Paula’s Comments (group member since Oct 28, 2015)

Paula’s comments from the Science Fiction Microstory Contest group.

Oops--yes, I did. Thanks. Heather. I've never been good at remembering names exactly, but . . . yes, I mean Carrie. Well--no hurry; we can all quiz her when she returns.

Is Carly still here? Carly? Anyone know much about pitch fests (tweeted)?

Thanks, Heather. Some good ideas there. There were so many great pieces of music at that time it's getting harder and harder to pick just one! My fb page has lots of discussion on this. The novel would be closer to the nonviolence movement than to the hippie world, I'd say, to answer your question. Now I'm liking your idea, meanwhile; let's get Grace Slick to record a "Trumpy on the Bumpy" or/"Drumf'n on the Butoon" or, more simply, indeed "The Red Button" with a Donald Wabbit, like one of those litttle spot-hitting-the-notes keep-time images for kids. You contact her, though---okay? Seriously--I'm being serious on this too.

Ah, caught my funnybone there, Heather. Imaging this thick, soft rabbit fur on the cover, only it's not my book but, rather, it's an AmazonAmazingFoot Robo-Rabbit boquin, with its ***Very Own Rabbithole ***. And it sings . . . well, guess what it sings (aside from/instead of White Rabbit)?

Thanks, Andy. Yes looking for late-1960s song titles (or wellknown lines) for my new book's title. And thanks--yeah agreed, For What It's Worth would suit indeed. And perfecto! for the robots' all too likely revolution.

Justin, thank you for those kind compliments!
Yes, unfortunately the history in this story, the scapegoating of "the Others" (Jews, Romani, old women living alone, any passing strangers, . . .) especially in medieval Europe, especially in times of plagues, is all too much grounded on this planet. And during the high/late Middle Ages, at at least one point, the king of what is now part of Poland offered the Jews refuge in his kingdom. This tale has woven this with family history, about a Nathan and a Wulf, and others, but with one crucial change. And a thunderstorm that holds off the peasants' attack just long enough--or nearly long enough.

Yep, Tom, those dates in yours were pretty cool.
And thank you for the kind compliment.
You're so right re Richard's piece--and he's done a fine job with it; I did an alternate-history-of-Adolph once and it's not easy to do one that's not trite, but he's well succeeded.

Oh Tom, you are making me feel so guilty! Not because your story's so good--it is, it's terrific!--but because hey, maybe I too should've checked an encyclopedia--not sure that Polish king's name, or whether he was in fact 14th century or were there more than one who, etc.. . .but of course there was/were in this particular universes-line.
By the way, people, if the history in my story confuses anyone, or that "g" word's unknown to you, feel free to message me.

Thought it would've been Navajo or Haudenosaunee or Cree or something back then, Dorthe. :)

I do certainly consentient to all your comments on my comments, guys, and thanks for the clarifications, Andy and Andy, too!

In case of interest, I did put comments on the stories in the May contest "comments" thread.

Okay, instead of working I wrote and posted mine and then I read the other 3. Zounds. Seriously amazing stuff so far. If I were running a major sf journal, I'd be grabbing these, right and left. Seriously.

Dark Time
Copyright © 2016 by Paula Friedman. All rights reserved.

He watched as Chayeh picked up her spindle, tremblingly lowered it again to her lap.

“Natan.” Panic quavered in her whisper, shattering the seeming calm of their homey, fire-warmed cabin whose sawn-board windows shut away the thunder thrashing the forest night. “Natan, husband, hear me.”

Across the rug, young Wolfen played, running the bent-twig sword of his wooden knight (doubtless meant as one of Duke Humbregh’s) against the kirtle of a sackcloth peasant-doll. “Zaza, bambam,” Wolfen sang to himself. His left hand scratched a flea bite. “Zam-zambam.”

“Natan, I am ready, beloved. Lead us, my husband, safely lead us—to the joining place. When the storm slows, we must flee. Flee before the trails dry and they come for us, flee to . . .” Anywhere, her sigh said. Away from here, here where the goyim . . .

But even Natan, watching her—even Natan, renowned though he was as reader and scholar of Torah and Talmud—dared not follow the thoughts her sigh implied. Outside, beyond their clearing, rain-lashed, where the hens and rooster and the boy’s pup Barky huddled in a pile, far off in that dark forest sudden treads might sound, armed shadowed knights or peasants come rushing forward-- Bad enough, it had been, before the death-sickness arrived, but now—!

He dared not think it, but the words slipped, fearsome, across his mind as if in bloody letters poorly formed as Wolfen’s mostly illegible attempts at Hebrew—“Death to the poisoners of wells! Death to the Jews! Burn them!” There’d been stories from Leipzig, Munich, . . .

Crossing to Chayeh, he leaned over her and, untoward as it was with one’s wedded wife, he kissed her face. “Bless your understanding, my Chayeh. Be not afraid. And Wolfen.”

Bright-eyed, the boy looked up at him. “Pa-pa.” The small fingers pulled again on the tiny sword. “Pa-pa, we 'flee'? Now?” Excitement, not panic, filled his eager face—the smiling mouth, eyes like lights. “Let’s go!”

Natan leaned forward to pat the boy’s hair. Black like his own, curly like Chayeh’s. “Not yet, my son.” He spoke in the formal mode. “Tomorrow night, when the storm ceases and men sleep, we shall, like our forebears, join in Exodus.” He saw, in the dusk of the flickering embers, Chayeh’s terrified eyes grow somber.

“And I”—Wolfen’s smile lingered, tremulous—“shall bring Barky too?”

Thunder crashed. Natan looked away. How Wolfen loved that pup! But on the long trek to the Poles’ land, where finally a king had offered refuge, one howl or bark across a silent night could give them all away. Sadly, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, my son.”

That was the 4th of January, 1348. Just after the midnight of January 5th, Natan, Chayeh, their brother, sister, and nieces gathered, with the servant Sarah and four community elders, beneath the lightning-blasted oak at Creekford beyond the village. “Where is Wolfen?” Sarah asked, though Chayeh, Natan, and the others said nothing. For there was no time, in this year of plague and massacre, to seek a truant child. Shouldering their bags, Chayeh and Sarah porting the cage with the beak-tied hens, Natan carrying the great pot of rooster meat, they set off silently down the narrow path, treading ever slower as the hours passed and raindrops soaked them from the dripping trees.

*
When the Czar grew tired of the sudden disruptions among the Jews beyond the Pale, disruptions he recognized as also consequences of the freeing of the serfs, he doubled conscription of Jewish first-born males, laid down harsh taxes, and encouraged Cossack raids upon the noisy, smelly shtetls where those people lived like pigs . . .

And so Natanael, Wolfsohn, Chelleh, Abraham, and the rest of the Burstyn clan set off, by foot and cart, and finally ship across the water to America, where it was said a new world awaited. But, though they were progeny of Natan and Chayeh, none descended from Wolfen, who, in this alternate timeline, had never gone with his family into what became Poland, there to bear children who would later, as Burstyns, seed descendents through America.

*
It is good that Wolfen wandered off only in this alternate timeline, for otherwise the author wouldn’t be here to write his story. As for Barky--well, timelines diverge but 'tis said when the peasants finished Wolfen and the trails dried, someone trained the puppy to hunt squab.

(750 words)

wonder what'd have happened, Andy, if when that guy, Trotsky, was in Mexico, you know, . . .
Justin, thanks!

I believe that Connie Willis uses the "elasticity of time" trope (!) in Blackout and All Clear--not sure if those came out before or after the King book (which, imao, was, rather, 2-3 times too long, though, yes, mostly in the first parts).
Justin, is your reviews offer for books other than sf, too? It's a very generous offer, in all events.

Oh yes. Thanks, Justin. Gives us lots of interesting possibilities. Cool--thanks.

Justin, what about Janeece, who cleaned the fireplaces in Elizabeth I's halls? Or Pieter, soldier in the forces of Wilhelm of Mainz (or whatever)? Put differently, can the "historical figure" be peripheral, or perhaps only mentioned, or never mentioned at all? --Think Years of Rice and Salt, for instance.-- Clarifications--and, hopefully, broad interpretation appreciated.

Well, you certainly wrote a phenomenal story, Justin--congratulations on this.
Now I'm curious how "historical"--or perhaps how "figure"--you want our character(s) to be, known Ozymandii types or person(s) who might truly have lived in a time okay?

Justin wrote: "Addition for June's competition:

With the group's permission, I would like to gift a copy of my sci-fi novellas (part I and part II) to the winner. If you are in the U.S., I can gift it to you thr..."
--one vote of permission, Justin. I can't imagine anyone's agin' it.

On the theory that everyone has now voted, I've translated my voting notes into story comments. I hope these are of some use to some others here--wish we could all do these, and more often.

I would have liked to vote first place this month for both Justin’s brilliantly written, well-conceived and thoroughly carried-through “Emit fo tuO”—a very Kafkaesque story with Kafkan strengths—and Andy Gurcak’s intelligently conceived and carefully crafted “Ship,” especially as Ship itself is so damn likable.

J.J. Alleson’s “Alien Provocateur. . .” is another of her crisply written and elegantly worked-out pieces of literary brilliance, balancing indeed, this time, on fierce tropes.

Andy Lake’s “The Pursuit of Unreason. . .” is in many ways the most conceptually interesting story of the month, though it perhaps would have liked yet greater elaboration of its characters.

Jack McDaniel’s witty “Everyone’s a Hero” stands out as one of this author’s intelligently written, strong-voiced tales.

Jeremy’s “A Kind of Infamy” is extremely well-written and beautifully paced.

Kalifer’s “Elevator Going Up” is not only carefully detailed and solidly written, but also funny in that slowly-rising-and-then-it-grabs-ya way that Kalifer can pull off so well.

Greg’s “The Great Robot Uprising. . .”is very well written, with good pacing and an interesting situation with fresh robot and human characters, and I wish it had not been weakened in its very last lines.

Richard’s “Virtual vices and visceral virtues” is so sturdily written, combining the author’s elegant writing and his biting humor.

Paula Friedman cheated by editing, after the “time to vote” bell, the title of “The ‘Rising’ Tropes” to clarify its trope, and to make paragraph 1 sentence 2 be . . . well, y’know, comprehensible. Herein, the story’s tropes meet the Lanos—Arc-Corteix—etc. 25th-century civilization Friedman’s been exploring.

In Heather’s sui generis “In Conversation. . .,” poetry, philosophizing, and word- and concept-play merge in baroque ranges and variations of that elusive term “trope”. An interesting cross of post-Beat poetry and post-modern discourse/ discussion/(. . .)/.

Dean Hardage’s well-crafted “Creator” forms a very solid tale, calmly striking.

Chris Nance’s “Accused” is wonderfully well paced.

Jon’s “Inertia, Inertia, Inertia,” interesting in itself, is also especially well titled.

Well plotted, solidly structured, Tom Olbert’s “From a Private’s Ashes,” is a suspenseful read.

Nicely paced, Jot Russell’s “Virtuoso” is well done and interesting, could have used perhaps slightly more sensory detailing.

D.M. Custis’s “Zachary and the Sky Empire,” and John’s “Booty” were each a pleasure to read, well crafted, interesting.

In fact, a very impressive month for this competition/group!