Every Single One Of My Titles

I, Robot Is Old-School Apolitical And Socially Neutral Science Fiction — Um, Right?

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I and some fellow writers (and reviewers, some may pick nits, but isn’t reviewing also creative writing? Yes, it is.) are getting together at The Scary Reviews comment section on Wednesday the 16th at 7 pm to discuss I, Robot. The idea is we’re to review the book on our own sites to kick things off. If you’d like to read a proper review, Lilyn G. over at SciFi and Scary wrote one.

I, however, rarely review anything in the traditional sense. In fact, I have avoided reviewing anything by a living author for years after seeing some of the one-star brigading of indie and self-published authors over personal conflicts and butthurt over receiving critical reviews (I’m going to avoid linking to any accounts of these incidents, as I don’t want to wake up any ill-tempered sleeping dogs).

I’m still thinking the above over — should I say “screw it” and jump in anyhow? Am I being a wimp? Lilyn isn’t afraid to throw a one-star review along with a reasoned explanation of why it wasn’t more. Feel free to chime in with a comment on my possible cowardice. But, onward:

When I do review these days, it’s a dead author.

Well, Asimov is dead, you say. So what’s the problem?

There’s no problem. I enjoyed reading I, Robot in high school 25+ years ago oh crap I’m getting old who could have predicted this indignity and I enjoyed reading it short story by short story over the course of the end of last month and the beginning of this. Good stuff, if you’ve ever only seen the movie you should read the stories because the movie, as usual, missed and skewed A TON. In fact, more than usual. The stories were really just inspiration for the movie, not much more.

But reviews, as I suggested just a bit earlier, aren’t really my thing.

So I’m going to talk about old-school science fiction, what it isn’t, and what it is, using I, Robot as context.

Asimov wrote this collection in the spirit of Gernsback, a bedrock figure in the US science fiction scene. A scene that some of the right-wing Sad Rabid Puppies movement in current US science fiction hold up as a halcyon age where the genre was all about fun adventure reading that maintained neutrality in contemporary political and social movements.

But as I wrote in an earlier post about Gernsback and his work, that’s bullshit. Gernsback wrote about technocracy and world government — which, if you think about it, continue to be political and social movements across both political wings and anywhere between or beyond the wings today.

Gernsback was a pretty clumsy writer. He wrote the kind of stories that are rejected from slush piles today, because they were all about worldbuilding — describing potential technological advances and their potential ramifications — and had very little actual story in the story.

Asimov writes in much the same way, except he does it much better. He gives you a bit more humanity, and his writing, while equally lean and unflourished, is just plain better at drawing you into what is going on. He’s not very descriptive, but the little he describes sticks in your mind. His characters are sort of cardboard, but the drawing on the cardboard, at least, is interesting. The human story isn’t deep, but the technological story he tells is deep and engaging. The technology-driven story doesn’t hook on to the characters’ humanity — it hooks on to the reader’s humanity by speaking to elemental philosophical and social questions.

Asimov, in I, Robot and elsewhere, writes the epitome of old-school science fiction: technological, revolving around puzzles to solve and difficulties to overcome, basically hopeful of humanity, and inescapably linked to the social and political questions of the day.

A few examples from the collection:

Robbie speaks to the 1940s fear that advertising and television — technology — will warp and subvert the minds of our children as they are raised immersed in it. But Robbie the robot shows the reader that such needn’t be the case. Robbie risks his robotic life to save his young charge’s life and inspires the little girl to value love and loyalty — humanistic values encouraged  by using technology in constructive and mindful fashion.

Reason grasps the irrationality and logic-rejection of religion and the easy handle it presents for manipulating the faithful through the presentation of a robot prophet who organizes a robots-only cult (the profession of robot faith, uncomfortably, mirrors the Islamic profession of faith, giving the Christian reader an out to avoid applying the story personally — but the principles apply equally to any zealous subset within any religion who reject sound science and observation on the theory it must automatically be incompatible with faith). The story’s resolution leaves faith unconquered — but unquestionably wrong, wrong, WRONG.

The Evitable Conflict is utterly, totally politically charged. Place it in its proper context, the United States at the close of the 1940s, and the global political situation. The story revolves around the tendency for technology to rule humanity, in the familiar trope of artificial intelligence attempting to control human events — or dare I say, take over the world? But the story itself is critical of nationalism and Western powers dominating and controlling world affairs, suggesting what is practically political heresy now and was definitely heresy then, that the wheel of history may yet turn and political dominance may pass into hands that are not Western at all. The story suggests that the reader consider that deliberately managed peaceful globalism may be the solution to humanity’s most destructive problem, war, and that humans have never been so in control of affiars as politicians like to imagine, but instead at the mercy of economic and sociological forces.

How’s that for “good old fashioned apolitical science fiction”?

 

Why SciFi Movies Disappoint SciFi Readers Who Read The Book

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Why SciFi Movies Disappoint SciFi Readers Who Read The Book

(Same Goes For Fantasy And Comic Books)

Same goes for pretty much any movie that was a book first, really. Ask a Stephen King fan. But this phenomenon of disappointment is so much more pronounced for fans of SciFi and Fantasy and Comic Books. Why?

Partly because of the nature of movies bundled with the nature of the average moviegoer. In the dawn of the moving picture era, the movie itself was a novelty and a spectacle, just by being itself. A few elementary stunts, a visual gag here and there, and a good story were all a director needed to sell a movie.

But the novelty has long since worn out; movies are now a venerable art form. Seen at the theater, they’re still a spectacle and an experience in and of themselves – but that’s less about the movie and more about going out to the theater.

Today, nobody wants to pay to see a book translated directly into film. Film was never suited to that, because an hour and a half, or even three hours, just isn’t enough room to tell a story it takes 100,000 words to tell. Or even 50,000. If you made a movie going point by point through a story as written, you’d be lucky to relate 10,000 words in a standard 90 minute film.

And a lot of that film would annoy the crap out of the audience. Internal dialog doesn’t play very well in a movie. At least, not at any length. Nor do narrator commentary or flashbacks and flashforwards and radical scene shifts, or background and world building.

SciFi and Fantasy and Comics are REALLY BIG on all of those things. Because to one degree or another they hinge on things that don’t exist in real life and have to be explained or at least established as to how they fit into the world and how people deal with it. Often, that’s the whole point.

(Graphic novels, by the way, are the bisexuals of the movie-literature divide, usually able to work just fine on either side of the divide – they translate well into film because they’re already organized around a visual presentation, and novels are not.)

The whole point of a movie, though, especially recently and especially in SciFi and Fantasy and Comics, is WOW.

WOW is the visual pop that people want out of movies in general and want ten times more out of genre movies. What sells those tickets is what I think of as “special effects pornography.”

Just enough story and character development to string the special effects spectacles together. Like a porn is just enough to string the sex scenes together. Explosions and falling buildings and super cool aliens and robots are the money shots the average moviegoer wants in exchange for the ticket price.

As much as fans of the books and comics want the background and the worldbuilding and the multiple plot threads to be faithfully represented, they simply aren’t numerous enough to drive the market. Without the SFX porn the movie doesn’t make a profit and the DVD doesn’t sell and the action figures and Halloween costumes and t-shirts don’t move off the shelf.

So the producers and the studios and the writers follow the money. That’s what they’re there for. Oh, they love pleasing fans and making people happy – or at least, the best ones do. But the bottom line is the bottom line: folding green. If it doesn’t make money, in the end its dead to the theater.

But it’s also possible to go too far chasing the money, too deep into the SFX pornography scene. Look at the DC films lately. A Batman who is also a rifleman. A Superman who casually snaps necks and doesn’t give a shit about knocking down the heart of a city. The lovers of spectacle may love it, but the fans of those character in comic books are the ones who are most likely to buy the DVD and the Blu-ray and the Special Director’s Cut too.

Even casual fans of the characters, even the people who read the comics as kids and put them away when they ‘grew up,’ know that Batman isn’t a gun kinda guy and that not killing people or wrecking cities is Superman’s thing.

It may be all about creating the spectacle and setting up the special effects, but if you rip the cores out of familiar characters in the process, what you end up with is empty schlock. And while really awesome schlock may draw a crowd of one-time ticket buyers, it won’t inspire fans to love the franchise, buy the merch, see it multiple times or buy the DVD.

Even the unperceptive can feel when something is empty, even if all they really know is that it was “cool, but I’m not looking for the next one.”

As for the book-readers, they generally loathe the empty schlock movie versions. But even the really well done ones, once stripped down to fit them into a movie format and bent around the cool special effects scenes, are missing the cores that novels spend tens of thousands of words building.

No matter how great the movie version, a movie will never be a book. And that leaves the book fans unfulfilled – unless they go in eyes open, expecting what they see to reflect the strengths and weaknesses of a completely different medium.

END

Humans Now, Basically

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Children (my 2 youngest, 3 and 5) in the shadow of a gnarled ancient of a gum tree, with an electrical substation lurking behind.

Kind of a metaphor for our world, isn’t it?

As a bonus, the yellow vest is a Batman vest and the brown jacket is a print of Chewbacca’s torso. Geek life FTW.

The Doppelgangers King — Original Flash Fiction

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The Doppelgangers King is a brand-new flash fiction piece I’ve just posted to my Patreon for anyone to read — you don’t even have to be a patron!

Read it — if you enjoy science fiction, grumble about politics, or have a cynical bone in your body, I think you’ll enjoy it.🙂

Self-Publishing A-Go-Go **OR** Throw Some More Spaghetti At The Wall And See If It Sticks

 

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Source: AZ Quotes

I’m kicking around a new idea.

I want you to comment and tell me what you think.

And now you have to read this WHOLE POST BWAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA

So. *Ahem* I’ve been knocking around this ‘writing (mostly science-) fiction’ thing for a while.

I like writing science fiction. I like writing nearly anything, but science fiction is the gravity in my personal cosmos, if you get my lack of drift. My mother has the first story I ever wrote, in fact. With hand-drawn illustrations, and you can REALLY tell my main talents aren’t in the visual arts — shame I don’t have a picture to post here. It was something involving dinosaurs flying around in jets and a time machine. I think I was 9 or 10. And off and on through the years I fiddled with storytelling in one form or another — writing the occasional story and a lot of pretty stinky poetry. Playing and especially refereeing various pencil-and-paper role playing games.

Around… was it 2008? My memory isn’t what you’d call a steel trap… I started writing a lot more. For myself at first, to see if I could do it well. I thought I might have something publishable and mailed a short story submission to Fantasy & Science Fiction around 2009 or 10. I ran across it a year or so ago and cringed. I still had a lot to learn as a writer.

It’s funny. ‘They’ say read if you want to write. They’re right, but you need to do a lot of writing, too. It takes practice to translate “I know a good story when I read it” into “I wrote a good story.” And an open mind and a mindful purpose to improve and yada yada if you write you’ve probably heard it all before, probably from Stephen King who sells WAY more writing than I do — and almost certainly than you, too, as you read this. And if you’re reading this and you can say you sell like Stephen King, I’m flattered a literary icon of some variety is reading my blog. Hi there!

BUT ANYWAY. I’m pondering trying yet another angle at this self-publishing thing, because what I’m throwing at the wall right now isn’t particularly sticking.

And when I ponder major changes in anything, I tend to beat around the bush a lot before getting to the point.

I’ll try to keep it to a minimum.

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I found this here.

I put my first self-published stories on Smashwords in early 2012. I have since pulled most of those early stories from my catalog and archived them — maybe I’ll rewrite them or repurpose their ideas for new stories; I’m not sure yet. As written, they share some of the just-beginning-to-write-with-publication-in-mind flaws that were in that first story I subbed to F&SF. But already, they were better. And I won’t elaborate more right here and now lest I sidetrack myself again.

Between then and now I have tried different approaches to gaining a wider readership as a self-published author. I have tried a little advertising here and there when I had the budget (Project Wonderful, concentrating on genre webcomics and Google Adwords). I have tried charging for every single story because some people say that’s The Way To Do It. I have tried higher and lower prices for the same reason. I have tried having both few and many free stories because some other people say… you get the point.

I have tried posting links to my stuff on social media often, and less often, and not at all. Scheduling posts and not scheduling posts. I have tried being serious, and I have tried being humorous, and I have tried being self-deprecating.

That last one, self-deprecation, is far too easy to actually do it very much without triggering some sort of depressive crisis. Because self-doubt is very easy when you don’t have a ton of fans — and when your earlier life has given you much ammunition for self-doubt, as mine has. (Which is where I say thanks to the Patreon patrons I have. Because not only do they think well enough of me and what I write to contribute a significant, pay-my-internet-bill amount of money, but they do that while being few in number (at the time of this writing — I hope for this to be incorrect in the near future). And only one of them is my mother! The majority of them are people I have never met in person. And since my personality is probably 51% annoying to only 49% awesome, they MUST believe in my writing.)

So how can I not believe? But, onward:

I have tried and am still trying to drum up MUCH NEEDED BECAUSE I AND MY WIFE AND THREE KIDS LIVE BELOW THE POVERTY LINE SO HEY COME OVER AND HELP ME OUT CANYA? support and readers on Patreon.

And now, shockingly, I’m getting to the point. My latest permutation on the How To Do Self-Publishing thing. Which is an I’m Going To Tweak How I Publish My Stories And Therefore How I Handle My Patreon thing.

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Columbia Pictures, When Harry Met Sally, via Buzzfeed.

Because there’s not really one way. There are the ways that make sense for you and that you like doing enough to do persistently. And, most importantly, that work. Different things work for different people. It’s a controversial point, but if you don’t go all buckwild taking it to absurd extremes and using it as an excuse to sit around and chow entire bags of chips when you should be writing and publishing, it’s also a true point.

Here (is/are) The New Thing(s) I’m considering doing.

Though I will occasionally still publish a free story, I’m planning on pulling most of the ones I have out at present to be integrated into small collections priced at 99 cents. They’ll have a minimum word count of a novella (7500), and probably not much more than a novelette (17,500) on the high side.

I’m still planning on publishing a big collection, Closer Than You Think, in December. It will probably be my last novel-word-count-length collection for a long while.

Currently, I submit stories to various zines for publication. In fact, one is scheduled to be published in Amazing Stories in November.

I’m thinking of stopping that. Not because I don’t like being published. I do! But maybe if I’m going to self-publish I should concentrate on, you know, self-publishing.

Instead, my thought is that I should publish all of my stories straight to Patreon for my patrons to enjoy first. Then publish the ebook, still at least 30 days later as I do now. And usually, now, significantly later, because I’ll be sitting on them until I have enough to fill out a small collection with some kind of unifying theme.

Or should I just sit on all the individual stories and publish the collections, and maybe the longest ones individually? HMMMMM!

With, for the first time, an actual reward structure for patrons. Because I don’t actually have one of those things at the moment. I’m just thankful for the support and give everyone some posts and fiction and ebooks.

Public/ no pledge: microfiction under 250 words, and blog posts.

$1/month pledge or more: gets to see (and get any ebook file I have to give) flash & short stories (7500 words or fewer).

$10/month or more: same as above, but also gets to read novellas & novelettes & collections over 7500 words.

$20/month or more: same as above, and I also mail a signed paper copy of anything I publish in paperback (probably through Createspace).

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The source for this one has BIG BIG DRAMA on it. You have been warned

So that’s what I’m thinking of doing. What do you think of it? Anything you’d do different? Tell me!

Donald Trump Is A Big Orange Bag Of Supervillain Tropes

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Or green. Green is a good color for a villain.

If I wrote Donald Trump as a character, he would never fly outside of overt satire. “He’s too one-dimensional, too absurdly over the top, too poorly conceived. But worst of all, he’s just a trope. In fact, you threw every major supervillain trope but one together and called it done.”

You’d be right, too.

First trope: he thinks he’s the hero. But usually the villain has a rationale for thinking so that makes sense. Like Magneto, out to save the mutants from the humans. But Trump is no Magneto. Trump isn’t that well thought out of a character. More like Mr. Burns from the Simpsons, Trump thinks he’s the hero simply because he is himself. But Mr. Burns is a satirical character, representing greed and the blindness of old money to the daily concerns of the poor and the workers and the middle class. A serious character in a serious story needs to have more to him, and Trump doesn’t.

Trump is a sore loser AND an ungracious winner, which is both a villain trope and a bully trope. Fine, plenty of villains are bullies and vice-versa. There’s nothing too wrong with giving a villain both of these traits; they’re common enough in the real world among assholes. The only real problem is just throwing them willy-nilly in with the rest of the package of tropes without any real justification. Why is Trump a sore loser and an ungracious winner? Because he was raised a spoiled rich brat and has never known being denied everything he ever wanted? That doesn’t wash – Trump HAS been denied things he wants. He has lost properties and yachts and control of businesses because of corporate bankruptcies forced by runaway, mismanaged debt. He began his business life by blowing a million dollar loan and having to appeal to his dad to pull strings to get him tens of millions of dollars in credit, which credit line he promptly maxed out, requiring his dad to give him millions more to bail him out. He’s had opportunity to learn, but apparently hasn’t learned from any of his forty-plus years of experiencing denial and defeat. It’s just not a credible backstory for the character. It’s poor writing.

His self-absorbed egotism and lack of empathy, again, aren’t unbelievable in and of themselves. They’re just so over the top, so glaring. Cartoonish, even. Like reacting to the destruction of the Twin Towers on 9/11 by saying he now has the tallest building in the city. Who the hell would be THAT bereft of humanity? Outside of satire, nobody is going to buy that. Especially if this Trump character is supposed to be a savvy villain. Would Lex Luthor be stupid enough to say something that obviously self-absorbed, even if he believed it? In private, maybe. But TO A JOURNALIST IN A TAPED INTERVIEW? Too cartoonish, outside of maybe a one-shot comic issue where there’s no time for any subtlety or nuance at all.

He’s frequently driven by anger and mocks others for inborn characteristics like disability or physical appearance. SERIOUSLY, COME ON. Those are traits of nameless thug characters, not of big bosses. To be a believable major villain, they have to have some shred of self-control. They can’t just be lashing out randomly every time they don’t like someone. Plus it doesn’t really fit well with the ‘believes he’s the hero’ trope. Again, that trope requires at least a veneer of self-control that this ridiculous Trump character so obviously lacks.

But somehow, he harbors grudges, often for years, over setbacks both minor and major. If he’s so out of control he can’t help but mock a reporter for having a withered arm or resurrect a twenty-year-old feud with an actress over an entirely unconnected matter, how the hell is he focused enough to hold on to all these long-term grudges and plot revenge?

And on top of all that, he’s also blind to major portions of reality. He imagines himself winning when he’s losing. He calls abject business failures – by the way, bankrupting casinos during a gambling industry boom? Failing to sell VODKA, STEAKS, AND FOOTBALL in the United States? Who’s going to believe that shit? – victories. He thinks he’s suave and professional when all he has to do is watch his own interviews to see differently. He thinks he’s an opinion leader when he constantly changes his opinion on every position he’s ever taken.

It’s all too much. Way, way too much. All this isn’t needed to establish a character as a villain, unless he’s deliberately written to be a campy parody. And it’s not even subtle enough for that. There’s a point where the reader says, “this is all too crude and clumsy. It’s not interesting. It’s a mere catalog of assholery. This writer should have just written a listicle entitled “Ten Ways To Be A Total Prick” because I’m not buying the character AT ALL.

And after all that, what is this villain’s nefarious plan? To become the President of the United States and… not do the job. That’s it. To hand the whole job to the Vice President and travel around the country being a cheerleader, giving rah-rah speeches. Really. That’s the big revenge.

BORRRRRRRR-ING.

What’s the missing trope, you ask?

Trump isn’t a casual killer.

As far as we know.

Hurricanes And Tornadoes And Floods, Oh My, Will It Be Easy To Flee…

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…or at least that may be an upside of an ever-more-connected world. The “Internet of Things” future will have to ponder if that and other pluses offset living in a world where any of your belongings might rob you.

In a WiFi saturated world, it may be more than your phone or local news weather report that warns you of imminent weather threats like hurricane, tornado, flood, blizzard, and so forth.

Your refrigerator and thermostat and eyeglasses and bathroom mirror and shoes and – who knows by 30 years from now – the earbuds that semi-permanently reside in your earlobe piercings will keep you updated.

Linked to the hyperlocal weather reports aggregated not just from satellites and airports and weather stations, but from sensors integral to the solar and wind power arrays that feed electricity into every building’s batteries, your belongings will keep you appraised of the weather and what it means to you.

“Close the windows,” your windows will say, possibly via your microwave, showerhead, or belt buckle. If your house is posh enough, they’ll say, “shall we close?” and they’ll do it themselves without orders if rain starts coming in to threaten the carpeting.

“Dude! We need to get out of Dodge right now!” your car (set to “casual” mode, obviously) will exclaim as deadly weather ramps up nearby. Your shoes will wail at you to head for the car, or for the curb where a self-driving Unter can collect you – if only you acknowledge you’ll be there to be picked up for evacuation.

But what if you don’t?

“Acknowledge,” the hall light prompts as you stagger by to find a place to collapse. “Acknowledge,” your thrift store sneaks beg, hearing you, from their home tucked in under the front of your second hand couch. “Acknowledge?” your front door asks querulously, but there’s no answer.

Your snores rise from the couch where you slump, utterly zonked. Maybe you’ve hit the sauce too hard, or been at the recreational drugs, or whatever you’ve been prescribed was just too much for you today. After all, you’ve been preparing for a storm and worrying all day.

And maybe your shirt notices that you’re not waking up and the state of emergency created by the weather allows the Unter car to send in a helper bot to bypass your door lock and carry you out to safety. The Unter takes you smoothly away from the danger despite widespread service outages – it’s not dependent on a centrally coordinated net by able to function as cleanly as a fish in a school…

…to take you to a designated shelter through a flood of traffic far more dense and swift than any human driver could navigate.

And you wake in a high school gymnasium shelter thirty miles away, confused.

But your wristband wearable can tell you what happened. And you’re alive.

#

My God, what a nanny state hell! you say to yourself as you finish reading the above, horrified that the humans of the future might be so helpless and coddled. Hopefully not because you’re a goddamn eugenicist, but surely some of you are. Regardless…

…let me tell you how helpless you really are, roughly from near past to distant. You may be able to contradict a couple statements below. Maybe. But how many? And as a way of life, not a hobby? Are you sure? Read on.

You save your children and yourself from death, pain, infliction of disability, and long-term malaise with medicines and vaccines, most of which were unknown a mere century ago. There’s a fair chance that you, reading this right now, would not be alive without them. I wouldn’t.

You don’t know how to ride, feed, or otherwise care for horses and their harness, because you ride around in automobiles.

You can’t organize a household based on the relatively difficult and time consuming weekly or monthly or seasonal (depending on your distance from civilization) grocery runs. Nor do you know how to keep the things people used to buy from spoilage. Could you buy one cheese wheel per season and keep it good so you could enjoy the last bite three months later? No. You buy a brick of cheese from the store and devour it two days later. Or if you forget it, you find it with a bit of mold and past the expiration date and chuck it straight in the trash.

You buy your food in supermarkets. You don’t know how to dry, salt, pickle, ferment, or can your own food to sustain you through the year. Nor do you know how to store those foods correctly.

You don’t know how to set a bone, stitch shut a wound, or birth a baby.

You can’t make your own clothes from bolts of cloth, needle, and thread.

You don’t know how to spin thread and yarn from cotton and wool or hemp or whatever fiber is local to you.

You don’t know how to winnow chaff, parch grain, grind it by hand, and bake it into bread in your own wood or dung fired hearth.

You don’t know how to bring ten children into the world and bury five of them before their fifth birthday without going mad.

You can’t accept life as a serf, slave, or even vassal – which, historically speaking, the vast majority of people were. You, like everyone else today, assume you’d be some sort of noble because you’re so damned smart. Well, smart wasn’t worth anything if you were born to raise beets. Except maybe getting your smart, restless ass killed.

You don’t know how to build a hut from scratch, or make and keep clean a packed earth floor.

You can’t form a phalanx or ply a sling.

You can’t ride a chariot nor craft a balanced wheel from pieces of wood.

You don’t know the best way to dig edible roots with a pointed stick.

You can’t till and plant a field with a wooden plow, or a hoe, or an adze.

You don’t even know how to save seed for next season’s planting, nor how to figure out how much seed you need to plant your acre.

You don’t know how to rotate crops. You don’t know how long to leave a field fallow. You may not even know what the hell “fallow” means or why it’s a concept.

You don’t know how to slay aurochs and bears with a spear.

You can’t cure hides with brains and piss, nor chew them soft, nor scrape them properly, nor stitch the finished product into decently-fitting boots and cloaks.

You don’t know how to layer for the weather without space-age insulation, processed wools, and garments involving stretchy artificial materials.

You don’t know how to carry embers all day so you can make a fire without having to fool with a bow and drill or flint and pyrite or something.

You can’t tell what kind of animal you’re stalking by looking at its poop.

You don’t know how to stalk an animal, so that last point wouldn’t do you much good if you did know.

You can’t catch a fish with just a length of gut, a bone, and a worm.

You don’t know how to make iron from scratch. Or bronze. Or how to pound native copper into a usable tool. Or knap a knife or spearpoint from stone. You don’t even know how to pick a good stone to knap, the right stone for a striker, and knock off flakes without cutting your fingers open or smashing them.

You don’t know how to cut down a tree with a rock.

Once you’ve cut it down, you don’t know how to make it into a canoe.

You don’t know how to live your entire life on foot, outdoors, in the weather, as a nomad, without even the knowledge of letters or numbers greater than you can count on your fingers.

Maybe you think you do, and it would be an adventure. Well, you don’t. And adventures are awful things that happen to other people that you enjoy listening to when you’re warm and safe.

The “the people have grown soft” of yesterday is today’s “we can get along just fine as we are, thanks.”

Unless we get all obsessive about how great the past was. In which case we may get what we wish for, warts and all.

END

This was posted to my Patreon a week before it appeared here. If you like what I do, help me do it more by contributing!

Most People Give Up

So I saw this tweet today…

…and the title above popped into my head. Along with the very large number of times I have stumbled upon a self-published short story or novel that wasn’t bad, showed promise, and was written five years ago with zero followup and some links to a blog and social media presence aimed at getting people to buy it or download it for free that lasted about a year and abruptly stopped.

 

Most people quit.

Some of them, to be sure, decide that they want to take a different direction and concentrate at succeeding at something else. Well, bravo. Getting good at something takes time and focus, and it’s way too tempting to try to focus on 847 things because they’re all appealing. I know. A ton of things interest me, and I’ve gotten sort of okay at about that many of them. I am distractable. I know what it is like to be distracted by something that seems cool at the moment.

But plenty of others…

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Source. There are others!

…give up because it’s too hard to stick with something until it catches. Hey, we’re all online, we all see stories about Person X who posted ONE LOUSY THING to Place Y and BOOM all of a sudden they’re famous and rolling in dough.

Yeah, maybe it happens once or twice a decade out of the billions of people who post stuff online. And all the rest, there’s a year or ten of steady work getting better at whatever it is they do before that one thing catches on.

If you like what you’re doing — for me, it’s writing science fiction type stuff — keep doing it. If you don’t, you’ll never succeed.

Oh, and talk to other people who do it and like it, whatever your “it” is. Hell, make a Patreon or something about it. I did. Because you never know.

I’m Growing Moss.

Norfolk International  VA  23501  Forecast   Weather Underground.png

So, it has been relentlessly, ridiculously humid here (Norfolk, Virginia) for the last three weeks or so. Door frames are swollen, everything feels damp including me, I am super over it, UGH.

Now, I’m not going to complain TOO much because in the wake of Hurricane Matthew there has been much human suffering not so far to the south of me in Florida, and just HORRIFIC damage in Haiti. Here in Norfolk we’re just forecast to catch the edge of the weather as jerky ol’ Matt does a donut and heads back to rain on the Bahamas some more, hopefully much deflated.

But we’re supposed to get seven freakin’ inches of rain in the next two days.

Norfolk is a major flooding area. We’re the second largest US population center considered to be at high risk for damage due to sea level rise. A lot of that projected damage happens when weather conditions cause flooding. It’s gonna flood! Thankfully my family lives in one of the higher, away from major watercourses area of the city — but that’s only personal relative safety. My town will suffer.

We’re far better off than Haiti, but I’m not expecting tomorrow to be fun.

Elon Musk’s “Heart of Gold”

What a shame the real thing won’t be half as entertaining.

 

Musk shows some fitting sentiment with his idea to name his first Mars-bound settlement ship the Heart of Gold.

The literal meaning is nice. Our best intentions and loftiest goals, finally off to put some of humanity’s eggs in a basket other than Earth. Good show. The best intentions riff generally turns sour eventually, of course, but that’s simply the nature of time and change — someone gets the bright idea to try being meaner for a while, and everyone suffers until they get tired of suffering enough to demand some changes that may or may not help. It’s a fine sentiment, and probably best to start out with that rather than a bunch of cynicism.

The tribute to Douglas Adams and the Hitchhiker’s Guide books is wonderful, as is the general tribute to the role of science fiction in keeping our eyes on the stars and our thoughts on getting somewhere rather than simply digging in deeper like ticks until another dinosaur killer comes around to wipe us out (assuming we don’t take the nuclear and/or germ warfare route). Damn shame Mr. Adams isn’t around to appreciate it. I wonder if he’d be tickled or annoyed or both.

Is it the best name for a spacecraft for a Mars expedition? Maaaaaaaayybe not. Unless we intend to drop a whale and a bowl of petunias on Olympus Mons.

Come to think of it, Olympus Mons would be a fine place to keep a small catalog of planets for sale, or perhaps make a decent summer home for a couple of mice.

Maybe Heart of Gold really is the right name.