Richard Ferguson's Blog
April 10, 2015
My Best Book
My new book, Blue's Point, appears to be the best book I've ever written. I've gotten three 5-star reviews and one 4-star review at Goodreads, and three 5-star reviews and two 4-star reviews at Amazon. Not only that, they tend to be rave reviews.
I'll leave you with the latest 5-star review for Blue's Point on Amazon:
************************************
What a pleasant surprise! The book sounded intriguing - white guy fresh out of jail for murdering a black man meets angry black reporter in a dangerously racist part of the South - and it totally delivered on its promise. No-holds barred writing and great, complex characters. It pulled me along to the thrilling finish. This would make a great movie!
I'll leave you with the latest 5-star review for Blue's Point on Amazon:
************************************
What a pleasant surprise! The book sounded intriguing - white guy fresh out of jail for murdering a black man meets angry black reporter in a dangerously racist part of the South - and it totally delivered on its promise. No-holds barred writing and great, complex characters. It pulled me along to the thrilling finish. This would make a great movie!
February 9, 2015
I'm back
As you can see, it's been a long time since I wrote anything here. I have to admit that my life has changed in the meantime. Ann, my wife, my lover, my friend, my navigator fell off a ladder in our home on December 18, 2013 and died on the way to the hospital. I've had some bad things happen to me in my life, but nothing hurt me even vaguely compared to that. As I said in the dedication to her in my latest book, Blue's Point, I hope theoretical physicists are right and she lives on in one or more alternate universes. I sure miss her in this one.
So far almost all of the reviews and ratings for my books have been four or five stars. I appreciate that very much. It's always a treat when one comes in, a little like Christmas morning when I was a kid and I found gifts under the tree. The thing that moves me to comment on that is the latest review for Blue's Point on Goodreads.
"Excellent read! Richard Ferguson is a new author for me but I'm searching his page for more of his works as I type. From page one to the very end, this book had me teetering on the tip of a spire. I kept picturing the time period as somewhere in early 1900's but this is all happening in 2014. Amazingly scary. I liked the spunk and dignity of the heroine, Mike. And I loved Steve's character. Sorrowfully, I know that these types of attitudes still exist in this day and age. Very, very well written!"
In both of my novels, Oiorpata and Blue's Point, there is an underlying theme of man's inhumanity to man.
The idea of man's inhumanity to man is an interesting counterpoint to my own belief that people are basically good. I've traveled quite a bit in the world and met a lot of people. My first experience was in the Army in Germany in 1960. It wasn't that long after WWII and I expected resentment toward Americans. What I found were friendly people. I still visit friends there and correspond with one regularly. That was a great education for me. In general, people pretty much anywhere in the world are friendly, helpful, and good.
Governments are necessary, but they should serve the people, not subjugate them. If it were possible for the world to run without any governments at all, it would probably be a better place. In general governments make the people of one country hate the people of another country.
I live in Mexico now. I could go on about how much of what you hear about Mexico from the government isn't true, but I'm rambling so I'll end this.
So far almost all of the reviews and ratings for my books have been four or five stars. I appreciate that very much. It's always a treat when one comes in, a little like Christmas morning when I was a kid and I found gifts under the tree. The thing that moves me to comment on that is the latest review for Blue's Point on Goodreads.
"Excellent read! Richard Ferguson is a new author for me but I'm searching his page for more of his works as I type. From page one to the very end, this book had me teetering on the tip of a spire. I kept picturing the time period as somewhere in early 1900's but this is all happening in 2014. Amazingly scary. I liked the spunk and dignity of the heroine, Mike. And I loved Steve's character. Sorrowfully, I know that these types of attitudes still exist in this day and age. Very, very well written!"
In both of my novels, Oiorpata and Blue's Point, there is an underlying theme of man's inhumanity to man.
The idea of man's inhumanity to man is an interesting counterpoint to my own belief that people are basically good. I've traveled quite a bit in the world and met a lot of people. My first experience was in the Army in Germany in 1960. It wasn't that long after WWII and I expected resentment toward Americans. What I found were friendly people. I still visit friends there and correspond with one regularly. That was a great education for me. In general, people pretty much anywhere in the world are friendly, helpful, and good.
Governments are necessary, but they should serve the people, not subjugate them. If it were possible for the world to run without any governments at all, it would probably be a better place. In general governments make the people of one country hate the people of another country.
I live in Mexico now. I could go on about how much of what you hear about Mexico from the government isn't true, but I'm rambling so I'll end this.
November 28, 2012
The Second Glass of Wine
I'm on my second glass of wine hence the title.
The question is what you, the reader will find interesting? I'll tell you more of the things that I find interesting.
I've thought a lot about flying saucers. One of the reasons I find them interesting is that one of the things that crashed at Roswell, New Mexico also went down on my grandfather's ranch in New Mexico. I didn't find out about that until many years later. You'd have to have known my grandfather and my father to appreciate how it would be unknown. My grandfather's ranch covered 30,000 acres in New Mexico. I used to ride out on it with him and we'd have to spend the night in a cabin far back in the mountains.
Anyhow, many years later, my father told me that my grandfather had found something that had crashed far back on his ranch. He reported it to the authorities. Government agents came to the ranch, went back to the site, and collected the remains and took them away. They told my grandfather that what he had found was a weather balloon, and he should never talk about it with anyone. The only person he told about it was his son, my father. My father told me that my grandfather said he didn't know what it was that he found, but it was definitely not a weather balloon.
So that got me interested in flying saucers. I was also interested in theoretical physics. Physicists were theorizing the possibility of time travel. That led me to wonder if flying saucers could be people from the future rather than people from other planets. After further thought, I wondered if the flying saucers could be more like probes from the future without any people aboard. That led me to wonder what the people of the future would be interested in.
If I were in the future, I think I'd want to take a good look at the Kennedy assassination. I imagine you could put a flying saucer high enough that it could see what was happening without being visible from the ground.
Having said all this about flying saucers, I have to add that I don't believe in flying saucers. I don't rule out the possibility of them, but I haven't seen enough hard evidence in them to be convinced that they exist.
My grandfather's ranch was not too far from Area 51 where exotic weapons are tested. He could have stumbled on the remains of something top secret but still made by our government.
None of this rules out the possibility of time travel. Einstein himself said that his theory suggested that it was possible although he found it hard to believe. M Theory still allows that it is possible.
So, here's the thing. If there are people from the future here now, why don't we know about it?
You could construct a theory that some people do know about it. The future might have ended in a disaster that killed off most of the human race. They might have sent people back to warn the governments how to avoid the mistakes of the past. If that were the case, the governments might keep it secret.
On the other hand, if people managed to come back on their own somehow, they might use their knowledge of the future to their advantage.
If that were the case, you might look to the most successful people in the world to find the people of the future. The people who managed to make quantum leaps in technology and make money off it. Bill Gates comes to mind.
One of the other things I've always found interesting is the Kennedy assassination. Personally, I've never been able to accept it that Oswald killed Kennedy on his own. I could ramble about why I think more than one person was involved, but I'll focus on the one point that I decided on. If it was a conspiracy and if elements of the American government were involved, it seems to me that the person who arranged for Kennedy to drive that particular route at that particular time has to have been a key figure in the conspiracy. To put it another way, whoever in the government decided that Kennedy would be in that spot at that time would be the beginning of, not a paper trail, but a decision trail that would lead to the person or people responsible for Kennedy's death.
Now, see what a couple of glasses of wine can do?
The question is what you, the reader will find interesting? I'll tell you more of the things that I find interesting.
I've thought a lot about flying saucers. One of the reasons I find them interesting is that one of the things that crashed at Roswell, New Mexico also went down on my grandfather's ranch in New Mexico. I didn't find out about that until many years later. You'd have to have known my grandfather and my father to appreciate how it would be unknown. My grandfather's ranch covered 30,000 acres in New Mexico. I used to ride out on it with him and we'd have to spend the night in a cabin far back in the mountains.
Anyhow, many years later, my father told me that my grandfather had found something that had crashed far back on his ranch. He reported it to the authorities. Government agents came to the ranch, went back to the site, and collected the remains and took them away. They told my grandfather that what he had found was a weather balloon, and he should never talk about it with anyone. The only person he told about it was his son, my father. My father told me that my grandfather said he didn't know what it was that he found, but it was definitely not a weather balloon.
So that got me interested in flying saucers. I was also interested in theoretical physics. Physicists were theorizing the possibility of time travel. That led me to wonder if flying saucers could be people from the future rather than people from other planets. After further thought, I wondered if the flying saucers could be more like probes from the future without any people aboard. That led me to wonder what the people of the future would be interested in.
If I were in the future, I think I'd want to take a good look at the Kennedy assassination. I imagine you could put a flying saucer high enough that it could see what was happening without being visible from the ground.
Having said all this about flying saucers, I have to add that I don't believe in flying saucers. I don't rule out the possibility of them, but I haven't seen enough hard evidence in them to be convinced that they exist.
My grandfather's ranch was not too far from Area 51 where exotic weapons are tested. He could have stumbled on the remains of something top secret but still made by our government.
None of this rules out the possibility of time travel. Einstein himself said that his theory suggested that it was possible although he found it hard to believe. M Theory still allows that it is possible.
So, here's the thing. If there are people from the future here now, why don't we know about it?
You could construct a theory that some people do know about it. The future might have ended in a disaster that killed off most of the human race. They might have sent people back to warn the governments how to avoid the mistakes of the past. If that were the case, the governments might keep it secret.
On the other hand, if people managed to come back on their own somehow, they might use their knowledge of the future to their advantage.
If that were the case, you might look to the most successful people in the world to find the people of the future. The people who managed to make quantum leaps in technology and make money off it. Bill Gates comes to mind.
One of the other things I've always found interesting is the Kennedy assassination. Personally, I've never been able to accept it that Oswald killed Kennedy on his own. I could ramble about why I think more than one person was involved, but I'll focus on the one point that I decided on. If it was a conspiracy and if elements of the American government were involved, it seems to me that the person who arranged for Kennedy to drive that particular route at that particular time has to have been a key figure in the conspiracy. To put it another way, whoever in the government decided that Kennedy would be in that spot at that time would be the beginning of, not a paper trail, but a decision trail that would lead to the person or people responsible for Kennedy's death.
Now, see what a couple of glasses of wine can do?
November 10, 2012
WHAT IS GOOD WRITING?
I wrote one post on the rules in writing fiction. This time I'll talk about what I think good writing is and how it's done. I'll get more into my opinion of how things should be written.
If fiction is written well enough, the reader forgets that he is reading and becomes so absorbed in the story that it's like she is living it. That's true of all the great books I've read. Not only that, the reader is disappointed when the story is over, wanting it to go on and on.
The reader gets to know the characters so well that he mourns when one dies whom he likes and cheers when the bad guy gets it. I was really young, maybe eight, when I read "The Last of the Mohicans." I couldn't believe that Uncas could die. I felt great satisfaction when Le Renard Subtil got his just reward in the end. Another time, and this is much more recently, I almost didn't continue to read a book because I was so upset that the writer killed off a chicken that I had come to know. A chicken! If you've read the story, you know what I'm talking about.
How does the writer craft the story so the reader becomes absorbed in it?
First of all, the writer stays out of the story. I've read many books where the character starts talking to someone, especially at the beginning of the book, and it becomes obvious after a couple of sentences that the character isn't talking to the other person in the book at all. He's talking to the reader. Sometimes he'll tell his life story up to the present to his mother or brother or best friend. When he does that, I'm thinking, why doesn't she say, "Hey, you don't have to tell me where you were born! I'm your mother! I was there!" Other times, one of the characters will start spouting political or religious propaganda that has nothing to do with the story and seems out of character for the character. I had a friend whom I considered to be an outstanding fiction writer. He couldn't resist throwing in chapters that told little morals in which his (the writer's) political leaning was always shown to be the right and only way. He got as far with one book as having an editor at a major publishing house who wanted to publish it. Unfortunately, she told him that it needed editing because it was "a little bit pretentious." He made a remark about a "girl in a training bra" presuming to edit his writing, and the book was never published.
Anything at all that makes the reader stop and think about how the book is written is bad, in my opinion.
I think Neal Stephenson is a brilliant writer, and obviously a very intelligent person. My problem with his books is that he can't resist demonstrating how brilliant he is. He includes really clever things in his novels where I, as the reader, say, "Wow, what a clever way to write that chapter!" The problem is that I'm completely out of the story and thinking about what Neal Stephenson has done. One chapter that pops to mind is where he, for no apparent reason, presents a chapter as a play with each character's lines separate and even includes stage direction. He also goes off on incredibly convoluted descriptions of tangential objects in the story to the point that I forget what's happening in the chapter. In spite of all that, I read his books. I just skip large chunks of inconsequential verbiage.
To put that another way, everything in the book should contribute to the story. Anything that doesn't move the story along, flesh out the character, or make the story seem real should be taken out, no matter how clever it sounds or how brilliant it makes the writer seem.
Read any chapter of "Huckleberry Finn," "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," or "Sweet Thursday," to name a few, and you'll see what I mean. Pretty much all of the books on my shelf at Goodreads measure up.
It's up to you to decide if OIORPATA does too.
If fiction is written well enough, the reader forgets that he is reading and becomes so absorbed in the story that it's like she is living it. That's true of all the great books I've read. Not only that, the reader is disappointed when the story is over, wanting it to go on and on.
The reader gets to know the characters so well that he mourns when one dies whom he likes and cheers when the bad guy gets it. I was really young, maybe eight, when I read "The Last of the Mohicans." I couldn't believe that Uncas could die. I felt great satisfaction when Le Renard Subtil got his just reward in the end. Another time, and this is much more recently, I almost didn't continue to read a book because I was so upset that the writer killed off a chicken that I had come to know. A chicken! If you've read the story, you know what I'm talking about.
How does the writer craft the story so the reader becomes absorbed in it?
First of all, the writer stays out of the story. I've read many books where the character starts talking to someone, especially at the beginning of the book, and it becomes obvious after a couple of sentences that the character isn't talking to the other person in the book at all. He's talking to the reader. Sometimes he'll tell his life story up to the present to his mother or brother or best friend. When he does that, I'm thinking, why doesn't she say, "Hey, you don't have to tell me where you were born! I'm your mother! I was there!" Other times, one of the characters will start spouting political or religious propaganda that has nothing to do with the story and seems out of character for the character. I had a friend whom I considered to be an outstanding fiction writer. He couldn't resist throwing in chapters that told little morals in which his (the writer's) political leaning was always shown to be the right and only way. He got as far with one book as having an editor at a major publishing house who wanted to publish it. Unfortunately, she told him that it needed editing because it was "a little bit pretentious." He made a remark about a "girl in a training bra" presuming to edit his writing, and the book was never published.
Anything at all that makes the reader stop and think about how the book is written is bad, in my opinion.
I think Neal Stephenson is a brilliant writer, and obviously a very intelligent person. My problem with his books is that he can't resist demonstrating how brilliant he is. He includes really clever things in his novels where I, as the reader, say, "Wow, what a clever way to write that chapter!" The problem is that I'm completely out of the story and thinking about what Neal Stephenson has done. One chapter that pops to mind is where he, for no apparent reason, presents a chapter as a play with each character's lines separate and even includes stage direction. He also goes off on incredibly convoluted descriptions of tangential objects in the story to the point that I forget what's happening in the chapter. In spite of all that, I read his books. I just skip large chunks of inconsequential verbiage.
To put that another way, everything in the book should contribute to the story. Anything that doesn't move the story along, flesh out the character, or make the story seem real should be taken out, no matter how clever it sounds or how brilliant it makes the writer seem.
Read any chapter of "Huckleberry Finn," "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," or "Sweet Thursday," to name a few, and you'll see what I mean. Pretty much all of the books on my shelf at Goodreads measure up.
It's up to you to decide if OIORPATA does too.
November 3, 2012
Interview with 57-J
Richard: I have a special guest today. There is a book, OIORPATA, that tells about her life. Hello, 57-J.
57-J: That is NOT my name! I am Katya Latyinina!
Richard: Sorry, I read the book and that name sticks in my mind.
57-J: Do not use it again. 57-J is a monster. I don't want to have any association with her anymore.
Richard: All right. Where do you live now?
57-J: The United States Government gave us a new life and a new place to live. I will only tell you that it is in the far north.
Richard: If it's not too difficult, could you tell us something about your early life?
57-J: I know very little about my life until I was five years old. From that time on, I lived in Hell.
Richard: There were other girls, weren't there?
57-J: Oh, yes! Many girls. The State swooped in, killed their parents, and took them to Camp Oiorpata.
Richard: They killed all of their parents?
57-J: Oh. More than that. The Oiorpata were such a great secret that they killed everyone in the town where my family lived. Everyone! And they burned the town.
Richard: Didn't they miss one building?
57-J: The government store? I don't think they missed it. I think it was bigger, but the whole building didn't burn.
Richard: They trained you in feminine arts, didn't they?
57-J: I want to forget those things. They robbed me of my youth.
Richard: What other training did they give you?
57-J: We were given complete educations much as others would receive. We each learned at least six languages, depending on which area of the world in which we were intended to operate. I am fluent in western languages.
Richard: Didn't you learn to use weapons?
57-J: Oh, yes. From the time the Oiorpata were five, we trained every day in hand-to-hand combat. I know so many ways to kill . . . with my bare hands and with weapons. I am an expert with gun, knife, stick, rock, pencil . . . and so many common objects you'd never think could be deadly.
Richard: Your memory was erased and you were brainwashed. How are you doing in your recovery from that?
57-J: Life is a tightrope for me now. One slip and I will be in madness forever. I still hear the good words, but not so loud and not so often. Did I say "good words?" Hah! They are the most vile, evil, horrible words ever forced on anyone!
Richard: Could you tell us about some of the things that the Oiorpata did?
57-J: I rarely knew anything of the other Oiorpata. On a few occasions, one or more of us worked together. I know that one of the Oiorpata took part in the Kennedy assassination.
Richard: Really? You have your hands over your ears. Do you hear the voices now?
57-J: Yes.
Richard: I'm sorry. Let's talk about something else. Are you married to Ben Gordon now?
57-J: NO! I would never allow him to do that! I live with him, but he must be free to go if I become the monster again.
Richard: I'll let you go now, Katya, and I wish you all the best. You deserve some happiness.
.............................................................................................................................
That was my interview with 57-J, a character in my novel, OIORPATA. By the way, see if you can spot Lee Harvey Oswald in the book when you read it.
Richard Ferguson
57-J: That is NOT my name! I am Katya Latyinina!
Richard: Sorry, I read the book and that name sticks in my mind.
57-J: Do not use it again. 57-J is a monster. I don't want to have any association with her anymore.
Richard: All right. Where do you live now?
57-J: The United States Government gave us a new life and a new place to live. I will only tell you that it is in the far north.
Richard: If it's not too difficult, could you tell us something about your early life?
57-J: I know very little about my life until I was five years old. From that time on, I lived in Hell.
Richard: There were other girls, weren't there?
57-J: Oh, yes! Many girls. The State swooped in, killed their parents, and took them to Camp Oiorpata.
Richard: They killed all of their parents?
57-J: Oh. More than that. The Oiorpata were such a great secret that they killed everyone in the town where my family lived. Everyone! And they burned the town.
Richard: Didn't they miss one building?
57-J: The government store? I don't think they missed it. I think it was bigger, but the whole building didn't burn.
Richard: They trained you in feminine arts, didn't they?
57-J: I want to forget those things. They robbed me of my youth.
Richard: What other training did they give you?
57-J: We were given complete educations much as others would receive. We each learned at least six languages, depending on which area of the world in which we were intended to operate. I am fluent in western languages.
Richard: Didn't you learn to use weapons?
57-J: Oh, yes. From the time the Oiorpata were five, we trained every day in hand-to-hand combat. I know so many ways to kill . . . with my bare hands and with weapons. I am an expert with gun, knife, stick, rock, pencil . . . and so many common objects you'd never think could be deadly.
Richard: Your memory was erased and you were brainwashed. How are you doing in your recovery from that?
57-J: Life is a tightrope for me now. One slip and I will be in madness forever. I still hear the good words, but not so loud and not so often. Did I say "good words?" Hah! They are the most vile, evil, horrible words ever forced on anyone!
Richard: Could you tell us about some of the things that the Oiorpata did?
57-J: I rarely knew anything of the other Oiorpata. On a few occasions, one or more of us worked together. I know that one of the Oiorpata took part in the Kennedy assassination.
Richard: Really? You have your hands over your ears. Do you hear the voices now?
57-J: Yes.
Richard: I'm sorry. Let's talk about something else. Are you married to Ben Gordon now?
57-J: NO! I would never allow him to do that! I live with him, but he must be free to go if I become the monster again.
Richard: I'll let you go now, Katya, and I wish you all the best. You deserve some happiness.
.............................................................................................................................
That was my interview with 57-J, a character in my novel, OIORPATA. By the way, see if you can spot Lee Harvey Oswald in the book when you read it.
Richard Ferguson
October 22, 2012
Musing About Nothing
Hmmm. Okay. Today I'll write about things I find interesting.
There were a couple of things that puzzled me when I was little (women puzzled me when I was older.) I eventually solved one, but the other is still a mystery. If anyone knows the answer to it, I'd appreciate your telling me.
When I was a kid, I read that Einstein's theory of relativity said nothing could go faster than the speed of light, but it was theoretically possible for something like a space ship to go within the tiniest fraction of the speed of light.
At first, I thought, what if you were on that space ship and you threw a rock off the front end? What would the rock do? Would it just sit in your hand and refuse to leave? I asked people like teachers and other folks, but they basically said, "Shut up, kid, ya bother me." Obviously, I didn't ask any physicists or I would have gotten an answer. I might not have understood the answer though. It's been my experience that physicists speak in a language only intelligible to other physicists.
That didn't stop my quest for what happens though. When I learned a little more, I refined the question. I made it a cannon firing a projectile off the front end of the ship, and I added another firing another projectile off the back end at exactly the same moment to correct for any equal and opposite direction stuff.
I went along wondering about that for quite a while. Finally, I figured it out all by myself. The answer lies in the fact that, according to Al's theory, things get flatter from front to back when they travel faster. They get incredibly thin when they almost reach the speed of light. That means that, compared to our thickness here on Earth, the cannon ball really would just sit there. But, on the space ship, we'd see it fire away just like it normally would since we wouldn't be able to tell how thin we and it were so it would appear to fire the same distance at the same speed as a cannon ball here on Earth.
The other thing that still puzzles me is this. When I was little, people in Sweden drove on the left side of the road like they do in Britain. Then, for some reason, the government decided to switch everyone to driving on the right side. So, one night they switched all the road signs in the country to the other side. In the evening, people drove on the left. In the morning, they drove on the right.
Well, that's a pretty good accomplishment, but here's what puzzled me when I heard that. Before they made the change, they drove on the left. But Norway was right next to them and they always drove on the right in Norway. There was at least one road that crossed the border between Norway and Sweden.
What did they do before the change when they came to the border? In one lane, they met head on and, on the other side, they only drove away from each other.
Did they intertwine like the Shriners do on their little motorcycles in parades? Alternating one car one way, another car the other way? Was there a sort of overpass for one lane so they'd go over the other lane and come down on the other side? Or was it just an all-out destruction derby with a huge pile of wrecked cars on the side of the road?
It's one of the mysteries of life.
I like to play snooker. For those who might not know, it's a billiards game similar to pool except the balls are smaller, the pockets are smaller, and there are more rules to learn. I've been in Mexico five years now and I haven't found anyone who can beat me. Actually, one guy did beat me three games out of about two hundred, but I think that was because I'd had a few glasses of wine those nights and he didn't drink. I scratched so many times that I beat myself.
I like to run too, although right now I have tendinitis in my left hip and can only walk. Here in Mexico, they believe that races should be as hard as possible to run. They always throw in long steep hills. There's one totally insane 10K race where, for no good reason, they finish it going down an almost vertical set of concrete stairs. The risers must be about two feet. Aside from that one, almost all of the others finish up a long, steep hill.
Nowadays, I try to keep up with the latest that theoretical physicists come up with. It's not easy. Just when I thought I was getting the hang of string theory, they moved on to branes and the idea that the beginning of our universe wasn't really much of a beginning at all -- just a couple of branes bumping into each other. Then there's the possibility of teleporting and time travel which of course means multiple realities. In one of those alternate realities, I may know what happened when cars met between Sweden and Norway. I wish I'd tell myself.
There were a couple of things that puzzled me when I was little (women puzzled me when I was older.) I eventually solved one, but the other is still a mystery. If anyone knows the answer to it, I'd appreciate your telling me.
When I was a kid, I read that Einstein's theory of relativity said nothing could go faster than the speed of light, but it was theoretically possible for something like a space ship to go within the tiniest fraction of the speed of light.
At first, I thought, what if you were on that space ship and you threw a rock off the front end? What would the rock do? Would it just sit in your hand and refuse to leave? I asked people like teachers and other folks, but they basically said, "Shut up, kid, ya bother me." Obviously, I didn't ask any physicists or I would have gotten an answer. I might not have understood the answer though. It's been my experience that physicists speak in a language only intelligible to other physicists.
That didn't stop my quest for what happens though. When I learned a little more, I refined the question. I made it a cannon firing a projectile off the front end of the ship, and I added another firing another projectile off the back end at exactly the same moment to correct for any equal and opposite direction stuff.
I went along wondering about that for quite a while. Finally, I figured it out all by myself. The answer lies in the fact that, according to Al's theory, things get flatter from front to back when they travel faster. They get incredibly thin when they almost reach the speed of light. That means that, compared to our thickness here on Earth, the cannon ball really would just sit there. But, on the space ship, we'd see it fire away just like it normally would since we wouldn't be able to tell how thin we and it were so it would appear to fire the same distance at the same speed as a cannon ball here on Earth.
The other thing that still puzzles me is this. When I was little, people in Sweden drove on the left side of the road like they do in Britain. Then, for some reason, the government decided to switch everyone to driving on the right side. So, one night they switched all the road signs in the country to the other side. In the evening, people drove on the left. In the morning, they drove on the right.
Well, that's a pretty good accomplishment, but here's what puzzled me when I heard that. Before they made the change, they drove on the left. But Norway was right next to them and they always drove on the right in Norway. There was at least one road that crossed the border between Norway and Sweden.
What did they do before the change when they came to the border? In one lane, they met head on and, on the other side, they only drove away from each other.
Did they intertwine like the Shriners do on their little motorcycles in parades? Alternating one car one way, another car the other way? Was there a sort of overpass for one lane so they'd go over the other lane and come down on the other side? Or was it just an all-out destruction derby with a huge pile of wrecked cars on the side of the road?
It's one of the mysteries of life.
I like to play snooker. For those who might not know, it's a billiards game similar to pool except the balls are smaller, the pockets are smaller, and there are more rules to learn. I've been in Mexico five years now and I haven't found anyone who can beat me. Actually, one guy did beat me three games out of about two hundred, but I think that was because I'd had a few glasses of wine those nights and he didn't drink. I scratched so many times that I beat myself.
I like to run too, although right now I have tendinitis in my left hip and can only walk. Here in Mexico, they believe that races should be as hard as possible to run. They always throw in long steep hills. There's one totally insane 10K race where, for no good reason, they finish it going down an almost vertical set of concrete stairs. The risers must be about two feet. Aside from that one, almost all of the others finish up a long, steep hill.
Nowadays, I try to keep up with the latest that theoretical physicists come up with. It's not easy. Just when I thought I was getting the hang of string theory, they moved on to branes and the idea that the beginning of our universe wasn't really much of a beginning at all -- just a couple of branes bumping into each other. Then there's the possibility of teleporting and time travel which of course means multiple realities. In one of those alternate realities, I may know what happened when cars met between Sweden and Norway. I wish I'd tell myself.
October 8, 2012
Roundtable with Shakespeare, Anais Nin, and Oscar Wilde
Since I don't have the foggiest idea of what to say, I thought I'd invite some other folks in and have a discussion. Here's Bill Shakespeare. He's a limey and he mainly writes poetic things, but he makes them into pretty good stories. Say hi to the folks, Bill.
Shakespeare: I prefer to be called William, but what's in a name? I suppose William by any other name would smell so sweet.
Richard: Uh, okay Bill. On my other side here is Anais Nin. She's pretty well known for some of her stories too. Hi Anais, is that what people usually call you?
Anais: It is indeed. Why did you invite me here? Are you lonely?
Richard: Maybe we can discuss that later when we're alone. I need to introduce our last panelist. Mister Wilde. I'd like to get to know you better, Oscar.
Oscar: I am the only person in the world I should like to know thoroughly.
Anais: Oh, Oscar! How can you be so self-centered? Each contact with a human being is so rare, so precious, one should preserve it.
Shakespeare: I count myself in nothing else so happy as in a soul remembering my good friends.
Richard: Hold it! Friendship might be an interesting subject, but I got you all here to talk about writing. To kick things off, what is good writing, anyway?
Oscar: If you want me to tell you how to write in fifty words or less, you're a fool. I'll give you the definition of a good book. If one cannot enjoy reading a book over and over again, there is no use in reading it at all.
Anais: That's a little silly, Oscar. How would you know it was a book you'd read over and over before you had read it?
Oscar: Ridicule is the tribute paid to the genius by the mediocrities.
Shakespeare: A tale told by a fool signifying nothing.
Oscar: Oh, really?
Richard: Wait, wait. Would you just check your egos at the door and have a little serious discussion? If I enjoy reading a book, that's enough for me.
Shakespeare: Words, words, mere words, no matter from the heart.
Anais: It is the function of art to renew our perception. What we are familiar with, we cease to see. The writer shakes up the familiar scene, and, as if by magic, we see a new meaning in it.
Richard: Okay. I think I get what you're saying. It's like Andy Warhol making giant Campbell soup cans. When the ordinary is presented in an unfamiliar context, we can see it as art. When we're talking about fiction, we don't want to read about humdrum lives just like ours. We want to be taken to something different, exotic, and we want to imagine ourselves as characters living exciting, adventurous lives. That's what I aim for in my writing.
Oscar: It is through art, and through art only, that we can realize our perfection.
Anais: Well! I agree with that.
Shakespeare: Methinks it hath the ring of truth.
Oscar: Whenever people agree with me I always have the feeling I must be wrong.
Richard: Not this time, maybe. I try to write things that I'd enjoy reading. How about you all? Why do you write the things you do?
Anais: My ideas come not at my desk writing but in the midst of living. Our life is composed greatly from dreams, from the unconscious, and they must be brought into connection with action. They must be woven together.
Shakespeare: Go to your bosom. Knock there and ask your heart what it does know.
Oscar: Every portrait that is painted is a portrait of the artist, not the sitter.
Richard: You may be kind of cryptic in what you say, but it sounds to me like you agree again. Basically, write about things you know and experience personally. I try to do that. I might write about people in jobs I've never done, or in situations I haven't been in, but I can tap on my feelings in similar situations. And the really big things are universal. Love, death, birth, pain, suffering, friendship or sex are pretty much the same whether you are on a moon orbiting Jupiter or dodging Al Queda in Pakistan.
Oscar: All art is quite useless.
Anais: True. If you do not breathe through writing, if you do not cry out in writing, or sing in writing, then don't write, because our culture has no use for it.
Shakespeare: When we are born we cry that we are come to this great stage of fools. I say there is no darkness but ignorance.
Richard: All of you sound negative and all of you are successful. You're each famous for your writing. I'm not successful. Not yet anyway. It sounds like I enjoy life more than any of you. Just living is worth doing. I try to take the position of the true artist, stand back and view the world from a perspective untainted by government propaganda, or doctrines, or primitive beliefs. I follow the latest theories of physicists . . . as you did, Bill. You incorporated the findings of scientists of your time in your works. I have friends. I know you all put great value on friends. I consider them to be the true money of life, worth more than gold, diamonds, or all the possessions of the world.
Anais: I was speaking of writing. I postpone death by living, by suffering, by error, by risking, by giving, by losing. Each friend represents a world in us, a world not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.
Oscar: Who, being loved, is poor? Ordinary riches can be stolen; real riches cannot. In your soul are infinitely precious things that cannot be taken from you.
Shakespeare: It is not in the stars to hold our destiny, but in ourselves.
Richard: I know you're all busy, have to get back to writing. You probably have a play to produce, Bill. Maybe you could mention my books to your friends too. I wouldn't mind having reviews by the three of you for that matter. They're at:
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007WG427M
http://www.amazon.com/Weird-Tales-ebo...
http://www.amazon.com/Line-Between-Li...
https://www.createspace.com/3864589
Shakespeare: I prefer to be called William, but what's in a name? I suppose William by any other name would smell so sweet.
Richard: Uh, okay Bill. On my other side here is Anais Nin. She's pretty well known for some of her stories too. Hi Anais, is that what people usually call you?
Anais: It is indeed. Why did you invite me here? Are you lonely?
Richard: Maybe we can discuss that later when we're alone. I need to introduce our last panelist. Mister Wilde. I'd like to get to know you better, Oscar.
Oscar: I am the only person in the world I should like to know thoroughly.
Anais: Oh, Oscar! How can you be so self-centered? Each contact with a human being is so rare, so precious, one should preserve it.
Shakespeare: I count myself in nothing else so happy as in a soul remembering my good friends.
Richard: Hold it! Friendship might be an interesting subject, but I got you all here to talk about writing. To kick things off, what is good writing, anyway?
Oscar: If you want me to tell you how to write in fifty words or less, you're a fool. I'll give you the definition of a good book. If one cannot enjoy reading a book over and over again, there is no use in reading it at all.
Anais: That's a little silly, Oscar. How would you know it was a book you'd read over and over before you had read it?
Oscar: Ridicule is the tribute paid to the genius by the mediocrities.
Shakespeare: A tale told by a fool signifying nothing.
Oscar: Oh, really?
Richard: Wait, wait. Would you just check your egos at the door and have a little serious discussion? If I enjoy reading a book, that's enough for me.
Shakespeare: Words, words, mere words, no matter from the heart.
Anais: It is the function of art to renew our perception. What we are familiar with, we cease to see. The writer shakes up the familiar scene, and, as if by magic, we see a new meaning in it.
Richard: Okay. I think I get what you're saying. It's like Andy Warhol making giant Campbell soup cans. When the ordinary is presented in an unfamiliar context, we can see it as art. When we're talking about fiction, we don't want to read about humdrum lives just like ours. We want to be taken to something different, exotic, and we want to imagine ourselves as characters living exciting, adventurous lives. That's what I aim for in my writing.
Oscar: It is through art, and through art only, that we can realize our perfection.
Anais: Well! I agree with that.
Shakespeare: Methinks it hath the ring of truth.
Oscar: Whenever people agree with me I always have the feeling I must be wrong.
Richard: Not this time, maybe. I try to write things that I'd enjoy reading. How about you all? Why do you write the things you do?
Anais: My ideas come not at my desk writing but in the midst of living. Our life is composed greatly from dreams, from the unconscious, and they must be brought into connection with action. They must be woven together.
Shakespeare: Go to your bosom. Knock there and ask your heart what it does know.
Oscar: Every portrait that is painted is a portrait of the artist, not the sitter.
Richard: You may be kind of cryptic in what you say, but it sounds to me like you agree again. Basically, write about things you know and experience personally. I try to do that. I might write about people in jobs I've never done, or in situations I haven't been in, but I can tap on my feelings in similar situations. And the really big things are universal. Love, death, birth, pain, suffering, friendship or sex are pretty much the same whether you are on a moon orbiting Jupiter or dodging Al Queda in Pakistan.
Oscar: All art is quite useless.
Anais: True. If you do not breathe through writing, if you do not cry out in writing, or sing in writing, then don't write, because our culture has no use for it.
Shakespeare: When we are born we cry that we are come to this great stage of fools. I say there is no darkness but ignorance.
Richard: All of you sound negative and all of you are successful. You're each famous for your writing. I'm not successful. Not yet anyway. It sounds like I enjoy life more than any of you. Just living is worth doing. I try to take the position of the true artist, stand back and view the world from a perspective untainted by government propaganda, or doctrines, or primitive beliefs. I follow the latest theories of physicists . . . as you did, Bill. You incorporated the findings of scientists of your time in your works. I have friends. I know you all put great value on friends. I consider them to be the true money of life, worth more than gold, diamonds, or all the possessions of the world.
Anais: I was speaking of writing. I postpone death by living, by suffering, by error, by risking, by giving, by losing. Each friend represents a world in us, a world not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.
Oscar: Who, being loved, is poor? Ordinary riches can be stolen; real riches cannot. In your soul are infinitely precious things that cannot be taken from you.
Shakespeare: It is not in the stars to hold our destiny, but in ourselves.
Richard: I know you're all busy, have to get back to writing. You probably have a play to produce, Bill. Maybe you could mention my books to your friends too. I wouldn't mind having reviews by the three of you for that matter. They're at:
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007WG427M
http://www.amazon.com/Weird-Tales-ebo...
http://www.amazon.com/Line-Between-Li...
https://www.createspace.com/3864589
