All of my (published) stories. Unless I forgot something.

Automation Will Be Bigger Than It Ought To Be


I really hope they don’t automate the babies.

Automation is coming — in fact, it is already here. It will be the biggest story of the 21st century, if underreported due to it being less flashy than a big natural disaster or loudmouth world leader.I say it’s already here because it’s been the biggest story for a while now. It was a big story in the early 20th century when the assembly line became a thing and factories quickly grew into massive employers because of the need for robots, but robots hadn’t been invented yet so they just paid humans to do the exact same small portion of a job over and over and over and over and over and over and over again hundreds of times daily, forever and ever, time without end, amen.

And then someone did invent the robot, and in the last threeish decades of the 20th century it was the biggest story (if underreported) again. People variously blame outsourcing and trade imbalances and minimum wage and unions and other things for the evaporation of middle-class-paying factory jobs, but the fact of the matter is that most of them have given way to automation.

Automation was a major driver in rising income inequality, in the shrinking of the middle class, in the erosion of inflation-adjusted wages, in the increase in part-time jobs and decrease in full-time employment, in the… you get the idea. The ramifications are much wider than we see. Or want to see. Political discourse is still hung up on trade imbalances (I have a HUGE trade imbalance with the grocery store but you don’t see ME crying about it) and tariffs and outsourcing. All those things matter, but not a tenth as much as jobs being replaced by robots that are more cost-effective, don’t call in sick, don’t make worker’s comp claims, don’t unionize, don’t complain about not making enough to pay the rent, eat, and pay for healthcare at the same time, don’t have bothersome events like weddings and funerals to attend, don’t have heart attacks at work which just shoots productivity for the day right down the damn toilet, and more.

Wow, human workers suck compared to workers.

But actually, there are a lot of jobs robots don’t do well. Robots aren’t very adaptable. Robots suck at human interaction. Robots aren’t creative. They just do a simple job or a few simple jobs quickly and well, over and over and over and over and over.

That’s changing. Much like computers that once took up a whole room to serve only as well as the calculator app on the phone in your pocket does today, robots are getting better at their jobs fast. They’re replacing ever more production jobs. They’re making inroads into white collar jobs. They’re heading toward being way more ubiquitous than anyone but a few technologists, futurists, and science fiction writers thought possible even twenty or thirty years ago.

They’re going to end up in places, ultimately, that they really shouldn’t be. And they’ll get there because they will have become way cheaper than now (think of how relatively cheap your smartphone is compared to the supercomputer of the 1990s, which it can outperform) and way more flexible. Adaptable.

People will be up in arms, of course, when robot nurses become common and drive out nearly all the human nurses. Or maybe not nearly, but actually all. Robots can’t show compassion, people will say. They can’t comfort the sick and dying like empathetic humans can. They can’t give the encouragement of conversation and a pat on the shoulder  and the presence of another human being.

Consider, for a moment, the ATM (or, for redundancy enthusiasts, which are apparently nearly everyone, the “ATM machine”). Reaching back to 1993, I found an article in Wired that mentions what people did not like about them when they were becoming common. People didn’t like that they were machinelike. The programmed, stilted greetings and prompts. The lack of human interaction. Sometimes, the lack of security — a human presence other than one potential victim may dissuade some criminals from striking, or at least offer up the comfort of perceived safety, where a machine does not.

But they liked the convenience. Bankers liked that they could reduce teller jobs (though my understanding is they shifted employees to other positions like sales instead of reducing headcount — but that reflects human flexibility. Remember what I said up there about automation becoming more flexible? It will.).

And now the ATM is just an accepted part of life, and hardly anyone complains about them seriously as a thing. People complain about the slowness of individual ATMs just as they complained about the slowness of individual human tellers (and still do). People complain about the fees. But people do not complain about the fact that ATMs are the way we make nearly all of our cash withdrawals and a large number of deposits as well.

Automated nurses will be like that. A couple of decades after they’re introduced, people will stop complaining about them and accept them. It will become social convention that human interaction with patients is the job of family, friends, and whatever volunteers care to look in on those without many of those.

I think that will basically suck, but if the money says robot nurses, we will have robot nurses.

The same story, over the coming decades and perhaps into the 21st (robotic flexibility has a long way to go), will play out among firefighters and police officers and short order cooks and fast food staff and store clerks and warehouse workers and postal carriers and parcel deliverypeople and florists and paralegals and lawyers and EMTs and professional drivers of all stripes and and and…

In a hundred years, I think we’ll be talking about whether or not employment numbers are over five percent, not whether unemployment is over five percent.

It will be a strange world to people like me born in the 1970s. Assuming medical science advances fast enough to keep me alive into the 22nd, which I think is unlikely (DAMMIT).


(This first appeared on my Patreon page ten days ago. Become a patron and regardless of the size of your pledge you will see all of my best and beefiest blog posts at least a week before they appear here!)

So I Was Talking To Some Luddites





Luddites are both annoying and fascinating.

They have the corner of a legitimate argument: technology has the potential to f**k us up royally. Yes, yes it does. I’m a Cold War kid. I remember watching The Day After.


I read (and sometimes write) dystopias. I’m a friggin’ science fiction fan and writer, fer crissake! OF COURSE I KNOW that technology has the potential to f**k us up!

So does a hammer. Or a spear. Or an obsidian flake.

Yes, technology usually needs to be managed. For example, in the wake of the invention of the automobiles we passed scads of laws governing their use. Where they can be used, how fast, what safety equipment can be used. Of course, we still manage to kill and injure about a million of ourselves yearly with the things, as I’ve written elsewhere.

As far as I can tell, the Luddite argument against self-driving cars is that they somehow won’t be regulated like every other invention and that they will somehow do a worse job at coordinating traffic safely than millions and millions of unconnected human brains all in various states of caffeine and fatigue and substance intoxication, plus under the influence of things like anger and grief and arguments and shouting children and dropping burritos in their laps.

Me, I think autonomous cars will do better. Sure, they can be compromised. So can your brakes and steering now — there are plenty of problems that will come up. There always are. Once upon a time fire displaced good old eating meat raw, and then someone burnt up their cave and died. I mean, a Luddite ought to be for going back to horseback… wait, you can fall off… I mean going on foot. Safety first! Hide in your cave!

Anyhow. The exchange with Luddites was amusing and silly. Here are a few tweets about it (this would be on my Patreon (sorry, patrons!), but they don’t seem to support links to tweets, so I have to put tweet-based posts here).

So, that happened. Whatever. I wonder why they just don’t go live without technology? I mean, the Amish manage it nicely without talking about it on Twitter, which you think Luddites would despise and not use.

It’s almost like their ideas don’t make sense except in at the shallowest possible glance — which they seem unable to see past.

At least writing this was fun, and I got to look up some cool images, and I got a blog post out of it. I hope y’all enjoyed it.

Submission And Rejection (For Writers)

This is a little bit especially for people in the early days of their sending-their-writing-to-total-strangers-and-asking-them-to-publish-it careers. Which is daunting. It was for me. It was every time I did it, and so far I’ve chalked up around 200 rejections for 4 acceptances, only two of which are still in print (in the sci-fi world, small mags can come and go fast).

Rejection sucks no matter where you find it, but it’s worth it. And it’s just part of the game. An editor gets hundreds of stories for every one they print. Rejection might mean you need to do more work on your story or your writing in general — but it also often means a story isn’t a good fit for the mag, the upcoming issue, or the editor just likes another story a smidge more. Just part of the game.

But anyway, I had this little exchange. Maybe you can take something away from it.


If you’re going to submit stories, and you might have more than one in circulation — and that’s likely if you’re steadily writing. It can take an editor a day or two to reject a story (Clarkesworld, in my experience, was always quick to reject me, and that’s not only because my stories didn’t do it for the editor, but because they have notoriously fast turnaround in general probably due to hard work and fast reading). Or it can take two weeks, or two months for some markets, sometimes even more. Take a peek at the bottom of the landing page of the Submission Grinder — they keep a running list of response times reported by writers. They also maintain a great list of markets to send stories to if you’re doing that.

It’s very easy to end up with multiple stories in play at once.

So you can use a tracker sheet like I do (below). Or keep a digital record on a spreadsheet. Or something else that suits you.

The advantage of the simple little one-story-per-sheet tracker is it’s very easy to see where a story has been so you don’t send it back to the same place twice (which is a no-no 99.9% of the time).

The weakness of this sheet is that you have to look over all the sheets for all the stories that you have out at a time to make sure you are not submitting a second story to the same market that hasn’t yet decided on the first story you sent them (also a no-no 99.9% of the time).

Personally, I can live with that. You may not be so excited, in which case I’m sorry I wasn’t more help!

The notes section gives you a place to write “send more” if the editor says send more, or anything else you think is relevant. It also gives you a place to note the exclusivity period on the story if you’re accepted so you know when you can resubmit it to a reprint market or self-publish it (which, of course, is my personal game).

Here’s the tracker sheet I use. I wanted simple, so I made simple. I just copy-pasted it here — I don’t know if you can copy it and use it in this form. If not, drop me a comment and I can email you the .doc file.


Word Count:

Submitted To





Fourteen Score And Ten

If lifespans are extended significantly in the future… say, as the title suggests, by a couple hundred years — or even a measly extra century — I think it’s highly likely that as demographics shift towards a preponderance of people over a century old the perception of youth as flighty will… stretch a bit.

Writers under a century old being seen as shallow by default, for example.

Maybe the drinking age will be raised, too.

You might wait until you’re 30 to vote. Or 50. Even 100. In favor of the youth vote? Well, that might be beside the point when 3/4 of the population is over 100 years old.

I’d imagine it would only be a matter of time before various nations amended their constitutions to increase minimum ages for various offices.

If you were 150 years old, would you trust a callow 35 year old to be president?

I can’t imagine I would.

Longevity treatments would probably be a way bigger agent of social change than depicted in most science fiction.

Give it some thought. Really, do. The possibilities are fascinating, and not just because I’d love to live to 200. Or 2000. Wouldn’t say no to 20,000 either.

Short Story (Well, Novelette) Review: And Then There Were (N-One) by Sarah Pinsker

Amazon com Uncanny Magazine Issue 15 March April 2017 eBook

Spoiler Warning: I try to avoid the worst spoilers, but as one of those weirdos who doesn’t care about spoilers I can easily miss them. Assume there are spoilers!

(Also, this appeared about a week ago on my Patreon page — become a patron and you’ll get to read my posts early, too — and sometimes get a free ebook in the bargain!)

And Then There Were (N-One) by Sarah Pinsker (you’ll find it in Uncanny Magazine’s March/April 2017 issue – it’s a public read at this writing) is an alternate worlds yarn. It’s not the standard “let’s see history if X battle were won instead of lost” or “what if dinosaurs evolved human-scale intelligence” alternate world story. It’s still a familiar take, and also a good read.

Standout features: There are some pretty excellent passages pertaining to regrets in life, satisfaction vs. dissatisfaction with your life (yes, yours. I know “universality” is a hotly debated point right now, but regrets are about as universal as you can get I think), as well as love and work-life balance and “life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.”

Impressions: As soon as it became apparent this was a multiple versions of one person story (and that is made obvious quickly), I had a moment of fear that it would be in some way a Citadel of Ricks ripoff. My next thought was that an editor for a prozine or semiprozine would almost certainly not buy a story like that. It isn’t at all such a story.

With the ‘coincidence’ of suthor name and character name(s) I wondered briefly how much author self-insert there was and where. And then I forgot to wonder and it didn’t matter at all. I was too busy reading.

The story maintains a blend of serious and light as it progresses to and through the central, darkish, murder mystery (is a murder ever not dark to some degree or another?). The mystery takes on an extra dimension given the premise. How much of our lives are shaped by self-harm, here being the kinds that don’t show in cuts and balding patches and so forth? What would we do or suffer to change our choices and their ramifications? Why do we spend so much time (well, I do, though I’m (no, really, I’m serious) trying to cut down) maundering over what could have been instead of looking to what tomorrow can be? This story makes you look at that perhaps more than is comfortable, as good stories tend to do with the issues they highlight.

There’s also, by the way, an amusingweird aside in which two Sarahs are clearly contemplating making out. Is that masturbation, incest, or a unique, um, phenomenon? You decide.

The writing isn’t strongly descriptive (which I’m fine with, by the way, even though I’m a description guy most of the time) and tends toward a lean narrative – except when we see the feelings of the main Sarah. Then we get soulful and evocative without the reader getting all covered with syrup or angst. Which was nice; as a Gen-Xer I’m steeped in angst from my foundation and a break from that is always welcome.

The action of the story is clear, though the multiple selves in a convention center aspect (one of those selves being the hotel manager was a touch that makes a lot of sense, and its cleverness should be appreciated, by the way) made me go back and reread a couple of paragraphs a couple of times to be sure I was understanding. I didn’t mind it at all. It seemed natural given all the Sarahs. The minor confusion also lent itself well to the mystery part of things, which resolved in a not unexpected way. I really didn’t care (I feel like I’m saying that too much, but here we are) that I had guessed the general shape of the mystery’s resolution. I was still engaged by the particulars of who exactly did what and why.

The wide range of Sarahs didn’t play a whole much with variability in world events as an influence in what might change a person’s life, though that aspect was there to a small degree and was integral to the resolution. It concentrated way more on reactions to events in one’s own life and how a very small change butterfly-effects a person into something radically different given a decade or two to diverge – we see musician Sarahs, and addicts and alcoholics and scientists and humble insurance investigators (our main Sarah), and equestrians and concentrations of similar types that reflect high likelihoods and foundational traits (the gay Sarahs – I wasn’t quite sure if any were straight, but then we don’t see the sexuality of every Sarah, and we mainly know because most have a girlfriend or wife but not present – the crowd is Sarahs only). Others are outliers, like apparently insurance investigator is not a popular career choice among Sarahs, and only a small handful were transgender.

I appreciated the choice to make the setting an isolated island cut off from outside contact by not only its remote nature but also a nasty weather system. This story had enough on its plate without dragging the wider world into things.

I’m happy to have read this story. It gave me a good plateful of food for thought, and those are my favorite kinds of stories in all their multiplicitous glory.


Just Tell Us What We Owe, Fer Crissake: A Tax Time Rant


Taxes 1913

Dear state and federal government, tax time is fast approaching and of course there is no time to do it this year. Which is kind of the refrain every year IF anyone brings it up. Few people do. They’re busier talking about “abolish the IRS” because that would totally stop people from cheating on their taxes (or mainly corporations and the people with the largest potential tax liability), or “let’s have a flat tax,” because that wouldn’t hurt the poor far more than it hurts the rich (10% of vitally needed food and rent money vs. 15% or 20% of income that is mostly disposable – I know which side of THAT stick I’m rather be holding and which side would be, ah, fecally augmented) or “STUPID TAXES WHY SHOULD I HAVE TO PAY FOR THINGS I’M NOT USING AT THE MOMENT” like they don’t benefit from stuff like the roads they drive on (and which makes transport for goods easy, which keeps prices lower at the stores) and the fire departments that keep their neighborhoods from burning down, the police that discourage people from breaking into their house and pillaging them, and the schools that educate kids so we’re not drowning in way more unskilled labor than we can use and having a majority of the people being desperate and ready to riot. I could go on, but I’m WAY off track as it is.

Doing taxes. It sucks. If you’re lucky enough to have nobody but yourself in your life (if you call that luck; I have been there and I call it lonely) it’s not too hard to do your own EZ form, though I have seen folks at tax prep businesses shelling out cash to have someone else fill it in, for some weird reason. But for most people (and gawd forbid you own a small business that’s not large enough to have a professional accountant or two on staff) it’s a choice between spending hours poring through instruction books and arcane forms, or paying someone else a few hundred bucks to navigate the occult incantations that result in a refund, or at least the payment that you actually owe instead of more because you missed some credit or deduction.

And if you’re badly wrong to their detriment, the government will send you a letter that basically says, “you really screwed this up – either do over or just send us X dollars to make up the difference.”


Y’all know! And still we have to go through this bureaucratic paper-pushing like it’s 1913 and this income tax crap is new to everyone.

Look, I don’t mind paying taxes. I like good roads and law enforcement when it’s not misapplied by beating the hell out of or killing people who deserve due process like, unfortunately, WAY too many POC. I like fire departments and agencies that tell factories that no, they are not allowed to dump spare chemicals in the water table that feed the reservoirs I drink from. I like agencies that tell employers that it’s better to take some frickin’ precautions than kill off or cripple employees because, hey, a lot of people need jobs, we’ll just get another one when we break this one.

I like stuff like space programs, and even the military if only ours would calm down a bit and stop bombing 47 countries at once (actual count may vary – I really hope not upwards).

I like parkland. I like clean air. I like rivers that don’t catch on fire. I like cities that aren’t obscured by smog.

cayuhoga-river-fireLos Angeles xmas eve 1948_0

I don’t mind paying taxes, just like I don’t mind buying a fishing license that goes to support people to make sure we’re not overfishing and to maintain, keep clean, and occasionally restock nice fishing holes.

I do mind the damned paperwork!

There are plenty of countries that just figure your taxes for you and send you a postcard that basically says “please verify this amount and send your payment or receive your refund, or tell us if we’ve got something wrong or you believe you are entitled to pay less or get more back.”

We could do that. Maybe someone could ask those counties how they do it?


Thanks for your time, government. I’m sure you’ll get it right. Probably shortly after I go for a nice dirtnap in (hopefully) fifty years or so.


(This post appeared on my Patreon page a week before it appeared here. Why not be a patron and see this stuff early, and sometimes even get a free ebook?)

Food Printing Could Change So Much

Food printing right now is limited to stuff like pasta and candy. Simple stuff with few ingredients.

But imagine a day when it’s quick and simple to print a burger or pizza or steak.

I don’t know that day will come — it’s difficult to imagine the incredible advances it would take to do such a thing.

But if it gets done it seems likely to proceed like computer tech, from bulky and expensive to cheap and ubiquitous in a generation or two.

Maybe by 2218 we’ll see something like that. It would knock the guts out of the restaurant industry. Make famine response easier. Probably make us all even fatter. It might kill the cooking professions, or make them boutique commodities for rich showoffs.

I would totally buy a food printer. I’d print a box of meringues right now.

Short Story Review: Elves of Antarctica by Paul McAuley

Review 2018 Elves of Antarctica Paul McAuley Drowned Worlds COVER IMAGE

This is the first time I’ve reviewed a short story here. I’m pretty sure, anyway. At the very least, it’s the first time I’ve done it with the intention of doing them as a regular feature of my blog-slash-authorpage. (Note: this first appeared on my Patreon page 8 days ago — become a patron and see blog posts a week-plus early, even if you pledge just ONE dollar.

So, before I begin, some notes.

I think I’ll always lead with a spoiler warning, just in case. Like this: there may be spoilers in here, because 99% of the time I just don’t care about spoilers.

And that’s true. I’m one of those weirdos who can have the ending and twists of a movie, book, or story revealed to me and fully enjoy the thing anyway. I’m kind of a fan of spoiling as a device in fiction, in fact. Stephen King loves to do that. He’ll tell you someone is going to die a hundred pages before they die, and the story of how they die is still delicious. More delicious, I think. The flavor is in the telling.

And I’m not going to give stars. Screw grades, especially when they’re nothing more than my opinion. I always feel awkward trying to give a numerical value to how much I like a thing. I’m also the person who says “well, I don’t really have a favorite, but I do like (names five things)” when asked what their favorite whatever is.

I don’t think less of you if you give stars to things, though. Or have favorites. You do you – and I’m not saying that in a sarcastic way.

Now, the actual review:

Elves of Antarctica by Paul McAuley, found in Drowned Worlds, editor Jonathan Strahan. It’s the kickoff story.

My experience: it was easy to read, but also easy to put down and finish tomorrow, which I did. Neither of those traits, speaking of “put down,” is a putdown. I didn’t find it highly impactful, but it was still worth my time.

Standout features: the worldbuilding was excellent and detailed, as was the backstory of the main character. The story is a fine tour through the state of ecological affairs in the next century, and I found it much in the tradition of Hugo Gernsback with his worldbuilding-heavy “look! It’s the future!” stories. McAuley, however, has not built Hugo’s cardboard cutout characters. While the other characters aren’t fleshed out any more than their cosmetic roles demand, protagonist Mike Torres is a deep and rich character – if the worldbuilding wasn’t so significant to current climate change events, I’d take it for an excuse to plumb the depths of his angst, hope, and his curious entanglement with the phenomenon of the elf stones scattered across the partially uniced landscape of coastal Antarctica (which are inscribed in “elvish,” though are we talking Tolkien’s elvish? How else would people recognize and read Elvish? Maybe I missed the mention of Tolkein – or maybe not. The estate is famously litigious. I was reading this part at three in the morning jotting notes sideways in bed, so who knows what I might have missed in a moment of fatigue.

The stones are mysterious, or not. It’s hard to be sure, and that’s a fine note of humanity in the story. They’re probably placed there by humans, but the “stoners” (distracting name for elf stone enthusiasts, by the way) are happy to muse about mystical origins anyhow. They’re kind of a stand-in for stories in that way – we all know Star Wars is fiction, but there’s a Jedi church anyway. Two of them. Maybe more.

I wasn’t terribly excited to discover that this was a “something happened” story. Don’t come for the wrapup or a hint of conclusion. It’s not there. Which is a thing in the short story world, and there’s still plenty to be had in the reading. I’m just one of those people who favors a more concludey conclusion, even a “let’s just hint at what happens next” ending.

The writing is pretty spare for the most part, definitely in the “just tell the story” tradition – except when it comes to describing the natural world. There, the descriptions become more literary (if maybe prone to cliché phrases like “snow-capped mountains”), a bit closer to poetry, definitely richer and more emotionally evocative. I appreciated it as a touch that created focus on the heart of the story without dragging the reader over and rubbing my nose in it.

Overall, I found it a good read and an excellent way to start an anthology as it takes the reader through a lot of potential developments that are likely to come with a changing climate.



NOW Let’s See You Poop On My Baby Lettuces, You Frickin Cats

Bamboo skewers, three bucks for a hundred.

No cats get speared because when a cat is looking for a congenial place to poop they sniff around instead of leaping in eyes shut.

They come sniffing around and if you’ve placed your skewers well, they realize it’s too much bother and go somewhere else.

It’s great for planters like this, but if you have a larger garden I’m afraid you’re going to have to invest in a fence if you have the same infestation of pooping cats.

Telepathy Is Already A Thing (Kinda) — full Patreon version

I wrote a teaser for this on this blog a while back, then the full version for my Patreon a little over a week ago — though, if you care to become a patron and support my starving-writer self, you get to read things early, see exclusive posts, and sometimes even get free ebooks a month or more before release.

But — here’s the actual post now. Enjoy.


There are a couple of ways telepathy is depicted in science fiction and fantasy. One way is literal reading, where the thoughts of the target come through in words and sentences just as we speak. Since an awful lot of our thinking is preverbal – in fact, words are a filter through which we pass our own thoughts in order to send them to another mind in audible form, which passes them through its own filter – this seems like an awfully limited form. Though still an interesting form you can build a story or skit around.

The other way is a trippier depiction. The telepath receives a mixture of what the telepathee is thinking in words, plus sensations, thoughts, memories, likes and dislikes, experiences, sensory impressions.

You are the telepathee. So am I. We do not have the power of telepathy. Nor do they, technically. But still, they do and they’re reading our minds.

Who are they?

They Live.png

We already know, of course. There have been scads of essays and news stories and studies and marketing plans revolving around the gigantic load of information that Google, Facebook, Twitter, Amazon – pretty much anyone you buy from, anything you do, anything you say on the internet potentially yields useful information about you. What you’re thinking in words, plus sensations, thoughts, memories, likes and dislikes, experiences, even sensory impressions. All of those things provided you mention them online, actively by typing in the words of a post or passively by posting a picture, a meme, a mood, a like/favorite/whatever, reposting or retweeting, hashtagging, buying or wishlisting a thing, leaving a review, banking online – even speaking (or just being in a retail space) in range of your smartphone apps.

If your location is enabled on your smartphone – and lots of us love to use navigation and find out which restaurants are nearby around lunchtime, which depend on it – the speed, pattern, and destinations of your travel are valuable information about who you are and what you do.


But that’s not telepathy, you protest.

Isn’t it? Isn’t it? It’s access to all the things about you that actual telepathy would sniff out. Now, it’s doubtful that a human is accessing your information individually to figure you out. There are programs and algorithms for that, and humans see the results. Humans may be reaching out to you, through junk mail and spam and the advertisements that pop up on your screen unless you’re adblocking, and from political campaigns – which are loving what analyzing the results of this kind of pseudotelepathy can do for them.

What can you do about it?

You can go offline. It’s highly inconvenient, but it can be done. No googling, no online buying, no social media, no blogging, no navigation, no asking your phone where to go for the best burger, no email.

No email.



No publishing online.

There goes my whole writing thing!

Which brings us to the other alternative.

Embrace the beast. It’s a scary thing fraught with the potential for abuse. Unlike previous major social shifts, this one strikes to the heart of privacy, which is a thing almost all of us like. However, you do have a certain defense. It’s the same defense as an antelope in a herd has.

It’s being in a herd. An immense herd of billions.


The odds of you being targeted by any particular negative thing are pretty low – though it happens. One time years ago someone in Brazil tried to use my debit card to buy airline tickets (I was in Norfolk, Virginia at the time, and I haven’t gone sleepwalking since childhood so I know it wasn’t me). Luckily I was as poor then as I was now and the purchase was declined, I was alerted almost instantly, and I changed my card number which was a moderate pain in the butt as I was on a subscription service or two at the time.

It’s sort of a weird helpless feeling to be sure. But it’s probably the same as someone busting in your car window and ripping off your radio (I’m immune to that right now as the family car died and I had it towed away by a parts seller to squeeze the last $150 out of it). That happened to me once.


What is going to happen is that the mercantile powers that be will use what they pry out of you and me via this telepathy type thing to put temptation on every corner.

Temptation was on every corner before – though admittedly now it will be more efficiently targeted, which is a concept that shows up in a lot of science fiction like The Space Merchants by Pohl and Kornbluth, a pretty in-your-face version, or a lot of cyberpunk in a usually more implied fashion.

A bigger negative is one I hinted at above – political use. Right now we’re seeing it as a huge wave of fake news propaganda aimed at the people most likely to be radicalized, and seeking out as-yet-unidentified radicalization targets.

So, no nothing to do about it other than be one in a large herd, and hope to be passed by?

There is one more thing to add to this. It doesn’t stop someone from trying to buy a flight in Brazil on your dime, or from figuring out who you’re likely to vote for and filling your snailmailbox with eight thousand political flyers.

But pursuing an education in digital literacy, marketing awareness, and critical analysis of information and claims can help immensely. It will also help immensely if you teach your children, whether you’re a parent or a teacher or an authority figure of some sort, those skills.

Get to it, folks. There’s a future to navigate.