jewel, took you to a party at her sorority.  They were kind enough to post pictures of it and tag everyone they knew.  And unlike your profile page, those pictures were public."  He held up his hand and ticked off the steps.  "So we go Jewel to Sigma Chi to the Sigma Chi fan page to public pictures to tags in those pictures to you."  He put his hand on her knee again and held it there as he drove. "You really should pay more attention to those things."

Rebecca tried to pull back from his touch but his fingers dug into her flesh.  She could feel her eyes starting to water, blurring her view of the darkening forest on either side of the road.  She took another breath.  "You know, my roommate will notice when I'm not home tonight."

"No she won't."  He kept his hand on her knee and pulled her more towards the middle of the seat.  He moved his hand from her leg down to the car's console and pulled up a smart phone.  A twitter post was shown on the screen.

"Jewellie0880 Date is best ever. Handsome & Gentlemen.  Hope U wont see me before Mon!"

She read the post again.  She had tweeted that after they arrived at the restaurant.  It was meant to be a private message to her roommate.

"You forgot to hit the 'At sign'," Kyle explained.  "And your Twitter feed is public."  He put the phone back in the console and snapped it shut.  "That really was very kind of you to do.  It ensures our time here won't be interrupted."

Rebecca whiped her nose on the back of her hand.  She blinked a few more times trying to clear her eyes.  She did not want to cry.  She did not want him to see her cry.  "Where are you taking me?"

Kyle glanced at her and smiled.  "My mother left me a little place out there:  a hunting lodge of sorts."

She looked out the window and sniffled in another attempt to clear her nose.  "What... what do you like to hunt?"

He laughed.  It was an easy casual laugh. "Oh, Rebecca," he said, his face breaking into a wide grin.

"I think we both know the answer to that."

Never heard of a Surge Protector?

I am blessed with many friends who are willing to be subjected to test reading my works in progress.  I am currently agonizing over the first chapter of my Sci Fi Epic for which I not only want to nail down Chapter 1 but I'd like to spend some time working on character sketches and short stories related to it.  I very much would like to get a teaser up to show off the world I'm building as well as get some buzz going even though publication is, at the least, a year or two, or three away.

While reading through the first 10 pages he sent me back a message:

Grin, and I'll get over the exploding console trope.. that has always seemed like such a design flaw  why are there no surge protectors in space? 

And honestly that's a rather fair complaint.  Why is it that in all space fictions, we seem rather okay with star ships coming without basic 20th century safety technology?

In the most immediate, I accredit it to the fact that the energy used by 30th century weapons is so great that if we were to put in sufficient surge protectors we would be unable to operate the equipment.   Yes it will cut out if too much current flows one way, but we have such large amounts of current spiking and dissipating, that the protection could be tripped accidentally.   It's a bit of hand waving to be sure, and I'm torn how much I want to work an explanation of this into the prose.

But it also brings to light the common tropes of Sci Fi as well as the rationale behind them.  One thing that the Exploding Console Trope does, is to provide a way for a star ship to suffer casualties without the need to destroy the entire ship.  If there's a hull breech, for example, entire decks or cabins would be vented to space and you'd lose quite a few people.  One good exploding console and you're just down that crewman.

And lastly it's a trope we know.  We almost expect it when we see a star ship taking damage to see sparks flying from somewhere.  The advantage of using a trope that is not yet a cliche is that it provides a familiarity with what is possible in that fictional world.  For me, I intend to keep my exploding consoles to, at the very least, the plausible.  A massive hit on the shields could cause the shield station to explode.  A back current surge from the plasma reactor?  Say buh-bye to the Engineering station.  Helm is at risk if the navigational arrays are overloaded.

What always did bug me with this trope was that it was always the nameless ensign at "universal station #2" that was injured.  What was it about that particular station that made it so unstable?  What was so dangerous about the wiring there? Was that why they never assigned a full ranked bridge officer to work there?  And once assigned to it, what was the appeal process?

Now a little bit of good news for this trope.  A friend of mine who is a contractor did confirm that with a modern fuse you can still get a charge to jump the gap if there is sufficient punch behind it.  He suggested currents in excess of three times the fuse's rating.  So, maybe, the danger of those consoles is when they have just plain So Much current coming through them from a phaser hit, or a missile strike or some other energy surge, that the protections are overridden.  Good enough for me, honestly.

And now to end with a question:  What sci fi trope would you prefer to see retired?

Alea iacta est

Well, dear readers, it is official.  For the 10 weeks of summer holiday, minus the week's recovery time for getting my wisdom teeth out, I will be working as a full time writer.  We made the commitment to keep Xander and Kaylee in daycare for the time with the agreement that I would be working on "stuff" between five and six hours a day.

Now "Stuff" is intended to be things that will be publishable, and time invested in all the trappings of finding an agent to represent it.  As much as I may herald the ease of self publishing, I am already tiring of the same things that make me a poor copy-editor.  If it's not the writing, I'm not such a fan.  Being your own publisher means you spend a lot of time figuring out how to promote something, how to get the word out, how to verify that it can be ordered whole sale, asking people to stock it, and so on.  I find myself considering the cost of a table at a convention against the number of books I'm likely to sell while I'm there and the anticipated royalties on each.

In short, it's the not fun part of publishing, the part of publishing that publishers get paid a large portion of the book's price to take care of.

But now the die has been cast and I must begin planning.  By summer's end I need something to show for the investment.  It's possible I will begin a Web-Novel, a project I have seen others do.  In this a chapter is posted Monday morning.  Readers have until Thursday to vote on the story's direction, and then on Monday they are treated to the next chapter, which takes their choice into account.  It creates a dialogue between author and audience in real time.  No longer do you shout at the movie screen, dear reader.  No, now you have a say in which door the heroine opens:   The attic or the basement.  The right or the left.  The good girl answer or the bad girl answer.


I know I want at least the first half of the Space Epic done as well as several short stories.  And I do know I want to be well into making an effort to get it representation.

I've never been so excited nor so scared.

Happy St. Patrick's Day

I wasn't going to post anything until this video wandered my way.  Happy Feast of the Irish Saint!




Best line?

"My judgement is impaired, and my confidence is not."

Would it smell as sweet?

A friend lamented that once she knew she was having a girl, she had no idea what to name her.  I quipped on her Facebook wall that naming a baby isn't really that big of a deal.  After all, it's not like that name will be with them for their entire lives and then end up engraved in stone when they die, right?

I realize that naming a character is a somewhat less significant life event.  After all, until published, my characters only exist in my mind, and even after the first book is printed, they don't really interact with too many people.  Plus, names can change throughout the writing process, and finally it's just a character, right?

Oddly I feel a great deal of pressure when it comes to names.  I think about someone walking through the book store, looking at the back of the book and reading the summary there.  If the names of the characters don't grab you, what good are they?  Or worse, if you read the names and think "Woah"  (and it must be said just like Kenau Reeves) "this sounds like bad fan fiction."  At that point you might as well not even bother publishing.

For my current space epic my main character has gone through three names.  First she was Ensign Impatha Kia.  I wanted a name that had a certain ethnicity to it, but also was short, easily imagined as shout-able, and even a little lyrical.  "Captain Kia" rolls of the tongue easily.

Then, on the first draft she was reborn as Ensign Ippa Kiatta, known to her classmates as Ippi.  Adding the extra syllable to the family name gave it a little more "oomph" while the shorter given name was more fun.  But then I started to imagine her world a little bit more and a need to create some kind of rational for naming.  Was I using random sounds to build a name?  Or was there a purpose to it?

I also am running a risk.  I know this because, assuming this name lasts, I will be sharing a trope with the famous Honor Harrington novels by having a main character bear a virtue name.

So I went back to her race and began from there.

Our heroine was born into a group of young women all destined to serve The Allusian Cartel.  The Cartel is a well known member of the Union of Independent Systems, itself having direct control over no less than a half dozen Earth-Normal planets and their neighboring worlds.  Their power comes from their willingness to trade with any one any commodity.  And those commodities even include Allusians themselves.

Out of this mix of twenty infants, the girls would grow, be tested, and be washed out.  Every year girls would leave the coterie until only five remained.  These would be sold as pleasure slaves, selected for intelligence, simple beauty, obedience, and  loyalty.  The other fifteen would be placed in military service, put to work as laborers, or shuffled off to even less prestigious work.  They would given numbers, designations, and maybe even names by those that ultimately bought them.

The girls who gradated to slave would be named by their overseer with a virtue name, mocking them and reminding them always of this.  The most selfish of them would be called Charity.  The most brash would be called Prudence.  The one who fought her fate the most might be called Hope.

Our heroine was named Mercy.

Not because she was callous or cruel, but for an act of mercy she showed one of her sisters.  When given the choice between serving herself or helping another, she chose to help.  For this she was whipped, beat, and labeled with a name that was a mockery even of the system itself.

Mercy was 19 prime-years of age when the HMS Stalwart engaged and captured the Cartel ship she was aboard.  Corporal Patrick Lyons was the young man who actually unlocked the cuff that kept her confined to her quarters.  As she was debriefed and asked for a family name to give, she answered the only family name she felt safe speaking aloud:  Lyons.

And thus, Mercy Lyons was granted asylum within the Royal Commonwealth of Worlds.  From there she would volunteer to serve Her Majesty's Navy, attend the academy, serve as a midshipman, and then as an ensign until ultimately finding a post aboard the HMS Diamondback.

As to Crpl. Lyons?  To this day he still does not know of a young woman, an Allusian, with the pale white skin and shocks of light purple hair, who shares his name.  He only remembers once upon a battle, between firing down corridors, and ducking into doorways, he paused long enough to say "Crpl Lyons, His Majesty's Marines.  Let's get you out of here."  Then with a particle blast, the restraining cuff was gone, and he was moving on out the doorway again.