Olga Godim's Blog, page 4

Happy birthday, IWSG!

It’s the first Wednesday of the month again, time for a post for the Insecure Writer’s Support Group.

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SEPTEMBER QUESTION: The IWSG celebrates 12 years today! When did you discover the IWSG, how do you connect, and how has it helped you?

MY ANSWER: Congratulations, IWSG! My records show that my first post for it was in March 2014, exactly nine and a half years ago. I remember that the number I started with in the list was over 80. I’m now #31. Progress! I don’t remember how I discovered the site, but I liked it from the beginning. Since my first post, I’ve never missed a posting day, not once. In fact, IWSG forces me to write and to socialize online at least once a month. If not for it, I would’ve posted much less often. And I wouldn’t have discovered so many wonderful writers. Overall, I would say the IWSG keeps me connected and somewhat involved in the online writing community. As I’m an extreme introvert, I have trouble communicating in person, but online – that’s fine. That’s my preferred form of communication, actually. And I’m grateful to IWSG for the chance to be a part of it. Happy birthday, IWSG!   

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Now, I have a question. I’m an urban creature. I like big cities. I’ve never lived in a small town and never wanted to. But I noticed a trend in many romance novels and in women’s fiction. The protagonist starts in a big city, gets in trouble on both personal and professional fronts, and retreats to a small town to lick her wounds. And there, she finds peace and love, acceptance and community. I’ve never read a story where the female protagonist would go in the opposite direction: from troubles in a small town to peace and love in a big city. I wonder why?

Many of you on this forum write romantic fiction or women’s fiction. Do your stories comply with this trend? Why was it so compelling for you to write about it? What is it in a small town that beguiles so many writers? Have you ever written a story with the opposite trajectory: from a small town to a big city? Do you know such a story by another writer? I would like to read it.

WEP Aug 2023 – Chocolat

In my take on the WEP Aug 2023 challenge, the movie Chocolat, the members of my fictional Martian anivid and dessert club not only watch the animated version of the film, created specifically for the Martian audience, but also devise a solution to a problem one of their members faces. Of course, the problem is related to chocolate. On Mars. This is science fiction after all.

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Nima was the last one to arrive for the club meeting. “Sorry I’m late. But I have an excuse.” She lifted a box with her café’s colorful logo. “Yrvina told me what we would be watching tonight, and I brought the dessert to match.” She paused for effect before continuing. “A chocolate torte.”

“I tried it once.” Verise had a faraway look in her eyes. “It’s your most expensive dessert. The best in the dome.”

“Of course, it’s expensive.” Nima huffed. “I import chocolate from Earth. But it might change. Maybe soon. We’re working on it.”

“Do tell,” Yrvina urged her.

“After the vid,” Nima said firmly.    

“I never tried chocolate,” Kaley said. “Only read about it.”

Everyone turned to stare at the blue woman clone, a recent refugee from the destroyed planet Tarius Destra.

“You’re in for a treat, Kaley,” Yrvina said. “Chocolate is …” She sighed. “Delicious.”

“Yummy,” Serena echoed.

“Sophisticated,” Nima said with the superior air of a connoisseur.

“Let’s watch the vid.” Yrvina pointed her projector at the enclosed holo screen opposite the sofas. “This anivid is called Chocolat. She pushed the button and settled back to enjoy the show. This was one of her favorite vids of all she had worked on as an animator. Probably the best of all that bunch of old Earth films, she thought smugly.    

“I love that vid,” Serena said as soon as the holo screen turned off. “A wonderful story. And the costumes … Yrvina, you outdid yourself with those costumes.”

“I like it too.” Yrvina couldn’t keep a happy grin off her face. “Of course, I wasn’t the only animator working on this show. There were four of us. But the costumes were mostly mine, that’s true.”

“It’s a love story,” Verise said. “Love against the odds.” She sounded wistful.

“You’re a romantic,” Serena said.   

Kaley was shaking her head. “I like the story too, and the heroine, Vianne. But what I don’t understand is these people’s attitude towards her and those others. It is the same as in another vid we saw recently.” She glanced at Yrvina for confirmation. “Life is Beautiful, right? People there also disliked another group of people, for no reason I could see, just like in this vid. They all look the same, speak the same tongue, live in the same place. Why would the villagers ostracize Vianne? She didn’t do or say anything to deserve it.”

“Humans on Earth tended to do that,” Yrvina said. “It’s a shameful aspect of human history. I think life was hard in those days, and many didn’t have enough to be content with their lives. Not enough food, no access to good medicine, not many educational opportunities. The professional choices were limited, and so were the housing choices. All those lacks made people … morose, I suppose, and mistrustful of outsiders.”

“Envy,” Serena said. “They envied anyone who was different. They thought different people might threaten their way of life.”

“But if the villagers didn’t have enough, they should’ve welcomed the difference, not repulsed it,” Kaley argued. “Maybe different would be better for them. Maybe their lot would improve with the new ideas and people. Certainly, an infusion of the new genetic material would boost the health of the village population in future generations.”

“Humans are often afraid of innovations,” Nima said. “They don’t know what it would bring. They are often stuck in the familiar ruts and loathe change.”

“I like trying new things,” Kaley said.

Nima smiled faintly. “Every time I try a new recipe in my menu, my customers are reluctant to buy it. They always want their favorite muffins or waffles. Something they had ordered every day until now. They know what they enjoy, and they are suspicious of anything new: what if they dislike the new dish? Only a few adventurous souls are brave enough, at least at first, to try the new.”

“Inertia is one of the strongest forces in humans,” Serena expounded.

“Bureaucracy too.” Nima winced.

“What has bureaucracy done to you this time?” Yrvina asked. She served the torte slices to everyone and surreptitiously watched Kaley’s first cautious taste of the chocolate treat.

“Oh,” Kaley said, eyeing the brown pile on her plate. Her violet eyes sparkled, and her blue cheeks flashed darker indigo. “Oh, this is so good! I thought it didn’t look very appetizing, but …” She took another bite, chewed thoughtfully, and only then noticed everyone watching her.

“The best show on Mars,” Serena said with a grin.

“Cho-o-ocolate,” Kaley sang. “How come I never tried it before? It was never imported to Tarius Destra. Why not?”

Nima grinned too. “I’m glad you like it. My boyfriend is trying to start a plantation of cocoa trees, so Mars would have its own coco beans instead of importing them at exorbitant prices from Earth. But the local bureaucracy is unbelievable. You know that new dome they just opened exclusively for food production. He had bid on a section of it to grow cocoa trees. But he can’t get the permit. Essentials – those are easy. Farmers who grow potatoes or apples get the permits with no problems. But cocoa? He is jumping through hoops, and still, no permit. I thought I would consult you, girls, see if anyone has an idea.”

“I do,” Kaley said. She licked a dollop of the dark-brown cream off her lips. “If I join your boyfriend as a co-owner of that plantation, we will get the permit. I can be a minority shareholder, so he would make all the decisions.”

“That’s not certain,” Nima said.

“It is almost certain. We have a special dispensation – we, the former refugees from a destroyed planet. There is a recent law on Mars. If we want something to make us happier, the probability is high it would be granted. Because we have lost everything. I’ll have to do some research, talk to the other refugees, and they all should try chocolate, but I’m sure I could get such a proposal stick. If your boyfriend doesn’t mind taking a partner. Or a group of partners. He would still hold the majority stock.”

Nima’s eyes shone with admiration. “You’re a sly blue creature, Kaley. Let me kiss you. I’m sure my boyfriend wouldn’t mind.” She jumped up to throw her arms around the blue woman.

Kaley laughed. “Let’s set up a meeting with your boyfriend to talk specifics. I sure want more chocolate. Martian chocolate.”          

Tagline: How to grow cocoa trees on Mars.

Who robs the dead

It’s the first Wednesday of the month again, time for a post for the Insecure Writer’s Support Group.

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This month’s question made me think. No, I haven’t ever written anything I feel conflicted about now. The quality of my writing has improved since I started (at least I hope so), but not the content. I could still sign under everything I have ever written.

Some other writers though … sometimes what I accepted without questions a decade ago makes me cringe and shake my head in disagreement now. One of such issues concerns battlefield robbers.   

Let me elaborate. I like reading regency romances. In many of them, penned by different authors, the male hero is a former British officer, returning home from the war against Napoleon. Some of those ex-officers had been wounded during one battle or another, and all of them recall the battlefield robbers, the local peasants who creep over the battlefields in the aftermath of the battles and strip the dead and the dying of their valuables. All our noble heroes revile those robbers.

But let’s look at this situation from the opposite side. Here is a story whose protagonist is not a British officer (and thus belongs to a moneyed family who bought his commission) but a Spanish or Portuguese peasant Manuel. Manuel lives quietly in his village with his wife and children. The family is not rich, but they do okay. They have a few chickens and a couple goats for milk. Manuel, with the help of his old mule, works hard on his field, and selling the crops allows him to feed his family adequately.

Then a war devastates his country. France and Britain are fighting for dominance in the world, and they conduct their fight (for some obscure reason) in the Iberian Peninsula. This war doesn’t concern Manuel at all, until an army rolls through his village. Doesn’t matter which army. From Manuel’s point of view, they are all equally marauders.

They steal his chickens and his goats to feed their soldiers. They expropriate his aging mule to pull their wagons. They rape his young wife. And then they fight their infernal battle over his family plot. After the battle (Manuel really doesn’t care who won), the land is saturated with blood, strewn with corpses of people and horses, and seeded with sharp metal fragments of spent shells and bullets. The soil is poisoned by too much blood, by too much urine and feces. Nothing will grow on it for years to come.

What is Manuel to do? He had lost his livelihood to those hated armies. Of course, he goes to the battlefield after the battle. So do all his neighbors: they all suffered deprivations from those invading armies. Like everyone from his village, Manuel goes from body to body, French and British alike, trying to glean enough sellable items to feed his family for another year. Or a month. Even a couple of weeks would be a bonus. And he takes not only gold and jewels. He takes boots and uniforms too. Everything that could be cleaned and sold would give him a few extra coins. If he finds enough, maybe his children won’t starve for a while longer. Maybe he could ensure his family’s survival. And if that was not sufficient, he would resort to banditry.

What do you think about Manuel’s story? How does it compare to the story of a typical regency romance hero: a British cavalry captain (maybe a wealthy earl’s son), who served under Wellington and was robbed after being wounded in battle? Does Manuel really deserve our hatred and derision? Who was the true villain there?          

FedEx? No! Amazon? Yes!

I had a bad experience lately and I want to vent my frustration. I ordered something on eBay, and it was supposed to be delivered to my home by FedEx Canada. ‘Supposed to be’ are the key words here. They did come to my place once, but I wasn’t home. Nobody told me I should be home for that delivery. Instead of leaving the package at my door, as Amazon does, they left an official note, saying I should pick up my package at their office in the next 5 days. Or else, it would go back to the sender.

The problem here is two-fold. First, their office in Vancouver, where I live, is in the middle of nowhere, far away from any public transit, and reaching it requires a client to walk quite a distance. Or drive a car. Second, I don’t drive and don’t own a car. I’m an old woman, not very healthy, and reaching that office wasn’t easy for me.

I tried to contact them , to explain the situation and arrange another delivery, but both their telephone system and their online contact system are automatic with a limited number of options. Speaking to a human representative wasn’t one of the options.  

I didn’t have a choice. I had to go there myself to pick up my package. The entire situation was more than annoying. It was cruel to force me to go there and it showed the company’s total disregard for the convenience and health of their clients. In the future, I will do anything I can to avoid the combination of eBay + FedEx. I’ll try to get all my deliveries by Amazon. I know that many people criticize them, but in my experience, those guys truly love their clients and do everything for the clients’ comfort.   

Defending cliches

It’s the first Wednesday of the month again, time for a post for the Insecure Writer’s Support Group.

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Every writing teacher always says: avoid cliches in your writing. I’m not sure this advice, like every writing advice, is 100% correct. I think sometimes cliches are not so bad. Cliches are cliches for a reason, especially sayings or idioms. Some of them have endured for centuries because they are so vivid and so short.

For example, Grasping at straws – what a beautiful expression. Everyone knows what it means, even though in the modern urban setting, not many can even guess where its meaning came from. Who was grasping at straws and why? I don’t know either and don’t care. I used it in my characters’ dialogs a couple times. I don’t see a reason why I shouldn’t have. Such idioms make our written language richer than it would’ve been otherwise.

Often cliches are metaphors or similes, pithy and colorful, although some writers go out of their way to avoid them. They invent their own similes, which occasionally run for miles. Instead of saying: Blue as a cornflower, they would say something like this: “Blue as the petals of the tiny, star-like blooms growing in the corn fields in the middle of a sunny summer day, when the larks overhead sing of joy, and a man riding past observes the hazy heated air shimmering with lazy daydreams.” I’d take the shorter cliche any day.      

Another well-known idiom is Follow the drum. Lois McMaster Bujold, the winner of every speculative fiction award known to readers, used it in one of her sci-fi novels. She wrote about galactic explorations, and of course, there were no drums in her space operas. But every reader knew what that expression meant in the author’s context.

More often than not, experienced writers insert cliches not in their narration but in their characters’ speech or inner monologues. Our characters are allowed to use those metaphors and idioms, even if we, the writers, are discouraged from doing so.

Despite the generally negative attitude towards cliches on the part of editors, I think we should be allowed to employ them in our fiction, but judiciously, not pepper our story with them. Used wisely, cliches become a spice for our prose. They add flavor, like adverbs and adjectives, which are also taboo words for many a writing instructor.

What is your take on cliches? Do you use them? If yes, how often and in which situations?

WEP Jun 2023 – Close Encounters of the Third Kind

Here is another story about the members of the Martian anivid and dessert club. It is my entry to  the WEP Jun 2023 challenge – the movie Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Like that movie, my story is sci-fi. The members of the club watch the remake of the old Earth film into a new Martian animated version. After the movie, they enjoy a delicious dessert and share their opinions of the stories from old Earth.

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“I brought cream puffs!” Agar waltzed into Yrvina’s screening room, bringing in her customary wave of jasmine scent. “This morning, the Fleet guys carted in the first load from Cassiopeia Six. The yellow ferns. It should be amazing to adopt them to Mars.” She vibrated with excitement. As a xenobiologist, she routinely worked with alien species of plants and animals, as the Martian scientists tried to enrich the genetic bank of their planetary domes’ biomes.  

“What are we watching today?” she demanded as she deposited her transparent plastic container with cream puffs on Yrvina’s sideboard.  

Yrvina smirked. “Today’s vid should be right up your alley. It is about aliens, their first visit to Earth.”

“For real?” Agar’s eyes widened.

“No, of course not. The Earth citizens hadn’t had their true encounter with any aliens for another two centuries. This story is pure fiction from the 20th century. For some reason, they called this particular genre of stories science fiction, although there is nothing scientific there. Just fiction.”

“I read an ancient Earth book years ago,” Serena piped from the doorway. “The same wacky genre – science fiction. It was about Mars, of all things. Totally absurd. It was so inane it wasn’t even funny. Those Earth writers didn’t know what they were talking about. I suspect, this vid would be the same.” She lifted her nose as she sailed into the room.

“It is odd,” Yrvina confirmed.

“Did you work as an animator on this one?” Nima settled into her place on the sofa beside Agar.

“No,” Yrvina said. “I wasn’t on that team. I’m just testing the reaction of the general Martian population by showing it to our club members.”

“Are we representing the general population?” Serena demanded. “You belittle us, girlfriend. We are the most sophisticated anivid viewers in our dome.”

“Right.” Yrvina laughed. “Everyone here?” She nodded in satisfaction. “Then, let’s watch. It is called Close Encounters of the Third Kind.” She pushed the button on her hand-held projector and settled into her armchair to enjoy the holovid. The column of the holo screen came to life, as the light beams darted back and forth inside, creating a 3-D animated version of the old Earth film.

After the vid ended, the club members exchanged baffled glances.  

“This vid is weird.” Agar wrinkled her nose in distaste. “And not true either.”

“Yes, but they didn’t know,” Yrvina argued. “To give the creators their due, it was all coming from their imagination. Nobody on Earth had met an alien yet.” She climbed out of her chair and started distributing the cream puffs and the bulbs of lemonade around the room.

“I have never met an alien,” Nima commented. “Maybe there is some truth in it?”

“No!” Agar sputtered indignantly. “Aliens don’t go abducting sentient species from their home planets. Besides, spaceships don’t land on planets, everyone knows that. They are too heavy. Gravity wouldn’t allow them to lift off again. Nobody lands their ships on planets. Not Aelurians, not Vergacians, not humans.”

“Ships don’t even land on Mars,” Yrvina said, “though our gravity is much lower than the Earth gravity.”  

“Spaceships are built in space, and they fly in space,” Agar said firmly. “They dock to space stations. Only small shuttles that carry people land on planets.” She contemplated her own statement for a while before amending it. “Well, maybe smaller corvettes could land, but not the ships of the class they show in the movie. Yrvina, did you guys copy the comparative size of the ship correctly from the original? Where did the earthers see such a ship?”

“Our animators did copy to scale, both the size and the shape of the ship, yes,” Yrvina said. “I suspect, the earthers hadn’t seen anything, they just imagined it and made a simulation.”

“Perhaps,” Agar mumbled. “Still. The aliens might look different, but they are not that mysterious. I worked with aliens.”

“When? Where?” Nima’s eyes grew big.

“On a joint survey on Cassiopeia Six. I participated in one a few years ago. I was the one to order yellow ferns for Mars. They should do well in our domes. It just took years and a lot of bureaucratic baloney before we could finally get them. We had a mixed science crew: half-Martian and half-Aelurian. They are just like us.”

Agar popped a tiny cream puff into her mouth and reached for a second one. As always, she enjoyed being the center of attention. Everyone watched her with rapt fascination. She gobbled another puff and went on with her story.

“Of course, the Aelurians look different from us: all elongated and willowy, with their round eyes, but they think the same way we do. Almost the same. I suspect most sentient species develop similar thought patterns. They need it to flourish as a space-faring race.”   

The women around the room nodded thoughtfully and kept devouring the puffs.

“Why ‘the third kind’ in the title?” Nima asked at last.

“I don’t know,” Yrvina admitted. “None of the animators did. I asked. Even my boss couldn’t explain.”

Kaley snickered and turned to Agar. “Did you make these puffs yourself?”

“Yes.” Agar nodded.

“They are delicious. I want a recipe.”

“I’ll send you one on your comm,” Agar promised. “You know, the Aelurians have about the same physical and anatomical composition as we do. Not Vergacians, though. But the Aelurians, yes. Their atmosphere is breathable for humans. I once made the puffs during the survey, and the Aelurians loved them just as much as you girls do.” She stared in dismay at the empty container. “I was sure I made enough puffs to feed a Fleet platoon. Are they all gone?” She glanced suspiciously around the room.

“I want a recipe for my café too,” Nima said. “Send one to me as well.”

“I should charge percentage off your sales,” Agar grumbled half-heartedly.

“I’ll call them Agar’s delight,” Nima promised. “To immortalize you.”  

Tagline: Aliens are just like us. Probably…

Flashbacks

It’s the first Wednesday of the month again, time for a post for the Insecure Writer’s Support Group.

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I wrote about this issue before, with a slightly different angle, but it bears repeating. I recently read a novel where all the events of the plot were rather trivial and the pacing of the story extremely slow. Anything of importance that ever happened to the hero and the heroine happened before the book started. Because of the author’s choice of the timing of the novel, she dedicated several chapters exclusively to flashbacks: the back stories of both protagonists. Years of backstories. Granted, the events in those flashbacks affected the characters’ behavior here and now, but the entire experience seemed unfortunate and somewhat boring.

I’m against flashbacks on principle. First – the events they describe have already happened, so the readers’ emotional involvement is nil. They already know or guess what transpired in the past. The characters have already lived through it. Have been shaped by it. It was already mentioned in the text. No need for the long and involved rehashing. Not much of it has a relevance to the current story.

Second – if the author feels the readers absolutely need to know every little detail of the past events, before the story properly launched, the author should summarize those events in a couple of paragraphs or sprinkle various factoids throughout her narrative and dialog, not dedicate several long chapters to them. Because during those chapters, the action of the novel, already sluggish in the case of this particular book, rolls to a complete stop. Not a good thing in fiction. The readers might close the book and never come back to it.

Another possible solution to this problem, if the author feels so strongly about past events, would be to choose a different time frame for her novel and focus her plot on the crucial points of the past instead of the banal drama of the present. If she switches the timing of her novel to accommodate the pivotal turns in the heroes’ journeys and forgets about the insignificant ‘afterwards’, she might get a winner. Right?

What about you? How do you feel about flashbacks? Do you use them in your stories? How do you handle them?

My Kindle case

It’s the first Wednesday of the month again, time for a post for the Insecure Writer’s Support Group.

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This post is not about writing, but it is about reading, specifically reading ebooks, which we all produce when we self-publish. I have a kindle for reading ebooks, and recently, I bought myself a new kindle case. I wanted to protect my device, and I also wanted something pretty to look at. Here is the picture of my case closed.

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I like the curly golden accents embossed into the case’s black faux leather. They make it look like a cute notebook. Truth to tell, it is not really a kindle case. It was advertised for Kobo e-readers, but it fits my kindle perfectly. I tried a dedicated kindle case, bought it on Amazon according to all the size specifications, but I couldn’t fit my kindle into it. I had to send it back.

This one has those corner rubbers you fit your device’s corners into, like an old photo album. I’m loving it. This is how it looks when I open it.

How about you? Do you use a dedicated case for your device? Is its appearance important to you?

WEP Apr 2023 – Life is Beautiful

Here is my entry for the WEP Apr 2023 challenge – the movie Life Is Beautiful. It is another sci-fi story about the anivid and dessert club and its women members. They live in the 24th century, in a huge city-dome on Mars and meet regularly for sweets and the movie, just like we do. Yrvina, the hostess of the club, works for a Martian company producing anivids (animated videos). When her boss found a cache of old Earth movies, he decided to remake them for the Martians. Yrvina and her friends serve as his test audience.

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“Hello, everyone. I brought a guest,” Serena said. “This is Kaley, my new neighbor. She just moved into my building a couple weeks ago.”

Yrvina turned to the door. Beside Serena, stood a thin young woman with a hopeful half-smile and the haunted eyes. Her azure skin and pale pink hair identified her instantly as a refugee from Tarius Destra, one of the clones from their gigantic clone factory. After the astrological disaster that had made that planet uninhabitable, every colony in the galaxy had accepted a quota of survivors, both live-born humans and clones. Mars had too, although Yrvina thought the refugees mostly settled in the other domes. She didn’t hear about any of them arriving in her dome.

“Welcome, Kaley,” she said warmly. “Sit wherever you like.” She waved her hand at the sofas. “Did Serena tell you? We are watching anivids – animated remakes of the old 20th century films from Earth.”

“Yes, she told me. Sounds fascinating,” Kaley said softly. “Animated holo stories from the time long gone. I’m in.”

“And dessert. Don’t forget dessert!” Agar yelled. “Who is bringing dessert today?”

“I have.” Serena brandished a large bakery box before putting it on the sideboard. “Blueberry cupcakes. In honor of my new blue friend.”

Kaley cheeks darkened to indigo. That was how she blushed, Yrvina realized. She was totally charmed by the delicate blue woman. And she adored her unusual clothes – a caftan and bloomer pants in interweaving colors of yellow and turquoise. After the show, she must ask Kaley where she got the ensemble.  

“What are we watching today?” Kaley sat down in the left corner of a sofa. Serena plonked down beside her.

“Something profound, no doubt,” Serena said grumpily. “Yrvina always selects profound vids. I prefer comedies.”      

Yrvina grinned. “The today’s vid is called Life Is Beautiful. It is about a tragic era on Earth, one of their most devastating wars.” She pressed the button on her portable projector, and figures began moving inside the light-beam-encircled holo screen.

“What do you think?” Yrvina asked after the vid ended. She started loading the cupcakes into small bowls to pass to the club members. After a moment’s contemplation, she pressed a button on her drink machine for hot cacao bulbs. The hot cacao would be perfect with cupcakes.

A buzz of low conversation flowed around the room, as the women started their customary after-vid discussion.

“Serena was right. That was profound,” Agar said, serious for once in her life. “I cried in the end. I never cry.”

“I don’t understand those people,” Kaley murmured. “The hero was wonderful, but those military thugs were cruel. Why? Why would they kill some, treat them like dirt, while they celebrated others. How did they choose? They were all the same.” She frowned.

“I think it was different nations,” Serena said, but she sounded doubtful. “Like living in different geographic locations? No that can’t be true. It would be like one Martian dome warring on another. Absurd!”

“Maybe they had different philosophies?” Yrvina pondered aloud. “In the past, people waged wars on one another over that.”

“Philosophies?” Kaley shook her head. “I suppose, those soldiers’ leaders might have been like space pirates, but the pirates kill and destroy for money, not any philosophy. Were there some huge amounts of money involved in that war?”

Yrvina thought back to all the history texts she had read preparing to work on that vid as one of its animators. “I don’t remember,” she said slowly. “There must have been, but the historical accounts all talk about propaganda and the feeling of superiority of one race over another.”

“But they were all the same race,” Kaley persisted. She munched absently on her cupcake. “They even had the same skin color. I would’ve understood if their colors were different. Like ours.”

She stretched out her cerulean hand with its pearlescent nails and turned the palm slowly up and down, as if comparing it with Yrvina’s brown hands and Serena’s white ones. “Or if those terrible soldiers hated clones, like me.”

Suddenly Yrvina couldn’t breathe. Had anyone hated Kaley because she was a clone? But that wasn’t her fault. She didn’t choose how she was born. Yrvina wanted to hurt those theoretical creeps, to tear them to pieces. Nobody should be unkind to Kaley. Yrvina took a deep, shuddering breath to calm down.

Kaley was still talking. “I’m glad I don’t live in those times on Earth. It is much better here and now. I love Mars. Nobody is killing us because we are blue.” Her laughter tinkled. “My life is good here. I’ve got all the citizen benefits. Everybody is kind and friendly. I have a great job – I’m a fashion designer. People come to the boutique to buy my clothes. And everyone tries to say something welcoming.” Tears sparkled under her pink eyelashes.

“Do you miss home?” Yrvina whispered before she could silence her unruly tongue.

“Yes,” Kaley said simply. She didn’t take offense. “I try not to focus on it. It’s gone; no point to get upset. Sometimes, I think if only my creche sisters and brothers had survived that explosion, it would’ve been simply perfect. But I’m making new friends. All the different people of Mars. White skin.” She nodded at Serena. “Brown skin.” She inclined her head towards Yrvine. “And every color in between. My life is beautiful.”

Yrvina forcibly banished her morbid mood. “I’m glad you’re settling in well. Did you design your own clothes?”

“Yes.” Kaley’s lips curled.

“I love it. Could you make me something like that? In red and gold?”

“Of course.” Kaley’s smile was incandescent. “Come to my boutique for the measurements.”

Tagline: Even after a tragedy, life could be beautiful.

Height of a character

It’s the first Wednesday of the month again, time for a post for the Insecure Writer’s Support Group.

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In a novel I read recently, the heroine contemplates her height. She is 168 cm tall, and she considers herself short. She is the shortest of her numerous siblings and upset about it.

This little factoid didn’t affect the story, but it had me thinking. I’m 156 cm. I’m objectively short for an adult, and I like it that way. I like being small. For me 168 cm feels pretty tall or at least, average. Why would she feel short?

Obviously, this is a subjective measurement. The character compares herself to other tall people in her life and feels the lack of inches. She compensates with huge heels. I compare myself to almost everyone (almost every adult is taller than I am) and enjoy being the smallest. I hate shoes with heels.

I wonder why the author included this data in her book. Why did she use the precise count? What did she have to prove? The heroine’s height wasn’t relevant to the story. As a writer myself, I never state my protagonists’ heights to this level of accuracy. I might sometimes say something like “small and slender” or “big-boned”, but I’ve never included the exact number of centimeters or kilograms in my fiction and never will. I think it is unneeded in most cases, unless it is a mystery where those centimeters might be a clue. It was definitely extraneous in the aforementioned book – it was a science fiction flick, not a mystery.

Do you include similar information in your stories? Is it important to you? Always? Never? Why?