Bascomb James's Blog, page 2
September 20, 2017
The Perils of Writing after Midnight
I was feeling good about my WIP, stringing words into sentences, sentences into paragraphs when the quicksand found me. I struggled to escape, to find firmer ground, but every action pulled me deeper into darkness. My heart pounded like a jackhammer. My throat closed. I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. I was in over my head.
Sharp writhing shapes pressed against me, their claws tearing at me as they worked their way toward the page. I was helpless; terrified and appalled by the darkness, the manic madness that emerged from my fingers. The pulsing stain oozed across the page, desecrating the virgin white space, leaving only darkness and despair.
Fear. My fear makes them stronger an emotional feedback loop. The rising gorge of horror and desolation threaten to consume me. I fight grimly, but my strength. God, my strength and focus are failing. Thousands more press against me. My struggle attracts the. It fuels their frenzy, their satisfaction. I'm...I'm losing control. My
Sharp writhing shapes pressed against me, their claws tearing at me as they worked their way toward the page. I was helpless; terrified and appalled by the darkness, the manic madness that emerged from my fingers. The pulsing stain oozed across the page, desecrating the virgin white space, leaving only darkness and despair.
Fear. My fear makes them stronger an emotional feedback loop. The rising gorge of horror and desolation threaten to consume me. I fight grimly, but my strength. God, my strength and focus are failing. Thousands more press against me. My struggle attracts the. It fuels their frenzy, their satisfaction. I'm...I'm losing control. My
September 13, 2017
Sneak Preview: Disposal, Inc.
Here is the first chapter of my science fiction story, Disposal, Inc. Your comments and suggestions are welcome and appreciated. Thanks for reading.
The technical team was placing field generators around a 70 ton MACSTOR-200 unit when the com unit chirped. Damn it, not now! I cursed silently as I reached for the secure phone. Generator positioning is an exacting task. Even tiniest inconsistency could rupture the containment vessel and spill tons of nuclear waste throughout the building.
I glanced at the caller ID; Ari Kiltonen, the General Manager of my company. “Damn it Ari, this had better be important!”
“Chief, I have an army colonel on the phone demanding to speak with you. He says it’s a national emergency.”
Not this again. Every government on the planet seems to think I should handle their special transport emergencies.
“Which army?”
“Ours, sir. He says he’s calling from the Pentagon.”
“Tell him I’m busy saving the world. If he wants to talk he can get his green-clad ass up here for a face-to-face. I’ll make some time at 9 PM. In the meantime, notify Ontario Power Generation Security about the visit and get me some background information on the Colonel or whomever he sends.”
“OK Chief. We’ll go over the arrangements later.”
I clicked off and squelched the urge to throw the phone across the room. “Tom, adjust generator number seven outboard 1.5 centimeters and left 9 centimeters.”
It took the team another hour to position the generators to my satisfaction. The flow was looking good and the field dynamics were smooth and predictable across the entire displacement volume. The crew was watching me intently, waiting me for instructions. Their quiet anticipation gave way to smiles when I looked up from the monitor gave them the “thumbs up” sign.
The air horn sounded three times, the sound echoing endlessly in the cavernous space. OPG workers, Canadian Nuclear Safety Commission officials, and the International Atomic Energy Agency inspectors headed toward the exits while the crew began moving the delicate positioning sensors and instrument consoles behind the blast baffles.
With things well in hand, I went through a door into the adjacent room. The large room dwarfed the displacement console and monitors. The console area was separated from the rest of the space by waist-high traffic pylons with yellow and black striped tape strung through the handles. The laughingly inadequate barrier was reinforced by three heavily armed guards.
Cable runs and chases radiated outward from the circumscribed equipment. Monitor stands made the area look like a NASA launch center. Everything had its place and the purpose-made system could be broken down and packed for shipment in two hours.
Two of the monitors showed the transshipment room with rib-like displacement generators surrounding the massive 22 meter long by 8 meter high concrete containment vessel. Each generator was mounted on a heavy duty trailer with outrigger supports. Other monitors showed the radiation counts and the harshly lit displacement site.
After checking the field dynamics one last time I grabbed the virtual reality headset and performed a visual sweep of the displacement site. Neat rows of containment vessels and equipment radiated outward toward the horizon.
Tom Quiñones, the team foreman, spoke through the com unit, “The room is secure and all personnel are accounted for. We’re ready for displacement.” He inserted his key into the slot in his console and turned it to the “Ready” position.
“Transponder is active and returning the correct code.” The IAEA inspector reported from his console. The inspector turned his activation key and a second green light appeared on my panel.
“IAEA is ‘GO’ for transshipment.”
I could feel the tension build. All eyes were on the monitors.
The Canadian official turned his key and the final green light appeared. “CNSC is ‘GO’ for transshipment.”
I pulled a security chain over my head and inserted my activation key into its slot in the displacement panel. The blue status light changed to amber as I rotated the key to the MASTER ARM position. “I have three green lights,” I announced. “We’re ready for transshipment.” No matter how many times I do this, there’s always a nervous knot in my stomach at this point. This has to be perfect every time. There are no Mulligans when dealing with nuclear waste.
I looked to my left, and Tom gave me nod from his console. I inserted my right hand into the security scanner and punched in a hidden code that activated the palm/fingerprint reader. The unit beeped and the amber light changed to red. The automatic klaxons sounded throughout the building, alerting everyone within earshot that something big was about to happen. This is it! I took a calming breath, counted to five, then depressed the ACTIVATE button with my left thumb. A thunderclap shook the room as air rushed to fill the 1300 cubic meter void created when the nuclear waste containment vessel disappeared from the transshipment room.
A puff of snow and fog appeared on the destination monitors as the moisture in the displaced air froze then sublimated. The scene slowly resolved to show a MACSTOR unit with the proper sequence number parked on the floor of crater Antoniadi in the lunar Southern hemisphere.
“Chief, the displacement room is clean. No ruptures. No radiation,” Quiñones reported.
I deactivated the panel and turned to the inspectors.
“Dr. Richards, we have confirmed the transponder is now on the moon. We also note that your cameras show a container with the proper sequence number in crater Antoniadi.”
I nodded and picked up the com unit. “Get the next unit in here while I do the paperwork.”
“OK Chief, we’re on it.”
I glanced at the destination monitors and noted that the teleoperators were moving a mobile cranes toward the containment unit. The crane will pick up the MACSTOR unit and carry it to the unpacking yard where the carbon steel containment cylinders will be removed from the concrete outer shell. Without hydraulic or convection cooling, the nuclear degradation within the fuel rods will eventually heat the cylinder’s contents until the cylinder melts.
As part of an internationally sponsored project, Disposal, Inc. is creating a China Syndrome event by layering the containment cylinders into a small crater--a crater whose bottom is approximately 9 kilometers below the surface of the moon. Lunar scientists calculated that the molten materials will eventually burn through the crust and melt the partially solidified lunar core. A spinning molten core should allow the moon to regenerate its protective magnetic field. Thus, the whole transshipment project has a two goals; safe removal of radioactive waste from the earth awhile making future lunar habitats a little safer. It was my kind of project.
#
There was a knock on the door and Ari Kiltonen stepped into the nondescript office OPG assigned to us while we were on-site. Ari was of medium height with china blue eyes and close-cropped brown hair. A dark blue Kevlar vest covered his muscular chest. The Glock pistol and tactical holster were extensions of his persona.
“Captain Katheryn Macrae is here to see you.”
I nodded and closed the background file on the Captain. “Post one of the security detail in the outer office then bring her in. I want you to be present for this briefing.”
Ari nodded and left. I flipped switches to activate the audio and video recording equipment.
Ari ushered the visitor into the office a few minutes later. Captain Macrae was a trim dark-haired woman wearing a black, one-button skirt suit with high-necked silk blouse. Even in heels, she moved with the controlled athleticism of a dancer or a martial artist.
I came around the desk and extended my hand. “Captain Macrae, what brings a Cyber Warfare expert to OPG Darlington?”
Her grip was warm and confident and she projected the cool competence of a professional who had nothing to prove. Tall for a woman, she nearly matched my 5’11”height. As I shook her hand, I was surprised by my reaction to her. I wonder what she looks like in uniform, or out of it, for that matter.
I gestured her to a supplicant chair and reclaimed my seat behind the desk. Ari leaned unobtrusively against the wall where he could watch her face and hands.
Macrae looked at Ari pointedly and said, “I didn’t think the Canadian government allowed armed bodyguards and security personnel.”
Nettled by her opening gambit, I responded in kind. “Did you come down from Ottawa to critique my security arrangements?”
She frowned and said, “I was instructed to speak with you alone.”
I felt my eyebrows rise and I glanced at Ari who shrugged. “That’s not gonna happen,” I said shaking my head. “Allow me to introduce Ari Kiltonen. Ari is the General Manager of DI and the person responsible for the day-to-day operation of this company. In his previous life, Captain Kiltonen was a Delta Force unit commander. When Ari leaves, you leave. Capisce?”
Macrae’s eyes flashed with anger and her face flushed. “They told me you were an arrogant bastard…”
My temper flared. I waved my hand contemptuously toward the door. “We’re done here. Ari, have someone escort the Captain back to her car.”
Macrae flushed again and held up her hands in surrender. “Wait! I apologize for my remark. Before I provide a brief, both of you must sign Defense Secrets documents. The information I’m about to give you is classified and compartmentalized for national security purposes. You cannot disclose this information without the written consent of the US government.”
I shook my head again and glanced at Ari. Here we go again. This is what happens when agencies don’t share information. “First of all, I would like to inform you that our conversation is being recorded to prevent misunderstandings. Secondly, you are hereby notified that Disposal Incorporated, its owner, employees, and contractors do not wish to be privy to national secrets and as such, we are not responsible for dissemination of said secrets. Before you deliver your briefing, you will sign an affidavit stating that any and all information provided by you as an agent of the US government, is exempt from the Defense Secrets Acts at the time of disclosure and in perpetuity.”
Anger and frustration flashed across Macrae’s face but she quickly regained her composure. “I can’t sign that affidavit. Mr. Richards, let me remind you that this is a national emergency involving thousands of people.”
“So you say. . . and it’s Doctor Richards,” I said peevishly, just to piss her off.
The rebuke had its desired effect. “Your obstinacy is deliberately placing US citizens at risk and it constitutes reckless endangerment of the public. We could have you arrested and jailed!”
I laughed at the thought. “Are you planning to invade Canada to make me sign your damned paper?”
“American lives are at stake! How can you be so uncaring?”
This woman was really pushing my buttons. “Captain, Disposal Incorporated has only one purpose—to protect you and the rest of this planet from the nastiest and most persistent poisons mankind has ever created. A thousand years from now, an unprotected human will die horribly after a half-hour exposure to the radioactive materials we generate today. Don’t tell me I’m uncaring."
Macrae’s eyes flashed at the rebuke. I leaned back in my chair and tried to ease the tension. “I feel no concern for these ‘at-risk’ citizens because I have no evidence they exist and you refuse to provide any information or proof. If I have any culpability, it’s for refusing to give strangers unconditional oversight over what my group says, where we go, and who we interact with for the rest of our lives.”
An awkward silence filled the room as I struggled to master my anger and outrage. I had been through similar conversations on four continents and the experience was getting old. I sighed and decided to stop shooting the messenger. “Let’s begin again. What do you want from us?”
Macrae opened her mouth to respond then reconsidered. After another uncomfortable pause, I held up my hand and spoke quietly. “Captain, your superiors sent you into the lion’s den with an incomplete brief. Let me explain my position.”
“Nearly every government in the world considers me and DI to be a potential threat. They have tried to acquire my displacement technology through force, guile and legislation. The security establishment is also pissed because I sell shield technologies to all governments and to private citizens. More importantly, I refuse to provide a back door that would allow the government or anyone else to remotely inactivate those shields.”
“I am still in business because I provide a useful service, I don’t challenge the political status quo, and thanks to my matter transporters, I have more money than God. In order to continue this work, I cannot sign secrecy documents with any government, corporation, group, or citizen. All my deals and activities must be fully transparent and above board.”
“Talk to your superiors. If this situation is truly a national emergency, they will find a way to speak to me openly and on the record. Please give your contact information to Mr. Kiltonen and he’ll send you a release affidavit for review. You can contact him if you want to schedule another meeting.”
Macrae stood and walked briskly to the door. Ari shook his head and followed her into the outer office.
I was forwarding the meeting video to the last of the secure data locations when Ari returned to the office. He went to the sideboard and poured two neat Bourbons. He handed me a glass and settled into the supplicant’s chair. “Jason, I wish you would learn a little tact.”
“I was within my rights,” I huffed.
“Doesn’t matter. Losers keep score. Losers want payback. You made Captain Macrae and her boss look bad. They’re going to make our life difficult.”
“Look bad? Hell, I thought she looked damned good.” I gave him the boyish grin. “You know,” I think we had a special moment there.”
Ari shook his head and laughed, “Yeah, that special moment just before you opened your mouth.”
Disposal, Inc.
by Bascomb James
The technical team was placing field generators around a 70 ton MACSTOR-200 unit when the com unit chirped. Damn it, not now! I cursed silently as I reached for the secure phone. Generator positioning is an exacting task. Even tiniest inconsistency could rupture the containment vessel and spill tons of nuclear waste throughout the building. I glanced at the caller ID; Ari Kiltonen, the General Manager of my company. “Damn it Ari, this had better be important!”
“Chief, I have an army colonel on the phone demanding to speak with you. He says it’s a national emergency.”
Not this again. Every government on the planet seems to think I should handle their special transport emergencies.
“Which army?”
“Ours, sir. He says he’s calling from the Pentagon.”
“Tell him I’m busy saving the world. If he wants to talk he can get his green-clad ass up here for a face-to-face. I’ll make some time at 9 PM. In the meantime, notify Ontario Power Generation Security about the visit and get me some background information on the Colonel or whomever he sends.”
“OK Chief. We’ll go over the arrangements later.”
I clicked off and squelched the urge to throw the phone across the room. “Tom, adjust generator number seven outboard 1.5 centimeters and left 9 centimeters.”
It took the team another hour to position the generators to my satisfaction. The flow was looking good and the field dynamics were smooth and predictable across the entire displacement volume. The crew was watching me intently, waiting me for instructions. Their quiet anticipation gave way to smiles when I looked up from the monitor gave them the “thumbs up” sign.
The air horn sounded three times, the sound echoing endlessly in the cavernous space. OPG workers, Canadian Nuclear Safety Commission officials, and the International Atomic Energy Agency inspectors headed toward the exits while the crew began moving the delicate positioning sensors and instrument consoles behind the blast baffles.
With things well in hand, I went through a door into the adjacent room. The large room dwarfed the displacement console and monitors. The console area was separated from the rest of the space by waist-high traffic pylons with yellow and black striped tape strung through the handles. The laughingly inadequate barrier was reinforced by three heavily armed guards.
Cable runs and chases radiated outward from the circumscribed equipment. Monitor stands made the area look like a NASA launch center. Everything had its place and the purpose-made system could be broken down and packed for shipment in two hours.
Two of the monitors showed the transshipment room with rib-like displacement generators surrounding the massive 22 meter long by 8 meter high concrete containment vessel. Each generator was mounted on a heavy duty trailer with outrigger supports. Other monitors showed the radiation counts and the harshly lit displacement site.
After checking the field dynamics one last time I grabbed the virtual reality headset and performed a visual sweep of the displacement site. Neat rows of containment vessels and equipment radiated outward toward the horizon.
Tom Quiñones, the team foreman, spoke through the com unit, “The room is secure and all personnel are accounted for. We’re ready for displacement.” He inserted his key into the slot in his console and turned it to the “Ready” position.
“Transponder is active and returning the correct code.” The IAEA inspector reported from his console. The inspector turned his activation key and a second green light appeared on my panel.
“IAEA is ‘GO’ for transshipment.”
I could feel the tension build. All eyes were on the monitors.
The Canadian official turned his key and the final green light appeared. “CNSC is ‘GO’ for transshipment.”
I pulled a security chain over my head and inserted my activation key into its slot in the displacement panel. The blue status light changed to amber as I rotated the key to the MASTER ARM position. “I have three green lights,” I announced. “We’re ready for transshipment.” No matter how many times I do this, there’s always a nervous knot in my stomach at this point. This has to be perfect every time. There are no Mulligans when dealing with nuclear waste.
I looked to my left, and Tom gave me nod from his console. I inserted my right hand into the security scanner and punched in a hidden code that activated the palm/fingerprint reader. The unit beeped and the amber light changed to red. The automatic klaxons sounded throughout the building, alerting everyone within earshot that something big was about to happen. This is it! I took a calming breath, counted to five, then depressed the ACTIVATE button with my left thumb. A thunderclap shook the room as air rushed to fill the 1300 cubic meter void created when the nuclear waste containment vessel disappeared from the transshipment room.
A puff of snow and fog appeared on the destination monitors as the moisture in the displaced air froze then sublimated. The scene slowly resolved to show a MACSTOR unit with the proper sequence number parked on the floor of crater Antoniadi in the lunar Southern hemisphere.
“Chief, the displacement room is clean. No ruptures. No radiation,” Quiñones reported.
I deactivated the panel and turned to the inspectors.
“Dr. Richards, we have confirmed the transponder is now on the moon. We also note that your cameras show a container with the proper sequence number in crater Antoniadi.”
I nodded and picked up the com unit. “Get the next unit in here while I do the paperwork.”
“OK Chief, we’re on it.”
I glanced at the destination monitors and noted that the teleoperators were moving a mobile cranes toward the containment unit. The crane will pick up the MACSTOR unit and carry it to the unpacking yard where the carbon steel containment cylinders will be removed from the concrete outer shell. Without hydraulic or convection cooling, the nuclear degradation within the fuel rods will eventually heat the cylinder’s contents until the cylinder melts.
As part of an internationally sponsored project, Disposal, Inc. is creating a China Syndrome event by layering the containment cylinders into a small crater--a crater whose bottom is approximately 9 kilometers below the surface of the moon. Lunar scientists calculated that the molten materials will eventually burn through the crust and melt the partially solidified lunar core. A spinning molten core should allow the moon to regenerate its protective magnetic field. Thus, the whole transshipment project has a two goals; safe removal of radioactive waste from the earth awhile making future lunar habitats a little safer. It was my kind of project.
#
There was a knock on the door and Ari Kiltonen stepped into the nondescript office OPG assigned to us while we were on-site. Ari was of medium height with china blue eyes and close-cropped brown hair. A dark blue Kevlar vest covered his muscular chest. The Glock pistol and tactical holster were extensions of his persona.
“Captain Katheryn Macrae is here to see you.”
I nodded and closed the background file on the Captain. “Post one of the security detail in the outer office then bring her in. I want you to be present for this briefing.”
Ari nodded and left. I flipped switches to activate the audio and video recording equipment.
Ari ushered the visitor into the office a few minutes later. Captain Macrae was a trim dark-haired woman wearing a black, one-button skirt suit with high-necked silk blouse. Even in heels, she moved with the controlled athleticism of a dancer or a martial artist.
I came around the desk and extended my hand. “Captain Macrae, what brings a Cyber Warfare expert to OPG Darlington?”
Her grip was warm and confident and she projected the cool competence of a professional who had nothing to prove. Tall for a woman, she nearly matched my 5’11”height. As I shook her hand, I was surprised by my reaction to her. I wonder what she looks like in uniform, or out of it, for that matter.
I gestured her to a supplicant chair and reclaimed my seat behind the desk. Ari leaned unobtrusively against the wall where he could watch her face and hands.
Macrae looked at Ari pointedly and said, “I didn’t think the Canadian government allowed armed bodyguards and security personnel.”
Nettled by her opening gambit, I responded in kind. “Did you come down from Ottawa to critique my security arrangements?”
She frowned and said, “I was instructed to speak with you alone.”
I felt my eyebrows rise and I glanced at Ari who shrugged. “That’s not gonna happen,” I said shaking my head. “Allow me to introduce Ari Kiltonen. Ari is the General Manager of DI and the person responsible for the day-to-day operation of this company. In his previous life, Captain Kiltonen was a Delta Force unit commander. When Ari leaves, you leave. Capisce?”
Macrae’s eyes flashed with anger and her face flushed. “They told me you were an arrogant bastard…”
My temper flared. I waved my hand contemptuously toward the door. “We’re done here. Ari, have someone escort the Captain back to her car.”
Macrae flushed again and held up her hands in surrender. “Wait! I apologize for my remark. Before I provide a brief, both of you must sign Defense Secrets documents. The information I’m about to give you is classified and compartmentalized for national security purposes. You cannot disclose this information without the written consent of the US government.”
I shook my head again and glanced at Ari. Here we go again. This is what happens when agencies don’t share information. “First of all, I would like to inform you that our conversation is being recorded to prevent misunderstandings. Secondly, you are hereby notified that Disposal Incorporated, its owner, employees, and contractors do not wish to be privy to national secrets and as such, we are not responsible for dissemination of said secrets. Before you deliver your briefing, you will sign an affidavit stating that any and all information provided by you as an agent of the US government, is exempt from the Defense Secrets Acts at the time of disclosure and in perpetuity.”
Anger and frustration flashed across Macrae’s face but she quickly regained her composure. “I can’t sign that affidavit. Mr. Richards, let me remind you that this is a national emergency involving thousands of people.”
“So you say. . . and it’s Doctor Richards,” I said peevishly, just to piss her off.
The rebuke had its desired effect. “Your obstinacy is deliberately placing US citizens at risk and it constitutes reckless endangerment of the public. We could have you arrested and jailed!”
I laughed at the thought. “Are you planning to invade Canada to make me sign your damned paper?”
“American lives are at stake! How can you be so uncaring?”
This woman was really pushing my buttons. “Captain, Disposal Incorporated has only one purpose—to protect you and the rest of this planet from the nastiest and most persistent poisons mankind has ever created. A thousand years from now, an unprotected human will die horribly after a half-hour exposure to the radioactive materials we generate today. Don’t tell me I’m uncaring."
Macrae’s eyes flashed at the rebuke. I leaned back in my chair and tried to ease the tension. “I feel no concern for these ‘at-risk’ citizens because I have no evidence they exist and you refuse to provide any information or proof. If I have any culpability, it’s for refusing to give strangers unconditional oversight over what my group says, where we go, and who we interact with for the rest of our lives.”
An awkward silence filled the room as I struggled to master my anger and outrage. I had been through similar conversations on four continents and the experience was getting old. I sighed and decided to stop shooting the messenger. “Let’s begin again. What do you want from us?”
Macrae opened her mouth to respond then reconsidered. After another uncomfortable pause, I held up my hand and spoke quietly. “Captain, your superiors sent you into the lion’s den with an incomplete brief. Let me explain my position.”
“Nearly every government in the world considers me and DI to be a potential threat. They have tried to acquire my displacement technology through force, guile and legislation. The security establishment is also pissed because I sell shield technologies to all governments and to private citizens. More importantly, I refuse to provide a back door that would allow the government or anyone else to remotely inactivate those shields.”
“I am still in business because I provide a useful service, I don’t challenge the political status quo, and thanks to my matter transporters, I have more money than God. In order to continue this work, I cannot sign secrecy documents with any government, corporation, group, or citizen. All my deals and activities must be fully transparent and above board.”
“Talk to your superiors. If this situation is truly a national emergency, they will find a way to speak to me openly and on the record. Please give your contact information to Mr. Kiltonen and he’ll send you a release affidavit for review. You can contact him if you want to schedule another meeting.”
Macrae stood and walked briskly to the door. Ari shook his head and followed her into the outer office.
I was forwarding the meeting video to the last of the secure data locations when Ari returned to the office. He went to the sideboard and poured two neat Bourbons. He handed me a glass and settled into the supplicant’s chair. “Jason, I wish you would learn a little tact.”
“I was within my rights,” I huffed.
“Doesn’t matter. Losers keep score. Losers want payback. You made Captain Macrae and her boss look bad. They’re going to make our life difficult.”
“Look bad? Hell, I thought she looked damned good.” I gave him the boyish grin. “You know,” I think we had a special moment there.”
Ari shook his head and laughed, “Yeah, that special moment just before you opened your mouth.”
September 9, 2017
Seven Story Prompts for Romance Writers
In her article for Writers Digest, Leigh Michaels lays down "
The Essential Elements of Writing a Romance Novel
." This nice overview concentrates on the following requirements:
A hero and a heroine to fall in loveA problem that creates conflict and tension between them and threatens to keep them apartA developing love that is so special it comes about only once in a lifetimeA resolution in which the problem is solved and the couple is united
Point number 2, the problem and conflict must also include the context in which the conflict happens. In providing this context, the reader often learns about new places, businesses, or fields of inquiry, making the story both educational and emotional.
Think of the context as the cup that constrains and shapes the story. We all want to consume goodness that lives within the cup, but the experience is enhanced by presenting that goodness a pretty or interesting vessel.
The goal of this post is to describe several different storytelling vessels that could be used to shape your next romantic story.
Boxers and Briefs
The protagonists include a sports attorney and an injured boxer or mixed martial arts fighter. Lots of room for backstory, contrasting worlds, intrigue, and conflict.
What the Frack!
The protagonists are an oil-field geologist and an environmentalist. They initially square off during a fact-finding meeting run by a state oversight committee. Thrown together during an Oklahoma earthquake, their personal interaction reaches the smoking point and eventually catches fire.
Altering Your Genes
Set amid the raging controversy on human genetic alterations, this story has many potential protagonists including single parent(s) whose child(ren) is/are impaired by a genetic mutation, the genetic purists who believe we shouldn't play God with the genetic code, the scientific team who developed methods for making the genetic changes, and political appointees have their own agenda. Look at CRISPR/Cas9 news articles for more background information.
Three Sheets to the Wind
The protagonists are a crusty marine racing engineer and a female racing captain. The woman is struggling to get ahead in this high-stakes, male-dominated field.
Mechanical Advantage
The protagonists in this story are a psychologist and a mechanical engineer. They are part of a team working with Gulf War veterans to develop better artificial limbs. They disagree on the ultimate goal of the project. Should they strive to create a prosthesis that mimics the flesh and blood version or should they push the envelope, giving the recipient enhanced strength and durability? How would these changes affect the injured soldier? Cyborg controversy. Would you be willing to have a normal arm amputated if replacement arm gave you enhanced abilities?
Backstory
A research librarian takes a historical fiction novelist to task for inaccuracies in his/her newest work. Respect and love blossom during their public/private arguments. The couple find they have more in common than they initially thought.
The Woollie Womb
With the recent sequencing of the woolly mammoth genome, there is an increasing desire to bring back these extinct animals. The protagonists are a genetic engineer and a large animal zoologist specializing in elephants. To bring back a woolly, the embryo would have to be carried in an elephant womb. This could have disastrous consequences for the host. Heated arguments turn into another kind of heat as the story progresses. Follow the link for more information. http://bit.ly/2xlKAPO and http://bit.ly/2xW5Pov
Well, there you have it-- seven settings for building your next romance story. Let me know how you like them.
A hero and a heroine to fall in loveA problem that creates conflict and tension between them and threatens to keep them apartA developing love that is so special it comes about only once in a lifetimeA resolution in which the problem is solved and the couple is united
Point number 2, the problem and conflict must also include the context in which the conflict happens. In providing this context, the reader often learns about new places, businesses, or fields of inquiry, making the story both educational and emotional.
Think of the context as the cup that constrains and shapes the story. We all want to consume goodness that lives within the cup, but the experience is enhanced by presenting that goodness a pretty or interesting vessel.
The goal of this post is to describe several different storytelling vessels that could be used to shape your next romantic story.
Boxers and Briefs
The protagonists include a sports attorney and an injured boxer or mixed martial arts fighter. Lots of room for backstory, contrasting worlds, intrigue, and conflict.
What the Frack!
The protagonists are an oil-field geologist and an environmentalist. They initially square off during a fact-finding meeting run by a state oversight committee. Thrown together during an Oklahoma earthquake, their personal interaction reaches the smoking point and eventually catches fire.
Altering Your Genes
Set amid the raging controversy on human genetic alterations, this story has many potential protagonists including single parent(s) whose child(ren) is/are impaired by a genetic mutation, the genetic purists who believe we shouldn't play God with the genetic code, the scientific team who developed methods for making the genetic changes, and political appointees have their own agenda. Look at CRISPR/Cas9 news articles for more background information.
Three Sheets to the Wind
The protagonists are a crusty marine racing engineer and a female racing captain. The woman is struggling to get ahead in this high-stakes, male-dominated field.
Mechanical Advantage
The protagonists in this story are a psychologist and a mechanical engineer. They are part of a team working with Gulf War veterans to develop better artificial limbs. They disagree on the ultimate goal of the project. Should they strive to create a prosthesis that mimics the flesh and blood version or should they push the envelope, giving the recipient enhanced strength and durability? How would these changes affect the injured soldier? Cyborg controversy. Would you be willing to have a normal arm amputated if replacement arm gave you enhanced abilities?
Backstory
A research librarian takes a historical fiction novelist to task for inaccuracies in his/her newest work. Respect and love blossom during their public/private arguments. The couple find they have more in common than they initially thought.
The Woollie Womb
With the recent sequencing of the woolly mammoth genome, there is an increasing desire to bring back these extinct animals. The protagonists are a genetic engineer and a large animal zoologist specializing in elephants. To bring back a woolly, the embryo would have to be carried in an elephant womb. This could have disastrous consequences for the host. Heated arguments turn into another kind of heat as the story progresses. Follow the link for more information. http://bit.ly/2xlKAPO and http://bit.ly/2xW5Pov
Well, there you have it-- seven settings for building your next romance story. Let me know how you like them.
August 26, 2017
Writing With the Blood of My Enemies
"He's writing with the blood of his enemies," a co-worker explained to the group as I cleaned the grip of my fountain pen with a damp paper towel. I had filled the converter with Noodler's Antietam ink the previous evening and there was a small amount of residue on the grip. My finger was red and the damp towel wicked the color, making it look like I was bleeding profusely. Working in a clinical laboratory, the first reaction from the staff is to attack the problem with bandages and bleach. Fortunately, I needed neither. I cleaned the offending spot and put the towel in the hazardous waste bucket. The ink isn't hazardous but I didn't want a colleague to worry that blood had somehow been discarded into the normal waste stream. That would be a serious Biosafety violation.
Antietam, blood of my enemies; I thought of those things as I initialed documents, batch records, and quality assurance forms that morning. I was using a Lamy Vista demonstrator pen and the fine cursive italic nib was laying down crisp bloody lines on the crappy paper we use in our laser printers. It seemed somehow fitting that a clinical scientist would use an ink resembling dried blood to mark-up documents. The color is distinctive, dark, and saturated, and it reproduces well in the copier.
Writing with the blood of my enemies. The phrase seems poetic and horrific. I wouldn't be surprised to find it in the Game of Thrones or a horror fantasy novel. The phrase and the ink appeals to the writer in me.
Backstory: Antietam Fountain Pen Ink
Nathan Tardif, the founder of Noodler's Ink likes to create commemorative and classic ink colors for his company. Always on the lookout for new ideas, he purchased a vintage 1800s inkwell and rehydrated the dried ink to discover a brown-red fluid that looked like dried blood on the written page. Nathan reproduced the color using modern ink components. Because of the color, he named it Antitam (see below).
The behavior of Antietam fountain pen ink is variable depending upon the paper type and the width/amount of ink applied to the paper. The ink feathers on cheap paper, producing a dried blood appearance. Broader nibs produce more shading as the ink absorbs and dries. This characteristic is valued by writing and drawing aficionados. On less absorbent papers, the ink has a more unified, red-brown coloration.
Fought on September 18, 1862, the battle of Antietam was single bloodiest day in the history of the United States. There were 23,000 casualties and at Burnside Bridge, the casualties were so high that survivors said that Antietam Creek ran red with blood.
August 19, 2017
WSFA Small Press Finalist
I am really geeked to announce that Neil James Husdon's story, The Mytilenian Delay, is a finalist for the WSFA Small Press Award. Neil's story first appeared in the Hyperpowers military and space opera anthology published by Third Flatiron Publications.
In his Tangent Online review, Steve Johnson described The Mytilenian Delay as follows:
â
Congratulations to Neil James Hudson and publisher Juliana Rew for this well deserved honor.
Hyperpowers
Edited by Bascomb James
Series Editor: Juliana Rew
Publisher: Third Flatiron Publications
Publication Date: May 15, 2016
Available at:
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/630060
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01EBBVCZK
â
In his Tangent Online review, Steve Johnson described The Mytilenian Delay as follows:
"The Mytilenian Delayâ by Neil James Hudson posits a tradition of blowing up entire inhabited worlds to maintain an Empire. Partly technical, partly traditional, a delay is built into the destruction ritual, to give the Empire time to change its mind. In real life, Mytilene was spared because Athens countermanded the destruct order just in time. Will the Captain spare a possibly-innocent world this time? The twist, when he reaches his decision, is delicious, reminiscent of Eric Frank Russell.ââNeil and the other finalists will be honored at the WSFA award ceremony on Saturday, October 7, 2017 at Capclave (http://www.capclave.org ) the annual Washington (DC) Science Fiction Association (WSFA) convention. Capclave will be held October 6-8 in Gaithersburg, MD.
â
Congratulations to Neil James Hudson and publisher Juliana Rew for this well deserved honor.
HyperpowersEdited by Bascomb James
Series Editor: Juliana Rew
Publisher: Third Flatiron Publications
Publication Date: May 15, 2016
Available at:
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/630060
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01EBBVCZK
â
Moonlight Lovers
Classic poetic form with rhyme. I wanted to write something with rhythm while maintaining the ethereal feeling. I hope this works.
Moonlight Lovers
She walks in misty moonlight
Wearing a gossamer gown
Fourteen steps away, her lover
Fourteen steps of hallowed ground
Each step, anticipation
Builds with nary a sound
Fourteen steps to arms that hold her
Fourteen steps to hearts that pound
She pauses with ardent trembling
Gossamer pools on the ground
Fourteen steps she traveled to find him
Fourteen steps and loving is found
Moonlight Lovers
She walks in misty moonlight
Wearing a gossamer gown
Fourteen steps away, her lover
Fourteen steps of hallowed ground
Each step, anticipation
Builds with nary a sound
Fourteen steps to arms that hold her
Fourteen steps to hearts that pound
She pauses with ardent trembling
Gossamer pools on the ground
Fourteen steps she traveled to find him
Fourteen steps and loving is found
Midnight Lovers
Classic poetic form with rhyme. The I wanted to write something with rhythm while maintaining the ethereal feeling. I hope this works.
Moonlight Lovers
She walks in misty moonlight
Wearing a gossamer gown
Fourteen steps away, her lover
Fourteen steps of hallowed ground
Each step, anticipation
Builds with nary a sound
Fourteen steps to arms that hold her
Fourteen steps to hearts that pound
She pauses with ardent trembling
Gossamer pools on the ground
Fourteen steps she traveled to find him
Fourteen steps and loving is found
Moonlight Lovers
She walks in misty moonlight
Wearing a gossamer gown
Fourteen steps away, her lover
Fourteen steps of hallowed ground
Each step, anticipation
Builds with nary a sound
Fourteen steps to arms that hold her
Fourteen steps to hearts that pound
She pauses with ardent trembling
Gossamer pools on the ground
Fourteen steps she traveled to find him
Fourteen steps and loving is found
July 15, 2017
Catalyst Chronicles - A Serialized Story
I would like to introduce the Catalyst Chronicles, a contemporary urban fantasy presented in weekly installments. The story describes the struggles of Colin Mercer and Natalia Bremmer who live near me, in and around Ann Arbor Michigan. Colin is an under-employed engineer working as a copier repairman. Natalia is an up and coming university physician. They share a bond and a secret--a secret that could kill or enslave them.Colin is the main narrator and he's a geek. Geeks can be adorable, but they are geeks, first, last, and always. Natalia is a strong fiery physician who would do anything to protect Colin and their future. Trained since childhood to live hidden lives, these high school sweethearts are together yet separate--their relationship defined by their nature and training.
The story will be revealed in weekly installments and you, the reader are welcome and encouraged to let me know how it's going. Each episode is about 1000 words so they should be fast reads.
Every journey begins with the first step so here we go...
July 17, 2016
Author/Story Lineup Announced for Keystone Chronicles
The lineup for the Fall/Winter anthology from Third Flatiron Anthologies has been announced. Third Flatiron publishes four themed speculative fiction anthologies annually. The theme for this volume is the is the Keystone, the central stone in an arch. It's also the critical element that holds everything together.According to publisher Juliana Rew, Keystone Chronicles is a double issue and features an international group of authors.
Keystone Chronicles is available for pre-order from Smashwords and Amazon. The publication date is August 20. The paperback version will be available shortly thereafter. Third Flatiron will also publish a podcast or two based upon these stories.
Here is the lineup:Our Problem-Child: Langerfeld the Moon by Marilyn K. MartinHunt, Unrelenting by Sierra JulySplinters by Maureen BowdenDesol 8 by Edward PalumboTelling the Bees by Judith FieldDaman by Zerrin OtgurYou Can Not Have a Meaningful Campaign If Strict Time Records Are Not Kept by Desmond WarzelRacial Memory by Gustavo BondoniThe White Picket Fence by A. P. SesslerEvery Planet Has One by John MarrSee You on Hel by Bear KosikKeystone Mine by John M. CampbellHow Far Away the Stars by Sam MullerTo Their Wondering Eyes by Sharon Diane KingTANSTAAFL by Bascomb James Grins and Gurgles (Flash Humor): Rejection by Larry LefkowitzI Should've Known Better by Art LaskyRemembrance of Saint Urho by Damian Sherida
Smashwords:
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/651198
Amazon:
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01IM9H49K
July 7, 2016
Cover Reveal - Murder in the Generative Kitchen
Available September 27, 2016Murder in the Generative Kitchenby Meg Pontecorvo.
With the Vacation Jury Duty system, jurors can lounge on a comfortable beach while watching the trial via virtual reality. Julio is loving the beach, as well as the views of a curvy fellow juror with a rainbow-lacquered skin modification who seems to be the exact opposite of his recent ex-girlfriend back in Chicago. Because of jury sequestration rules, they can’t talk to each other at all, or else they’ll have to pay full price for this Acapulco vacation. Still, Julio is desperate to catch her attention. But while he struts and tries to catch her eye, he also becomes fascinated by the trial at hand.
At first it seemed a foregone conclusion that the woman on trial used a high-tech generative kitchen to feed her husband a poisonous meal, but the more evidence mounts, the more Julio starts to suspect the kitchen may have made the decision on its own.More information can be found at World Weaver Press.
About the Author
A writer and artist dedicated to multiple genres, Meg Pontecorvo earned an MFA in Poetry Writing from Washington University in St. Louis and is a 2010 graduate of the Odyssey Writing Workshop. Meg has published a novelette, “Grounded,” in Asimov’s, and her artwork in collage and pen has been featured in experimental video performances in the Bay Area. A native of Philadelphia, she grew up in the Midwest and now shares a small apartment with her partner and cats in San Francisco, where she cooks in a tech-free kitchen.
