Folks:
I am first and foremost a FAN -- an SF Fan! And for me, that's the most prestigious status I have won in life.
How did that happen? Well, it's a lifelong story and the story of my life. I was a very lonely person outcast among my age-mates for having a huge vocabulary strewn with 4-syllable words and for loving school except for recess.
And then when I was in 7th Grade, I wrote a Letter of Comment (fan-speak LoC) to AMAZING MAGAZINE, and they published it with my address (not illegal in those days). My mailbox exploded with letters from the N3F (National Fantasy Fan Federation now on the web at http://www.n3f.org/N3F.shtml ) Welcommittee, and I dove in and became a snailmail letterhack because the dolts hadn't invented the web yet!
THIS is the world I was born to live in.
Over the years my books have been published and reviewed in the New York Times (in addition to reviews, a featured article on the front page of the Sunday Books section), Publisher's Weekly, Library Journal, etc. etc. -- a number of magazines and newspapers across the country and internationally, and I've even had a few articles and interviews -- radio, TV, focused on me and what all I do. Even internet radio interviews! (see? THIS is my world!)
But THIS MONTH Jean Lorrah (http://www.jeanlorrah.com ) and I made the front page of a FAN NEWSPAPER!!!
We did the interview at WorldCon -- squeezing it in over breakfast before the daily race from panel to panel, and filled a couple of tapes which the reporter, Catherine Book, had to condense into some kind of sense. She did a great job.
But I had expected to be placed somewhere past the centerfold with 2 continuations. Instead, when my paper copy came in the mail, I saw that we're featured on the front page, ABOVE THE FOLD!!!! With a large picture of both of us!
Most writers would find this event of no note whatsoever. The newspaper circulates only within the SF/F community and mostly in the Southwest -- though a few subscribe from elsewhere. Nowadays it's posted on the internet too. But the paper is by fans about SF/F, and cons, and things of fannish interest. Others wouldn't find the target audience exciting.
For me this is an event to celebrate loudly and joyously.
I MADE THE FRONT PAGE! (with Jean's help of course!)
At this posting, the issue hasn't been put up on the web yet, but you will eventually find it under October/November at
http://www.casfs.org/ConNotations/Index-CN.html
And if you're into SF, you might want to read some previous issues or check out the advertisements which are demographically focused at US!
And hey, you can use 4-syllable words and not be rejected!
Live Long and Prosper,
Jacqueline Lichtenberg
http://www.simegen.com/jl/
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Monday, October 09, 2006
UP CLOSE AND PERSONAL WITH: Rynan "Mack" Makarian
Many of you have no doubt seen in-depth, incisive interviews by noted journalists such as Barbara Walters or Connie Chung. So have I. This isn't going to be one of them. This is just me, wearing my battered reporter's fedora, attempting to weasel out some good gossip from Admiral Rynan Makarian, newly appointed head of the Fifth Fleet. Those of you who've read AN ACCIDENTAL GODDESS havealready met 'Mack', as he's known. Those of you who haven't, here's your chance to get up close and personal with a very tall, dark and handsome man!
REPORTERETTE:
Admiral Makarian, thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to answer my questions. I know getting Cirrus One Station into working shape hasn't been an easy job. How did you feel when H.Q. informed you of your new posting to Cirrus?
MACK:
[leans back in his chair, arches on eyebrow] Honestly, I didn't know whether to be flattered, or to flee. Being the youngest, and newest, admiral in the fleet is something of a responsibility. And I was well aware of Cirrus One's reputation as a space station in the middle of nowhere. Well, maybe not quite in the middle of nowhere. As it's been said, it's located at the last exit before nowhere.
I anticipated there being some personnel problems, some residential problems, some supply problems. I feel fortunate that many of my best officers from the VEDRITOR agreed to accompany me. Lieutenant Pryor, Doc Janek, Commander Rand and of course, Lieutenant Tobias, my Number Two, have been a tremendous help.
REPORTERETTE:
What about those problems you didn't anticipate?
MACK:
[smiles wryly] You mean, like Gille?
REPORTERETTE:
Why would you label Captain Gillaine Davre as a problem, sir?
MACK:
[laughs] As someone who's known her much longer than I have has said, "With Gillie, it's always something". She has... a penchant for trouble. I think it comes from a very deep sense of right and wrong inside her, a very deep sense of fairness. However, she often attacks these problems by herself. It would have been a lot easier if she'd simply have told me what was going on. After all, Cirrus One is my station.
REPORTERETTE:
Are you saying that you were angry that she didn't tell you who she was?
MACK:
At the time, I think I was more shocked, more surprised, than angry. Later, yes. But moreso because I was worried she didn't trust me. [leans forward] I'm a very straightforward person. I don't play games. My crew, my officers know that. I'd hoped Gillie did... well, actually, she did know that. But when I told her I was in love with her, the entire issue became more complicated. [smiles softly]
REPORTERETTE:
So what's it like, being in love with, and being loved by, a goddess?
MACK:
Heavenly. [grins widely]
REPORTERETTE:
[groans] Thank you again for your time, Admiral Makarian. Please feel free to bring Lady Gillaine to the Intergalactic Bar & Grille anytime for a drink!
REPORTERETTE:
Admiral Makarian, thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to answer my questions. I know getting Cirrus One Station into working shape hasn't been an easy job. How did you feel when H.Q. informed you of your new posting to Cirrus?
MACK:
[leans back in his chair, arches on eyebrow] Honestly, I didn't know whether to be flattered, or to flee. Being the youngest, and newest, admiral in the fleet is something of a responsibility. And I was well aware of Cirrus One's reputation as a space station in the middle of nowhere. Well, maybe not quite in the middle of nowhere. As it's been said, it's located at the last exit before nowhere.
I anticipated there being some personnel problems, some residential problems, some supply problems. I feel fortunate that many of my best officers from the VEDRITOR agreed to accompany me. Lieutenant Pryor, Doc Janek, Commander Rand and of course, Lieutenant Tobias, my Number Two, have been a tremendous help.
REPORTERETTE:
What about those problems you didn't anticipate?
MACK:
[smiles wryly] You mean, like Gille?
REPORTERETTE:
Why would you label Captain Gillaine Davre as a problem, sir?
MACK:
[laughs] As someone who's known her much longer than I have has said, "With Gillie, it's always something". She has... a penchant for trouble. I think it comes from a very deep sense of right and wrong inside her, a very deep sense of fairness. However, she often attacks these problems by herself. It would have been a lot easier if she'd simply have told me what was going on. After all, Cirrus One is my station.
REPORTERETTE:
Are you saying that you were angry that she didn't tell you who she was?
MACK:
At the time, I think I was more shocked, more surprised, than angry. Later, yes. But moreso because I was worried she didn't trust me. [leans forward] I'm a very straightforward person. I don't play games. My crew, my officers know that. I'd hoped Gillie did... well, actually, she did know that. But when I told her I was in love with her, the entire issue became more complicated. [smiles softly]
REPORTERETTE:
So what's it like, being in love with, and being loved by, a goddess?
MACK:
Heavenly. [grins widely]
REPORTERETTE:
[groans] Thank you again for your time, Admiral Makarian. Please feel free to bring Lady Gillaine to the Intergalactic Bar & Grille anytime for a drink!
~Linnea, feeling silly today...
Sunday, October 08, 2006
Undressing the heroine
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Survival is more than a matter of making out.
Djetth and Martia-Djulia have been dropped into an alien sea, and are marooned on a deserted island.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Haven’t you got a simple petticoat or shift under all that? No, I don’t suppose you have.” He tilted his head to one side and seemed to consider. “My T-shirt is bone dry. I could lend it to you.”
“I would not be seen dead in male underwear.”
“If you die, I’ll take it off you.”
Martia-Djulia hadn’t expected to laugh. Djetth’s warped sense of humor took her completely by surprise. She found herself laughing aloud before she could reflect on the unwisdom of encouraging him.
“That would be acceptable,” she said formally.
As they neared the fire, she straightened her back and lifted her chin. “Owing to the action of the sea water, I may require some assistance,” she said with as much dignity and detachment as possible under the humiliating circumstances.
“Of course,” Djetth said urbanely. “Your things have shrunk. I should have thought of that.”
“Why should you?” she questioned, wondering whether he was mocking her. It was, after all, quite implausible that her clothes had really shrunk.
He threw her a disquieting look.
“Are we as close to the fire as we want to be for this exercise?” he asked. “Some of this stuff you are wearing could conceivably be flammable.”
Martia-Djulia inclined her head in acknowledgement of his concern for her safety, then turned her back to him.
Nothing happened.
“My sleeves seem tight. I cannot reach between my shoulder blades. Please unfasten my dress at the back.”
“Oh, yes, of course. Happy to.” He sounded distracted.
Martia-Djulia felt his breath on the bare skin above her scooped neckline. His warm, clumsy fingers brushed the curve of her hips and curled around the back of her waist. It was almost as if he held her from behind at arms’ length while he bent to study the intricacies of her fastenings.
“Start at the top,” Martia-Djulia suggested.
“Hmmm,” he commented obscurely. Instead of obeying a simple instruction, he stroked his fingers up either side of her sensitive spine. “It seems to me that this fabric has not shrunk evenly. I think that there would be less strain if I were to alternate.”
Martia-Djulia didn’t know what to say. She could hardly contradict herself and tell him that the fabric had not shrunk. Yet, he seemed to be using shrinkage as a pretext to gently and firmly stroke her body around each successive —or alternating— fastening.
Up. And down. Up… It was most unnecessary.
INSUFFICIENT MATING MATERIAL will be in bookstores as of January 31st 2007.
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Where it all began
When talking of Futuristic Hunks I have to revisit where it all began. And that was of course with Star Trek. Yes I was addicted. The first episode I ever saw was the one with Kirk battling the rock monster and of course he got his shirt ripped off. Which leads me to think of Galaxy Quest and Tim Allen getting his shirt ripped off. Kind of not the same. And I wasn't more than ten at the time so not the same effect. But I did love Kirk...well just because he was Kirk.
But then Chekov came along. Sigh. For my just turned teen heart he was just the right fit. Think that's what they had in mind when he came on? Someone to connect with the teeny boppers?
Chekov with his cute brown hair and his exotic accent and his hippie ex girlfriend. Yep. Love at first sight. Trouble was I didn't know his first name until the hippie exgirlfriend showed up. Kind of hard to sigh Chekov.
I was glad to see he advanced in Star Fleet. Got his own command. Had a brain worm dropped in his ear. But he survived. I don't think I could have stood it if they killed off Chekov. But come to think of it I never saw him in one of those red shirts which was always a sure sign of disater.
Cindy Holby
(posted in her absence by Rowena Cherry)
But then Chekov came along. Sigh. For my just turned teen heart he was just the right fit. Think that's what they had in mind when he came on? Someone to connect with the teeny boppers?
Chekov with his cute brown hair and his exotic accent and his hippie ex girlfriend. Yep. Love at first sight. Trouble was I didn't know his first name until the hippie exgirlfriend showed up. Kind of hard to sigh Chekov.
I was glad to see he advanced in Star Fleet. Got his own command. Had a brain worm dropped in his ear. But he survived. I don't think I could have stood it if they killed off Chekov. But come to think of it I never saw him in one of those red shirts which was always a sure sign of disater.
Cindy Holby
(posted in her absence by Rowena Cherry)
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Aliens Among Us
Recently I read an unusual "aliens among us" romance, THE DEMON'S DAUGHTER, by Emma Holly. Set in an alternate-world analogue of Victorian London, this novel envisions an Earth on which "demons" called the Yama dwell in the far north and have begun to mingle with ordinary human beings. Not truly demonic, the Yama are another species, humanoid but not human, capable of draining "etheric energy," and some of them find human etheric energy irresistibly tempting. Scotland Yard Inspector Adrian Phillips specializes in tracking down missing children, including those illicitly sold to the Yama. He has undergone enhancement with Yama implants that endow him with superhuman strength, a benefit that comes at a price of exhaustion in the aftermath of each use of this power. His colleagues view him with suspicion because he has accepted this operation, but the department needs him because he is one of the few officers who can function effectively in the part of the city where the Yama are in the majority. His work brings him into contact with Roxanne, an artist who takes him in after he has been injured while incognito in a dangerous sector of the metropolis. Soon afterward, Roxanne discovers that she is half "demon," a crossbreed previously thought to be impossible. Adrian's enemies and those of Roxanne's newfound Yama father, a prominent diplomat, place the two protagonists' lives as well as their relationship at risk. Moreover, Adrian's love affair with Roxanne threatens his law-enforcement career, the core of his identity. Since the late Victorian period is my favorite era, I found Holly's adaptation of that world enthralling, an excellent piece of world-building. Also, she writes some of the best erotic scenes I've read in a long time, both hot and tender. Reflecting on Holly's world started me thinking about other scenarios in which aliens establish a presence as a minority amid the human population.
In the "Tripods" YA trilogy by John Christopher (THE WHITE MOUNTAINS, THE CITY OF GOLD AND LEAD, and THE POOL OF FIRE, later supplemented by a prequel, WHEN THE TRIPODS CAME) extraterrestrials have built enclaves on Earth. As hostile conquerors whose motives are mysterious, they present a frightening enigma to the human characters, who know them only as monstrous, three-limbed machines (apparently modeled on the Martians in WAR OF THE WORLDS). Young people approaching adulthood are "capped" with helmets that make them docile slaves to the Tripods. Will, the teenage hero, escapes to the White Mountains and later infiltrates the City of Gold and Lead, a Tripod metropolis, where he becomes servant to one of the aliens. The ETs turn out to be tentacled creatures who can't survive in Earth's atmosphere. Knowledge brings Will some degree of understanding of them, but the Tripods are still implacable invaders.
More interesting in terms of a wide range of interactions between locals and interstellar visitors is Marion Zimmer Bradley's Darkover series. The earliest-published books focus on encounters between native Darkovans and the Terran newcomers. Darkover is, in fact, a lost colony from Earth's early period of interstellar exploration, but this fact isn't generally known until late in the series' chronology. So, to the feudal society of Darkover, where psychic powers called "laran" take the place of hard science, the Terrans in their spaceport compound, with their advanced technology, are aliens from a strange culture with odd customs and suspicious motives. Freedom of contact between Darkovans and Terrans varies over several generations, so that much of the time the two peoples appear exotic and mysterious to each other. THENDARA HOUSE involves a particularly interesting situation, with a Terran and a Darkovan woman essentially changing places, each having to adjust to life in the opposite culture.
Then there's the archetypal spaceport bar setting, like the tavern where Luke first meets Han Solo in STAR WARS. Neither invaders nor permanent residents, throngs of wildly different aliens from many worlds mingle on neutral ground. These four fictional universes suggest a few kinds of modus vivendi that might develop if the aliens came to us (instead of vice versa) without annihilating us on sight.
In the "Tripods" YA trilogy by John Christopher (THE WHITE MOUNTAINS, THE CITY OF GOLD AND LEAD, and THE POOL OF FIRE, later supplemented by a prequel, WHEN THE TRIPODS CAME) extraterrestrials have built enclaves on Earth. As hostile conquerors whose motives are mysterious, they present a frightening enigma to the human characters, who know them only as monstrous, three-limbed machines (apparently modeled on the Martians in WAR OF THE WORLDS). Young people approaching adulthood are "capped" with helmets that make them docile slaves to the Tripods. Will, the teenage hero, escapes to the White Mountains and later infiltrates the City of Gold and Lead, a Tripod metropolis, where he becomes servant to one of the aliens. The ETs turn out to be tentacled creatures who can't survive in Earth's atmosphere. Knowledge brings Will some degree of understanding of them, but the Tripods are still implacable invaders.
More interesting in terms of a wide range of interactions between locals and interstellar visitors is Marion Zimmer Bradley's Darkover series. The earliest-published books focus on encounters between native Darkovans and the Terran newcomers. Darkover is, in fact, a lost colony from Earth's early period of interstellar exploration, but this fact isn't generally known until late in the series' chronology. So, to the feudal society of Darkover, where psychic powers called "laran" take the place of hard science, the Terrans in their spaceport compound, with their advanced technology, are aliens from a strange culture with odd customs and suspicious motives. Freedom of contact between Darkovans and Terrans varies over several generations, so that much of the time the two peoples appear exotic and mysterious to each other. THENDARA HOUSE involves a particularly interesting situation, with a Terran and a Darkovan woman essentially changing places, each having to adjust to life in the opposite culture.
Then there's the archetypal spaceport bar setting, like the tavern where Luke first meets Han Solo in STAR WARS. Neither invaders nor permanent residents, throngs of wildly different aliens from many worlds mingle on neutral ground. These four fictional universes suggest a few kinds of modus vivendi that might develop if the aliens came to us (instead of vice versa) without annihilating us on sight.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
The Fly In The Ointment
Folks:
Human beings are monstrously complex critters, and I see no reason to assume that non-human intelligences would be any less complex (maybe more, but not less).
So what is it that makes a "soul-mate" -- the dimension that adds so much spice to the sex?
Does it take one dimension of connection between two people? Or two? Or a thousand? How many dimensions (as up/down + left-right + front-back make our usual 3 spacial dimensions) does it take to define an human being? Or believable alien we could relate to?
In mathematics, each variable makes a "dimension" or "axis" and mathematicians work in "n-dimensions" (as do chemists).
So human beings have to be considered to have a larger number of dimensions than space-time. (the 4-dimensional model of the universe).
I believe I mentioned in a previous post that string theory has led to the theory that there are 11 (not more, and not less, but exactly 11) alternate universes to our reality. (that's not proven; it's a theory).
So if there are 11 versions of "you" out there, each with who knows how many dimensions of measurement defining them, would you fall in love with "yourself" if you met "yourself"?
Would other versions of you be attractive to you?
Other versions of you would be about as close to you as you could ever get. Would they contain the makings of a "soul-mate?"
Somehow, I don't think so. We look for opposites, complements, recognizable pieces of ourselves that are missing -- not someone identical to ourself.
This begs the question of whether the other 11 dimensional yous out there share your soul, or have totally unique and different souls like other people do (theoretically!) Actually, there is a theory that a "soul" is really splintered into many parts, and our search for "the right person" is really the search for the other parts of ourselves.
So what is it we actually search for in a soul-mate, and how can this be depicted for us in a romance novel?
Some of you may have noticed that awe-struck.net (one of the premier e-book romance publishers) is now open for romance submissions in all kinds of sub-genres. Alas I don't have anything ready that resembles what they're looking for, and I have too many other deals cooking to focus on that market -- but some of you might. Go for it!
Because somewhere, some time, somebody is going to nail this "soul-mate" issue, and it could be you!
So what could make a good theory to explore in an alien-romance?
Well, the essence of story is CONFLICT -- and the "soul-mate" theory appears on the surface to be the quintessenital definition of "NO CONFLICT" relationship.
However, I pointed out above that very likely a "you" from one of the 10 other alternate universes wouldn't be likely to be your soul-mate. Though we yearn to team up with (not necessarily "marry" in the classic sense, but form a life-bond that can't be broken) someone we don't FIGHT with, what we actually do is pick someone we love to fight with.
So any soul-mate AR has to include some kind of conflict to fight about, something that threatens the relationship even though the relationship is unbreakable. That's what makes the best story! Why? Because in real life, that's the formula for the best marriages.
So what is it that makes for a great fight between soul-mates? What is the formula for creating the "fly in the ointment?"
Back to "dimensions" that define humans and our fictional aliens.
We don't really know how many independent variables it takes to create a human -- it could be n-dimensions (i.e. an infinitely large number or at least an indeterminately large number).
However, we have a working model that READERS respond to whether they are consciously aware of it or not. That is astrology where there are 10 clearly defined parameters to each personality. The shape of the life pattern that personality has to cope with is defined by 2 additional variables -- the ascendant and the MC (i.e. where on Earth you are born)
These 10 paramters (SUN, MOON, MERCURY, VENUS, MARS, JUPITER, SATURN, URANUS, NEPTUNE AND (despite the recent demotion to a non-planet) PLUTO) each are projected against an array of 12 other paramters (the signs of the zodiak) but those are systematically arrayed. And likewise the "planets" though they move, do not move "independently" -- but rather they move predictably and form well defined patterns with several patterns disallowed (you can't have a retrograde moon if you're born on Earth!)
So people are not random mixes of traits. And I submit that this non-randomness is what makes it possible to find and team up with a soul-mate.
If we use the model that astrology offers, we see that the "personality" traits are set at birth, and the ups and downs of life are set into a very specific pattern at birth. In many astrological models there is another dimension, another variable -- THE SOUL.
"You" aren't your birth chart. "You" aren't your life-pattern set by your birthtime. You are a SOUL trying to cope with either the tempting-to-laziness ease of your birth chart, or trying to battle the innate adversities, or trying to mature your soul to surmount all difficulties.
Your natal chart does not define you -- you define it. That's why the best astrologers have to ask so many questions about what you've already done with your life before venturing an analysis of what options you might have in front of you now.
There is a branch of astrology that deals exclusively with RELATIONSHIPS -- and though I'm no expert in it, I have delved into its mechanisms and assumptions. It really can describe relationships.
So what do we learn by examining dozens (hundreds!) of real-life existing relationship patterns - successful marriages, and mediocre, and burdensome, and disasterous marriages?)
We learn that in our real lives, "soul-mates" do exist though they rarely find each other. But even when they do -- there's always a fly in the ointment! Something they fight about -- something they're incompatible about.
A successful marriage isn't one without incompatibilities -- but rather contains two MATURE souls who have found appropriate coping mechanisms for dealing with a) their personality traits, and b) their life-pattern, as shown in their natal charts.
When two such mature souls relate to each other, understand each others' daily battles with temptations to laziness, soul-destroying terrors, high spiritual ambitions, or unbridled greeds, and understand the knife-edge on which each stands with respect to those battles, such a marriage will last and last, very likely for an eternity.
So what is the secret to the soul-mate marriage that lasts? What is the model we look to describe with our writer's craft and art?
Now we veer away from astrology into pop-psychology.
If you've read enough pop-psychology, you've encountered the concept of a person's psychological "defenses." These are the philosophies, actions, habits of thought or deed, or emotional armor reflected in body-armor, that allow a soul to cope with a natal chart and live a long, productive and satisfying life, with all the ups and downs of happiness that takes.
Defenses are the core of the soul's coping mechanism, and only some of them are unhealthy, life-stultifying, etc. And even if they are unhealthy, they MIGHT be optimizing that soul's existence in this life.
The immature souls seem to go through life chopping, hacking, whacking, and blasting their way through other people's defenses "for their own good." Forcing people to think about what they don't want to think about -- for their own reasons.
A prime example is the "female" focus on thinking about, dwelling on, and living in the emotional world -- insisting on verbalizing issues about Relationship. While the "male" is utterly averse to this kind of mental focus. (stipulating that "male" and "female" aspects are in every human).
Current pop-psychology (Oprah; Dr. Phil) seems focused on destroying these defenses, breaking down barriers, exposing private matters, confessing your feelings, and "being honest" in public about what happens in the bedroom.
Art, however, gains power from guarding privacy, maintaining psychological defenses. And AR is art, after all.
I submit that it is possible that the mature soul RESPECTS the coping mechanisms, the psychological defenses, of others, recognizing them for what they are, (optimizers that perhaps are expensive in terms of psychological health, but still necessary), and understanding the issues and territories they defend.
Think about the TV show, MONK. He's a crackerjack detective who goes to a shrink because of the percieved flaw of his obsessive-compulsive behaviors (which are taken to such an extreme as to be ridiculous). The show is based on the assumption that his O-C behaviors are a flaw.
Note also he's not married.
Suppose he met up with someone who could percieve the value in his O-C behavior? Who could respect the fence of ideas and assumptions (about cleanliness) that he puts up around himself? Someone in whom he could see some other set of defenses they used to balance the conflict between the nature of their souls - and the nature of their natal-chart?
Would that make the perfect soul-mate marriage for Monk?
If not, what would?
Can you think of some other character on TV to design a soul-mate for?
Jacqueline Lichtenberg
http:www.simegen.com/jl/
Human beings are monstrously complex critters, and I see no reason to assume that non-human intelligences would be any less complex (maybe more, but not less).
So what is it that makes a "soul-mate" -- the dimension that adds so much spice to the sex?
Does it take one dimension of connection between two people? Or two? Or a thousand? How many dimensions (as up/down + left-right + front-back make our usual 3 spacial dimensions) does it take to define an human being? Or believable alien we could relate to?
In mathematics, each variable makes a "dimension" or "axis" and mathematicians work in "n-dimensions" (as do chemists).
So human beings have to be considered to have a larger number of dimensions than space-time. (the 4-dimensional model of the universe).
I believe I mentioned in a previous post that string theory has led to the theory that there are 11 (not more, and not less, but exactly 11) alternate universes to our reality. (that's not proven; it's a theory).
So if there are 11 versions of "you" out there, each with who knows how many dimensions of measurement defining them, would you fall in love with "yourself" if you met "yourself"?
Would other versions of you be attractive to you?
Other versions of you would be about as close to you as you could ever get. Would they contain the makings of a "soul-mate?"
Somehow, I don't think so. We look for opposites, complements, recognizable pieces of ourselves that are missing -- not someone identical to ourself.
This begs the question of whether the other 11 dimensional yous out there share your soul, or have totally unique and different souls like other people do (theoretically!) Actually, there is a theory that a "soul" is really splintered into many parts, and our search for "the right person" is really the search for the other parts of ourselves.
So what is it we actually search for in a soul-mate, and how can this be depicted for us in a romance novel?
Some of you may have noticed that awe-struck.net (one of the premier e-book romance publishers) is now open for romance submissions in all kinds of sub-genres. Alas I don't have anything ready that resembles what they're looking for, and I have too many other deals cooking to focus on that market -- but some of you might. Go for it!
Because somewhere, some time, somebody is going to nail this "soul-mate" issue, and it could be you!
So what could make a good theory to explore in an alien-romance?
Well, the essence of story is CONFLICT -- and the "soul-mate" theory appears on the surface to be the quintessenital definition of "NO CONFLICT" relationship.
However, I pointed out above that very likely a "you" from one of the 10 other alternate universes wouldn't be likely to be your soul-mate. Though we yearn to team up with (not necessarily "marry" in the classic sense, but form a life-bond that can't be broken) someone we don't FIGHT with, what we actually do is pick someone we love to fight with.
So any soul-mate AR has to include some kind of conflict to fight about, something that threatens the relationship even though the relationship is unbreakable. That's what makes the best story! Why? Because in real life, that's the formula for the best marriages.
So what is it that makes for a great fight between soul-mates? What is the formula for creating the "fly in the ointment?"
Back to "dimensions" that define humans and our fictional aliens.
We don't really know how many independent variables it takes to create a human -- it could be n-dimensions (i.e. an infinitely large number or at least an indeterminately large number).
However, we have a working model that READERS respond to whether they are consciously aware of it or not. That is astrology where there are 10 clearly defined parameters to each personality. The shape of the life pattern that personality has to cope with is defined by 2 additional variables -- the ascendant and the MC (i.e. where on Earth you are born)
These 10 paramters (SUN, MOON, MERCURY, VENUS, MARS, JUPITER, SATURN, URANUS, NEPTUNE AND (despite the recent demotion to a non-planet) PLUTO) each are projected against an array of 12 other paramters (the signs of the zodiak) but those are systematically arrayed. And likewise the "planets" though they move, do not move "independently" -- but rather they move predictably and form well defined patterns with several patterns disallowed (you can't have a retrograde moon if you're born on Earth!)
So people are not random mixes of traits. And I submit that this non-randomness is what makes it possible to find and team up with a soul-mate.
If we use the model that astrology offers, we see that the "personality" traits are set at birth, and the ups and downs of life are set into a very specific pattern at birth. In many astrological models there is another dimension, another variable -- THE SOUL.
"You" aren't your birth chart. "You" aren't your life-pattern set by your birthtime. You are a SOUL trying to cope with either the tempting-to-laziness ease of your birth chart, or trying to battle the innate adversities, or trying to mature your soul to surmount all difficulties.
Your natal chart does not define you -- you define it. That's why the best astrologers have to ask so many questions about what you've already done with your life before venturing an analysis of what options you might have in front of you now.
There is a branch of astrology that deals exclusively with RELATIONSHIPS -- and though I'm no expert in it, I have delved into its mechanisms and assumptions. It really can describe relationships.
So what do we learn by examining dozens (hundreds!) of real-life existing relationship patterns - successful marriages, and mediocre, and burdensome, and disasterous marriages?)
We learn that in our real lives, "soul-mates" do exist though they rarely find each other. But even when they do -- there's always a fly in the ointment! Something they fight about -- something they're incompatible about.
A successful marriage isn't one without incompatibilities -- but rather contains two MATURE souls who have found appropriate coping mechanisms for dealing with a) their personality traits, and b) their life-pattern, as shown in their natal charts.
When two such mature souls relate to each other, understand each others' daily battles with temptations to laziness, soul-destroying terrors, high spiritual ambitions, or unbridled greeds, and understand the knife-edge on which each stands with respect to those battles, such a marriage will last and last, very likely for an eternity.
So what is the secret to the soul-mate marriage that lasts? What is the model we look to describe with our writer's craft and art?
Now we veer away from astrology into pop-psychology.
If you've read enough pop-psychology, you've encountered the concept of a person's psychological "defenses." These are the philosophies, actions, habits of thought or deed, or emotional armor reflected in body-armor, that allow a soul to cope with a natal chart and live a long, productive and satisfying life, with all the ups and downs of happiness that takes.
Defenses are the core of the soul's coping mechanism, and only some of them are unhealthy, life-stultifying, etc. And even if they are unhealthy, they MIGHT be optimizing that soul's existence in this life.
The immature souls seem to go through life chopping, hacking, whacking, and blasting their way through other people's defenses "for their own good." Forcing people to think about what they don't want to think about -- for their own reasons.
A prime example is the "female" focus on thinking about, dwelling on, and living in the emotional world -- insisting on verbalizing issues about Relationship. While the "male" is utterly averse to this kind of mental focus. (stipulating that "male" and "female" aspects are in every human).
Current pop-psychology (Oprah; Dr. Phil) seems focused on destroying these defenses, breaking down barriers, exposing private matters, confessing your feelings, and "being honest" in public about what happens in the bedroom.
Art, however, gains power from guarding privacy, maintaining psychological defenses. And AR is art, after all.
I submit that it is possible that the mature soul RESPECTS the coping mechanisms, the psychological defenses, of others, recognizing them for what they are, (optimizers that perhaps are expensive in terms of psychological health, but still necessary), and understanding the issues and territories they defend.
Think about the TV show, MONK. He's a crackerjack detective who goes to a shrink because of the percieved flaw of his obsessive-compulsive behaviors (which are taken to such an extreme as to be ridiculous). The show is based on the assumption that his O-C behaviors are a flaw.
Note also he's not married.
Suppose he met up with someone who could percieve the value in his O-C behavior? Who could respect the fence of ideas and assumptions (about cleanliness) that he puts up around himself? Someone in whom he could see some other set of defenses they used to balance the conflict between the nature of their souls - and the nature of their natal-chart?
Would that make the perfect soul-mate marriage for Monk?
If not, what would?
Can you think of some other character on TV to design a soul-mate for?
Jacqueline Lichtenberg
http:www.simegen.com/jl/
Sunday, October 01, 2006
My Favorite Earthling
Susan Grant kindly rejoins us with another excerpt, which continues from the first chapter posted on September 17th.
-----------------------------------------
Excerpted from MY FAVORITE EARTHLING
by SUSAN GRANT
copyright Susan Grant 2006
MARCH 2007
ISBN 0373771924; HQN books
This uncorrected excerpt may contain errors and other text not found in the final printed novel and is not for sale. Please don’t share the text with anyone without first receiving permission from the author to do so.
Chapter Two
Talk about a morning after, Jared Jasper thought and shoved on a pair of mirrored Oakley sunglasses. He felt like he’d been run over by a truck. An eighteen-wheeler. Fully loaded.
His aching head and dry mouth wasn’t from a hangover. The single bottle of beer he’d sucked down twelve hours ago had metabolized out of his system so long ago that he barely remember drinking it. It was post-saving-the-world syndrome, he decided, reaching for a little elusive humor to carry him through the day. Saving the world wasn’t for the weak, especially when it was followed by losing a grandfather whose passing would leave a gaping hole in his life, topped off by having to make an appearance in front of a cheering crowd of thousands outside the hospital an hour later. After losing a loved one, you craved privacy; it was only human. But his family didn’t enjoy the kind of privacy others did. The Jaspers were a political dynasty second only to the Kennedys. Senators, congressmen, governors, both at the national and state level, they were called California’s “First Family.”
But no fundraiser or election victory party had ever come close to matching yesterday’s spontaneous celebration in front of the hospital, a celebration Jared would love to have shared, if he hadn’t known too much. If he hadn’t known the aliens were coming back, and if he hadn’t known they were so territorially ravenous that they combed the stars scooping up habitable worlds like pieces in a chess game so they could stay one up in their opponent, the Drakken Hoard, overseen by an aging Darth-Vaderish warlord named Lord-General Rakkuu. Yeah, he’d have celebrated if he hadn’t known the Coalition considered what they did acquisition, not invasion, even though it meant removing the entire native population and shipping them somewhere else. Not to where the good real estate was located, Jared was sure.
He made a sound of contempt in his throat as he pulled on a sweatshirt and prepared to leave the family ranch where everyone else was still sleeping. Give him half a chance and he’d teach the Coalition a thing or two about acquisitions and hostile takeovers. They wouldn’t like it. He guaranteed that.
Problem was, it wasn’t up to him—or guys like him. He considered himself more of a scrappy mediator than an eloquent boardroom negotiator. When it came to politics, too many people in his family did it better. Or at least they enjoyed it, which was more than he could say about his feelings on the subject. Yet, the elder Jaspers hadn’t tried to stop him when he decided to pursue dual careers in commercial real estate and military flying. His grandfather, while accepting of his choice, had been somewhat disappointed, but soon he had Jana to groom whose success had brought the old man immeasurable pleasure up until the day he died. But in Grandpa’s view, every Jasper was a public servant, politico or no. “Our duty to others comes before our own interests and ambition,” he’d say, and had drilled it into each one of them since birth.
Jared was no stranger to duty—his National Guard career testified to that; he just wasn’t cut out for the “sacrifice your life for the greater good” thing. He’d fight in the trenches to the bitter end, but he wasn’t going to lead the charge.
The sun was barely up as he grabbed the keys to his Bronco and walked outside. The threat of alien invasion seemed to hang over the world like summer smog in the LA basin. He made up his mind to stick with his routine: Starbucks then the gym. After working out, he’d head to the office, although his eerily efficient staff would probably ask why he’d bothered.
How would he answer the question? That he was restless? Sleep-deprived? That somehow his view of life, his future, had shifted, and what used to feel comfortable about his existence now felt like a new pair of shoes that rubbed? He doubted he was the only one on Earth feeling this way, but his deeper involvement magnified the symptoms.
Jared sat in the idling truck, gripping the steering wheel as he watched the sun rise over the ranch house roof. Everyone who mattered to him was inside that house. His parents, his sisters. And now Cavin. They all maintained separate residences, but somehow they always gravitated back here, where they grew up.
Where all the good memories live.
As first-born, the ranch would be his someday. He’d raise a family here, and his children would run through the fields and climb the trees, riding the old tire swing to splash landings in the year-round pond. Sure, he was a ways off from settling down, but it was comforting somehow, knowing that life waited for him.
Waited for him? Was he freaking hallucinating? An alien army was off somewhere, regrouping. Unless Earth figured out to keep them away, extraterrestrials would be taking up residence at the ranch, not him. Not his family.
He jammed the idling Bronco into drive and skidded around the arc of the gravel driveway. Before he could shove the truck into drive, the front door opened and a woman burst outside. “Jared, wait!”
Dressed in tight brown yoga sweats with a little purse tucked under her arm, his younger sister Evie trotted down the driveway in her flip flops. “I’m on my way to Starbucks,” he said.
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
“Hop in.”
A whiff of vanilla followed her into the seat. Evie always smelled good. She smelled like home. “What a night,” she said.
“Yeah. Couldn’t sleep. You?”
“I popped an Ambien and slept like a baby. I’ve got more for later if you want one.”
“A ten mile run followed by a few shots of Johnnie Walker and a hot bath is more my kind of nightcap.”
Her laughter made him smile. If Jana was the heart of the family, Evie was the warmth. The body heat, he sometimes told her, but that usually got him a dirty look because she took it as a comment on her weight problem, which in his mind wasn’t a problem. Something was wrong with society if a woman sweated being a size fourteen. But lately she’d been hitting the gym for Pilates and yoga. It was the best sign yet that she was getting over divorcing the asshole who’d cheated on her. For a domestic goddess whose home was the heart of her existence, seeing it break up had to be rough. It didn’t seem right that the world was threatening to come unglued just as she was thinking about rejoining it.
Evie slid her window down and inhaled. Her thick, dark brown hair blew around her shoulders. “Springtime, finally.
Thinking it’s too early for poppies?”
“Let’s check it out.” He pulled off the road and four-wheeled it through the meadow. Evie’s shrieks of delight echoed in the morning calm as he flew over hills and plunged down gullies. He knew without talking about it that this was what they needed after suffering such a devastating family tragedy and nearly losing their youngest sister. But they’d always been a lot alike, he and Evie. Evie was even more disinterested in politics. While he’d gone to Stanford, Evie had suffered through two years at a junior college before realizing her lifelong dream of becoming a wife and mom. They might be Jaspers, but they wanted no part of the glory themselves.
The Bronco creaked as it bounced along over dirt and rocks. It was hell on his shocks, but in light of everything else, who cared? Evie pointed to a long ditch ahead. “That one,” she cried. “Jump it.”
She screamed as he goosed the gas. The Bronco soared over the first ridge and with a jolt came to an abrupt stop with the bumper digging into the mud. His hand flew out automatically to keep Evie from hurtling forward, though her seatbelt had locked.
“Sorry about that.” He hoped he didn’t bend the front end. “You okay?”
But Evie didn’t answer. He followed her gaze to the right. Something large and heavy had dug a long scar in the ground. It went on straight as an arrow for about a half mile.
“The assassin’s space ship,” she said. “That’s where it crashed.”
During the chaos of the past few days, no one had spared the time to look for the wreckage of the dead assassin’s spaceship. Like Cavin’s ship, it was invisible behind its protective cloaking. But here it was in the middle of acres of grassland, scrub, and oaks along with a convenient trail leading right to it.
Convenient enough that you crammed you front end into it, he thought, frowning, and put the Bronco in reverse. The tires spun in the mud. He killed the engine before he dug in any deeper. “I don’t f-ing believe this. We’re stuck.”
“So much for Starbucks,” Evie said mournfully.
He got out and took a look at the rear tires. “I’ll need a tug.” There was another four-wheel drive parked in the garage back at the house. He opened his cell phone, saw the time and closed the phone. “It’s not even seven. Everyone’s sleeping.” He doubted Jana and Cavin did a whole lot of sleeping last night, either, but whatever time they could steal together, they deserved. Cavin was the first man Jana had chosen that Jared trusted to make his sister happy.
“We’ve got a little time to kill.” Jared sent a longing glance down the furrow to where the spacecraft would be if it were visible. “Come on. Let’s take a closer look.”
“What look? It’s invisible. You can’t see it.”
“Not if we open the hatch and go in. You can see when you’re inside.”
“Jared, no.”
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Not the end of the chapter... Stay tuned to find out what Jared found inside the alien assassin's spaceship.
-----------------------------------------
Excerpted from MY FAVORITE EARTHLING
by SUSAN GRANT
copyright Susan Grant 2006
MARCH 2007
ISBN 0373771924; HQN books
This uncorrected excerpt may contain errors and other text not found in the final printed novel and is not for sale. Please don’t share the text with anyone without first receiving permission from the author to do so.
Chapter Two
Talk about a morning after, Jared Jasper thought and shoved on a pair of mirrored Oakley sunglasses. He felt like he’d been run over by a truck. An eighteen-wheeler. Fully loaded.
His aching head and dry mouth wasn’t from a hangover. The single bottle of beer he’d sucked down twelve hours ago had metabolized out of his system so long ago that he barely remember drinking it. It was post-saving-the-world syndrome, he decided, reaching for a little elusive humor to carry him through the day. Saving the world wasn’t for the weak, especially when it was followed by losing a grandfather whose passing would leave a gaping hole in his life, topped off by having to make an appearance in front of a cheering crowd of thousands outside the hospital an hour later. After losing a loved one, you craved privacy; it was only human. But his family didn’t enjoy the kind of privacy others did. The Jaspers were a political dynasty second only to the Kennedys. Senators, congressmen, governors, both at the national and state level, they were called California’s “First Family.”
But no fundraiser or election victory party had ever come close to matching yesterday’s spontaneous celebration in front of the hospital, a celebration Jared would love to have shared, if he hadn’t known too much. If he hadn’t known the aliens were coming back, and if he hadn’t known they were so territorially ravenous that they combed the stars scooping up habitable worlds like pieces in a chess game so they could stay one up in their opponent, the Drakken Hoard, overseen by an aging Darth-Vaderish warlord named Lord-General Rakkuu. Yeah, he’d have celebrated if he hadn’t known the Coalition considered what they did acquisition, not invasion, even though it meant removing the entire native population and shipping them somewhere else. Not to where the good real estate was located, Jared was sure.
He made a sound of contempt in his throat as he pulled on a sweatshirt and prepared to leave the family ranch where everyone else was still sleeping. Give him half a chance and he’d teach the Coalition a thing or two about acquisitions and hostile takeovers. They wouldn’t like it. He guaranteed that.
Problem was, it wasn’t up to him—or guys like him. He considered himself more of a scrappy mediator than an eloquent boardroom negotiator. When it came to politics, too many people in his family did it better. Or at least they enjoyed it, which was more than he could say about his feelings on the subject. Yet, the elder Jaspers hadn’t tried to stop him when he decided to pursue dual careers in commercial real estate and military flying. His grandfather, while accepting of his choice, had been somewhat disappointed, but soon he had Jana to groom whose success had brought the old man immeasurable pleasure up until the day he died. But in Grandpa’s view, every Jasper was a public servant, politico or no. “Our duty to others comes before our own interests and ambition,” he’d say, and had drilled it into each one of them since birth.
Jared was no stranger to duty—his National Guard career testified to that; he just wasn’t cut out for the “sacrifice your life for the greater good” thing. He’d fight in the trenches to the bitter end, but he wasn’t going to lead the charge.
The sun was barely up as he grabbed the keys to his Bronco and walked outside. The threat of alien invasion seemed to hang over the world like summer smog in the LA basin. He made up his mind to stick with his routine: Starbucks then the gym. After working out, he’d head to the office, although his eerily efficient staff would probably ask why he’d bothered.
How would he answer the question? That he was restless? Sleep-deprived? That somehow his view of life, his future, had shifted, and what used to feel comfortable about his existence now felt like a new pair of shoes that rubbed? He doubted he was the only one on Earth feeling this way, but his deeper involvement magnified the symptoms.
Jared sat in the idling truck, gripping the steering wheel as he watched the sun rise over the ranch house roof. Everyone who mattered to him was inside that house. His parents, his sisters. And now Cavin. They all maintained separate residences, but somehow they always gravitated back here, where they grew up.
Where all the good memories live.
As first-born, the ranch would be his someday. He’d raise a family here, and his children would run through the fields and climb the trees, riding the old tire swing to splash landings in the year-round pond. Sure, he was a ways off from settling down, but it was comforting somehow, knowing that life waited for him.
Waited for him? Was he freaking hallucinating? An alien army was off somewhere, regrouping. Unless Earth figured out to keep them away, extraterrestrials would be taking up residence at the ranch, not him. Not his family.
He jammed the idling Bronco into drive and skidded around the arc of the gravel driveway. Before he could shove the truck into drive, the front door opened and a woman burst outside. “Jared, wait!”
Dressed in tight brown yoga sweats with a little purse tucked under her arm, his younger sister Evie trotted down the driveway in her flip flops. “I’m on my way to Starbucks,” he said.
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
“Hop in.”
A whiff of vanilla followed her into the seat. Evie always smelled good. She smelled like home. “What a night,” she said.
“Yeah. Couldn’t sleep. You?”
“I popped an Ambien and slept like a baby. I’ve got more for later if you want one.”
“A ten mile run followed by a few shots of Johnnie Walker and a hot bath is more my kind of nightcap.”
Her laughter made him smile. If Jana was the heart of the family, Evie was the warmth. The body heat, he sometimes told her, but that usually got him a dirty look because she took it as a comment on her weight problem, which in his mind wasn’t a problem. Something was wrong with society if a woman sweated being a size fourteen. But lately she’d been hitting the gym for Pilates and yoga. It was the best sign yet that she was getting over divorcing the asshole who’d cheated on her. For a domestic goddess whose home was the heart of her existence, seeing it break up had to be rough. It didn’t seem right that the world was threatening to come unglued just as she was thinking about rejoining it.
Evie slid her window down and inhaled. Her thick, dark brown hair blew around her shoulders. “Springtime, finally.
Thinking it’s too early for poppies?”
“Let’s check it out.” He pulled off the road and four-wheeled it through the meadow. Evie’s shrieks of delight echoed in the morning calm as he flew over hills and plunged down gullies. He knew without talking about it that this was what they needed after suffering such a devastating family tragedy and nearly losing their youngest sister. But they’d always been a lot alike, he and Evie. Evie was even more disinterested in politics. While he’d gone to Stanford, Evie had suffered through two years at a junior college before realizing her lifelong dream of becoming a wife and mom. They might be Jaspers, but they wanted no part of the glory themselves.
The Bronco creaked as it bounced along over dirt and rocks. It was hell on his shocks, but in light of everything else, who cared? Evie pointed to a long ditch ahead. “That one,” she cried. “Jump it.”
She screamed as he goosed the gas. The Bronco soared over the first ridge and with a jolt came to an abrupt stop with the bumper digging into the mud. His hand flew out automatically to keep Evie from hurtling forward, though her seatbelt had locked.
“Sorry about that.” He hoped he didn’t bend the front end. “You okay?”
But Evie didn’t answer. He followed her gaze to the right. Something large and heavy had dug a long scar in the ground. It went on straight as an arrow for about a half mile.
“The assassin’s space ship,” she said. “That’s where it crashed.”
During the chaos of the past few days, no one had spared the time to look for the wreckage of the dead assassin’s spaceship. Like Cavin’s ship, it was invisible behind its protective cloaking. But here it was in the middle of acres of grassland, scrub, and oaks along with a convenient trail leading right to it.
Convenient enough that you crammed you front end into it, he thought, frowning, and put the Bronco in reverse. The tires spun in the mud. He killed the engine before he dug in any deeper. “I don’t f-ing believe this. We’re stuck.”
“So much for Starbucks,” Evie said mournfully.
He got out and took a look at the rear tires. “I’ll need a tug.” There was another four-wheel drive parked in the garage back at the house. He opened his cell phone, saw the time and closed the phone. “It’s not even seven. Everyone’s sleeping.” He doubted Jana and Cavin did a whole lot of sleeping last night, either, but whatever time they could steal together, they deserved. Cavin was the first man Jana had chosen that Jared trusted to make his sister happy.
“We’ve got a little time to kill.” Jared sent a longing glance down the furrow to where the spacecraft would be if it were visible. “Come on. Let’s take a closer look.”
“What look? It’s invisible. You can’t see it.”
“Not if we open the hatch and go in. You can see when you’re inside.”
“Jared, no.”
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Not the end of the chapter... Stay tuned to find out what Jared found inside the alien assassin's spaceship.
Saturday, September 30, 2006
Worldbuilding--How a horse's rear dimension dictates how we blast into space
No excerpts from me (apart from sharing my Sunday with the brilliant Susan Grant).
I would like to share one thought, though. In FORCED MATE, the way my aliens tell time (officially) is a throw back to their low tech ancient days. "The old names stuck."
It's not so implausible. A correspondent sent me this incredible--sequence of events... (which is fun, but not true, according to www.snopes.com)
---------------------
Did you ever wonder why the US standard railroad gauge (distance between the rails) is 4 feet, 8.5 inches?
Because that's the way they built them in England, and English expatriates built the US Railroads. The English built them like that because the first rail lines were built by the same people who built the pre-railroad tramways, and that's the gauge they used.
Why? Because the people who built the tramways used the same jigs and tools that they used for building wagons, which
used that wheel spacing. And, they used that particular odd wheel spacing because, if they tried to use any other spacing, the wagon wheels would break on some of the old, long distance roads in England, because that's the spacing of the wheel ruts.
So the gauge of American rails was determined by the width of the ruts in English roads? Who built those old rutted roads?
Imperial Rome built the first long distance roads in Europe (and England) for their legions. The roads have been used ever since. Roman war chariots formed the initial ruts, which everyone else had to match for fear of destroying their wagon wheels. Since the chariots were made for Imperial Rome, they were all alike in the matter of wheel spacing.
The United States standard railroad gauge of 4 feet, 8.5 inches is derived from the original specifications for an
Imperial Roman war chariot. Why was a war chariot that width? Because the Imperial Roman army chariots were made just wide enough to accommodate the back ends of two war horses!
The story doesn't stop there!
When you see a Space Shuttle sitting on its launch pad, there are two big booster rockets attached to the sides of the main fuel tank. These are solid rocket boosters, or SRBs. The SRBs are made by Thiokol at their factory at Utah. The engineers who designed the SRBs would have preferred to make them a bit fatter, but the SRBs had to be shipped by train from the factory to the launch site. The railroad line from the factory happens to run through a tunnel in the mountains. The SRBs had to fit through that tunnel.
The tunnel is slightly wider than the railroad track, and the railroad track, as you now know, is about as wide as
two horses' behinds.
So, a major Space Shuttle design feature of what is arguably the world's most advanced transportation system was determined over two thousand years ago by the width of a horse's bottom.
NASA, tell me it isn't so!
Best wishes,
Rowena
I would like to share one thought, though. In FORCED MATE, the way my aliens tell time (officially) is a throw back to their low tech ancient days. "The old names stuck."
It's not so implausible. A correspondent sent me this incredible--sequence of events... (which is fun, but not true, according to www.snopes.com)
---------------------
Did you ever wonder why the US standard railroad gauge (distance between the rails) is 4 feet, 8.5 inches?
Because that's the way they built them in England, and English expatriates built the US Railroads. The English built them like that because the first rail lines were built by the same people who built the pre-railroad tramways, and that's the gauge they used.
Why? Because the people who built the tramways used the same jigs and tools that they used for building wagons, which
used that wheel spacing. And, they used that particular odd wheel spacing because, if they tried to use any other spacing, the wagon wheels would break on some of the old, long distance roads in England, because that's the spacing of the wheel ruts.
So the gauge of American rails was determined by the width of the ruts in English roads? Who built those old rutted roads?
Imperial Rome built the first long distance roads in Europe (and England) for their legions. The roads have been used ever since. Roman war chariots formed the initial ruts, which everyone else had to match for fear of destroying their wagon wheels. Since the chariots were made for Imperial Rome, they were all alike in the matter of wheel spacing.
The United States standard railroad gauge of 4 feet, 8.5 inches is derived from the original specifications for an
Imperial Roman war chariot. Why was a war chariot that width? Because the Imperial Roman army chariots were made just wide enough to accommodate the back ends of two war horses!
The story doesn't stop there!
When you see a Space Shuttle sitting on its launch pad, there are two big booster rockets attached to the sides of the main fuel tank. These are solid rocket boosters, or SRBs. The SRBs are made by Thiokol at their factory at Utah. The engineers who designed the SRBs would have preferred to make them a bit fatter, but the SRBs had to be shipped by train from the factory to the launch site. The railroad line from the factory happens to run through a tunnel in the mountains. The SRBs had to fit through that tunnel.
The tunnel is slightly wider than the railroad track, and the railroad track, as you now know, is about as wide as
two horses' behinds.
So, a major Space Shuttle design feature of what is arguably the world's most advanced transportation system was determined over two thousand years ago by the width of a horse's bottom.
NASA, tell me it isn't so!
Best wishes,
Rowena
Apollo or Starbuck
The first verision of Battlestar Gallactica absolutely blew me away. I will never forget the first scene when Apollo and Zach were running from the Cylons and Zach was blown from the sky. I was hooked. No one messed with my Sunday nights. They were reserved for deep space travel.
So which of the hunky pilots did I fall for?
Apollo. The dark haired one with the dreamy eyes.
So why not Starbuck? Dirk Benedict definetly had the looks. And the posters. And he fit the bad boy mold that made Jayne from Firefly my choice. But poor Apollo. He had all that guilt. His brother was killed right before his eyes. He lost his wife. (Remember Jane Seymour in that role) He had a son to raise. His father had the responsibility of the entire fleet which put added pressure on him. Plus he had those great eyes.
I haven't been able to get into the new version now shown on Sci-Fi. Edward James Olmos is just way too depressing. And I can't get over the fact that Starbuck is a woman. I tried. It looks fascinating. Maybe I should get the seasons on dvd and try to figure it out. But I think it will just make me miss Apollo more.
So which of the hunky pilots did I fall for?
Apollo. The dark haired one with the dreamy eyes.
So why not Starbuck? Dirk Benedict definetly had the looks. And the posters. And he fit the bad boy mold that made Jayne from Firefly my choice. But poor Apollo. He had all that guilt. His brother was killed right before his eyes. He lost his wife. (Remember Jane Seymour in that role) He had a son to raise. His father had the responsibility of the entire fleet which put added pressure on him. Plus he had those great eyes.
I haven't been able to get into the new version now shown on Sci-Fi. Edward James Olmos is just way too depressing. And I can't get over the fact that Starbuck is a woman. I tried. It looks fascinating. Maybe I should get the seasons on dvd and try to figure it out. But I think it will just make me miss Apollo more.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Myths and Aliens
It's said that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. Likewise, we could say that any sufficiently advanced species is indistinguishable from divinity. Erich von Daniken theorized in CHARIOTS OF THE GODS and other books that classical myths were based on visits from alien astronauts who constructed ancient artifacts that, to von Daniken, seemed too advanced for Earth technology of the time. In STAR TREK, deities from Terran mythology were sometimes revealed to be super-powerful aliens, as when the Enterprise crew encountered Apollo on a distant planet.
Many science fiction and fantasy authors, accordingly, have transmuted beings from myth and legend into aliens of sorts. Atlantis, a favorite motif for storytellers who want to invoke the concept of long-lost advanced science, is the ultimate source of magic and wisdom in Marion Zimmer Bradley's Avalon series (posthumously continued by Diana L. Paxson). Julie Kenner's Aphrodite series features superheroes who get their powers from the Greek gods. Classical deities and demons populate the complex mythos underlying Sherrilyn Kenyon's Dark Hunter stories. Angela Knight draws upon Arthurian legends in creating her witches and vampires and their other-dimensional home, the Mageverse.
When an author creatively crosses over -- or blurs -- the lines between myth, legend, fantasy, and science fiction, how much can traditional characters and motifs from the cultural group-mind be changed without risking loss of the archetypal elements that make them resonate as strongly with the contemporary audience as they have with people of past eras?
Incidentally, I'll be one of the Jewels of the Quill October spotlight authors. Stop by www.JewelsoftheQuill.com anytime in October and find out how to win a free book.
Monday, September 25, 2006
HE'S SUCH A CHARACTER! Part Deux
Continuing my relentless exploration of the men in my books... and how they developed into the pain-in-the-patootie hunk-muffins that they are... I'm going to let you all get up close and personal with a secondary character that many of you [according to your drooling emails] have found irresistible, in spite of the fact that he has six fingers on each hand, webbing between his fingers, and has gills.
Yes, cupcakes, that's right. Ren, from GABRIEL'S GHOST. The 6’ 5” tall, blue haired, alien Stolorth guy who is [and I have a feeling this is part of the big attraction here] a virgin.
As some of you know, GABRIEL'S GHOST originally started out as a short story entitled FEAR. ANYWAY, GABRIEL'S was initially simply a meeting between two long time enemies who'd eventually become lovers: Captain Chasidah 'Chaz' Bergren, and Gabriel Ross 'Sully' Sullivan. But everytime I wrote about Sully (another major pain-in-the-patootie hunk muffin), I kept 'seeing' the shadow of someone by his side.
That someone, I knew rather quickly, was Frayne Ackravaro Ren Elt.
A snippet from my May 2000 working notes as I began to plot out GABRIEL'S GHOST:
[SNIP]...Chaz accompanies Sully after agreeing to work with him. She meets with two others -- convicts like herself. One non human. They go to the shuttleport. Most obvious place for an escape and that's why Sully works out of there. So obvious no one thinks to look. Supply shuttles come irregularly from a nearby Station. Personnel/prisoner transports, too. He utilizes certain supply shuttles.
Sully and Chaz adopt the garb of Avarian monk/nun. He finds a perverse humor in this. 'Brother Sudral' and his acolyte, 'Sister Berry'. The other human convict is well known as 'Guardian Drogue' -- Chaz has seen him twice before, never knowing he was locating her for Sully. Drogue will return to Moabar often, accompanies them only to the Station.
The non-human is a blind Stolorth; a thickly muscled male of indeterminate age. Six fingered - webbed. Gill slits. His name is Frayne Ackravaro Ren Elt. He has very long silvery blue hair, worn plaited back in a braid. Stolorths are aquatic but can live for up to 48 hours out of a hydro-environment. Clearly Sully doesn't like him but he needs him. The Stolorth worked for the Labor Ministry as an Mediation Empath. Ren was privvy to several illegal negotiations by the Labor Ministry -- exporting and importing of slave labor. Perhaps illegal breeding of slaves with genetically defective mentalities. Ren 'knows where the bodies are hidden'... [END SNIP]
These are WORKING NOTES, kidlings. Ideas jotted down as to where I thought the chapter MIGHT go. Obviously, those of you who've read GABRIEL'S GHOST see that while I had Ren's name and description correct, I had his occupation totally wrong.
These things happen. Characters often play hide and seek with an author, and it wasn't until I began to actually write the chapter that Ren revealed himself to me.
One scene that did make it from my original working notes into the final book was the scene where Ren, blind, 'sees' Chaz's face by touching her. My original working notes state:
[SNIP] ...Ren's empathic abilities help steer them clear of those prison admin who might be suspicious. Chaz senses that Sully dislikes the fact that Ren's abilities are helpful. Ren is solicitious if not a bit curious about Chaz. He hasn't had much experience with human females.
On the supply shuttle, accomodations are cramped for the 8-hour trip. Ren's innocent curiousity amuses Chaz -- reminds her of her young half-brother -- and annoys Sully. He 'sees' her by touching her face, which really annoys Sully... [END SNIP]
However, one scene that did NOT make it into the final book called GABRIEL'S GHOST is Ren's death. Yes, sweetlings, in the first draft of the book, Ren was killed near the end of the book, as Sully and Chaz fight the bad guys on Marker. I thought it would be a good catalyst for Sully to reveal his 'secret' to Chaz (and for those of you who've NOT read the book, I'm not going to discuss any further what that secret is). However, the reaction of my crit partners to Ren's death was LOUD, IMMEDIATE AND THREATENING. So I had to do a bit of rewriting... with a few cyber-guns pointed at my blonde head.
In any event, to answer the emails that I've received about Ren, yes, he gets his own book. The immediate sequel to GABRIEL'S GHOST is CHASIDAH'S CHOICE, release date late 2007 or early 2008. I’d love to follow that with a series called DOCK FIVE—no promises right now. But if I do, Ren's own story will either be one of the DOCK FIVE books, or perhaps a stand alone. Not sure at this point, other than I DO know who his lady love is, and who eventually takes his virginity. Sigh. So you can all stop sending me bribe money. No, you cannot get in a hot tub with Ren!
Well, actually, one of you on the list will, because that person on this list is the creator of Ren's lady love, Lt. Kahri Beckert.
Here's a section of her short vignette she emailed me that convinced me she'd created the woman Ren would eventually, completely love:
[SNIP] ...Kahri stripped out of her battle uniform, zipped herself into the form fitting gray utility water suit and stepped into the sani-stall. She rolled her shoulders, then braided her hair while the quick-drying mist sprinkled over her. Grabbing a thick woolen robe used for both a cover-up and to dry off after a hot soak, she hit the palm pad on the thick steel doors leading to the hydro spa. She padded barefoot over to one of the cushioned benches, dropped the robe across it and turned toward the heated pool. Frozen in place, Kahri watched the lithe, muscular figure gliding effortlessly through the water, his loose-fitting blue swim shorts billowing around his slim hips. Ren. As he came to the end closest to where she was, he stood, wrung out his long, blue-tinted hair, pausing mid-twist. Nostrils flared, head tilted toward her, he appeared to be inhaling the very scent of her. A shiver of apprehension raced up her spine. Kahri didn't want anything to do with this alien creature - a member of a race that had destroyed her family.
"Kahri". The low, sultry voice wrapped around her like silken threads of the finest made cocoon. He held out a hand, palm up, beckoning, daring her to come closer. She would not. She could not. She did... [END SNIP]
As I said, the above was written by one of Ren's fans and emailed to me. So beware when you befriend an author... you never know where you, or one of your imaginary characters, will show up and be brought to life.
~Linnea
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Helispeta's greatest mistake?
Helispeta wanted to marry well, but not THIS well.
In MATING NET a newly widowed god-Emperor wants to mate again. Soon. His twin brother's fiancee appears to be the ideal take-over target, so he decides to take her.
His family motto for seductions is: "By stealth if possible...."
Sequestered on a private island where she is being trained to be god-Prince Devoron-Vitan's mate, Helispeta can't wait to take her place at Court. She will go to any lengths to make sure that Devoron-Vitan does not break off their betrothal, even disobey an express Royal command.
She has no idea that she is playing out of her depth.
.....
Her hologrammatic visitor stood stiff-legged, imperially tall and straight-backed. His bared, star-tanned, muscular arms were folded across his chest, and he was frowning impatiently because he had been kept waiting. Devoron-Vitan was every handsbreadth her warrior prince!
Helispeta caught her breath at the thought of measuring every part of him with the gentle palms of her hands, particularly the part that she would be expected to measure with both hands and the depth of her mouth.
“Devoron-Vitan, how lovely to see you!” she said, careful not to allow her juvenile adoration of him to show. “I thought you were too far away to visit me.”
“As you can see, I’m not.” He spread his powerful arms, and his short, dust-blue robe fell open, revealing that he wore only an even shorter kilt beneath his robe. Helispeta felt her eyes widen at the sight of his impressive chest and smooth, deeply chiseled stomach muscles. It was also the first time she’d seen him less than fully robed, and the sight disquieted her. Not that she’d never seen male anatomy. Even when there was no hope of becoming the next Empress, the virgin princesses’ curriculum required a theoretical command of every important male nerve ending.
She looked. Of course, she looked. Even if he had deliberately exposed his naked upper body to her as a test, she was interested. Too late she remembered that her eyes tended to change color from silver to the deepest violet, depending on her emotions. “Passion-meter eyes,” Devoron-Vitan used to tease her. He’d once said that he couldn’t wait to see how passionately purple her eyes would shade when she felt his immense and potent size throb inside her.
“I worry about you, my love,” he said evenly.
Oh, no! Surely, even a Great Djinn couldn’t read minds through a hologram. Why else might he worry? Oh, stars! Please, no. Please not because he was about to dismiss her from his affections forever, and he knew that she would be heartbroken. But, wait. It was the first time he’d called her his love. Would he call her his love if he were about to break off their betrothal?
“You do?” Helispeta fought to remain calm. Remembering her hastily chosen flower, she brought it up to her face. A tiny, purple, penis-shaped stamen brushed her nose, ejaculating pollen on contact. She felt the cool, tiny spray of pollen droplets on her heated cheeks. Oh stars! How vulgar! He’d never believe she hadn’t planned it! But she hadn’t. She hadn’t!
“Of course I do,” he said, seeming not to have noticed the accident with the flower at all.
From under her lowered lashes she noticed the crinkle of his slightly puffy lower eyelids, which gave the impression of an intelligent and good humored male who has shrewdly seen through everything and still sees the humor in it.
“I worry how you will adapt to life on a war-star. Will you miss lying in pools all day, looking up at the Body Imperial?”
He spoke of the Gas Giant, which Tigron orbited, but she was sure he was thinking complacently of his own magnificent physique.
“Perhaps you could install a very small murk pool for me?”
“Perhaps. Then again, perhaps not. Do you think my brother would approve of the extravagance?” He raised a single eyebrow the way all Djinn did.
Helispeta did not want to discuss what Djohn-Kronos would or would not approve, nor to speculate about his generosity. She traced a finger over the curved bell-end of her flower.
“Talking of your brother, I wrote him a letter of condolence.”
“Now why did you do that?” His expression was inscrutable.
“As his future sister-in-law, and given that I believed you were worlds away and might not even have heard that the Empress Djustine-Saturna had died ... the gesture seemed appropriate.”
Helispeta wondered whether she should add that for as long as the Emperor Djohn-Kronos remained a widower--which he might be for a very long time--she, as Devoron-Vitan’s mate, would be the highest ranking princess at Court.
She bit her lip. Possibly, Devoron-Vitan would misunderstand any comments from her on protocol and feminine precedence. One wouldn’t want His Highness to think she was ambitious for herself.
“It is never appropriate for a virgin to give Djohn-Kronos any sort of encouragement,” he said harshly.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was presumptuous. It won’t happen again.”
He nodded, as though satisfied by her humble apology. “What will you do during the watches, when I am on the Bridge of the Ark Royal and unable to entertain you?”
“I am quite good at entertaining myself,” she said, then saw his wicked triangular grin, his thin upper lip drawn straight across perfect teeth. She knew that he knew that masturbation was on the princesses’ secret curriculum. “I play cards and all manner of board games,” she elucidated with immense dignity.
“Board games?” he repeated. Again the eyebrow lifted.
Helispeta wondered whether he was mocking her. Perhaps he was angrier with her for keeping him waiting than his surface demeanor suggested. She glanced under her long, dark curl-tipped lashes, lower down this time, at the short kilt under his open robe, and the jutting shape of him.
His thighs were not as muscular as she would have expected on a warrior, but very nice-looking.
Devoron-Vitan did not look like a god who would sit still for anything. Unless for the first few strokes of an erotic massage.
As though he could read her thoughts, which of course he could not through a hologram, he smiled predatorily.
“Are you excelling in all your studies?” He casually scratched his amazing chest.
“Oh, yes,” she lied, ignoring his boorish behavior.
“At Mothercraft, too?” he asked. “Do you look forward to being a mother? I’d like to give you children.”
“Oh, yes,” she lied again. Diplomatic Dissimulation was her best subject, after Art of Conversation. Unless one counted prestidigitation and card-sharpery, which one didn’t.
“I’ll come for you soon,” he murmured huskily.
The hologram image faded.
She was still betrothed to be mated! Helispeta sank to the ground, weak with relief.
* * * *
She was lying, of course. So was he.
Djohn-Kronos stepped off his hologram sender, well pleased with the interview.
The important thing was that Helispeta couldn’t tell the difference between himself and his younger twin. However, he did have a very unfair advantage.
--------------
Mating Net is a short story, available as an e-book from New Concepts Publishing. It was written as a prequel for FORCED MATE to tell the story of the greatest mistake of Helispeta's life.
Best wishes,
Rowena Cherry
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Heroes
With my new release, Shooting Star, coming in December I thought I'd take the next few Saturdays and tell you about the heroes I have adored from TV or movies. Up first is Jayne from Firefly. So why Jayne. Why not Mal who is so noble and hunky and heroic? Probably because Mal is taken. We all know he loves Enora, so why waste time. Plus there's just something about the bad boy. We all know Jayne needs redemption. All it will take is a good woman. And who can not love a man who loves his momma? I think the perfect woman for Jayne is a hot shot, take no prisoners pilot named Sam who he meets in a bar fight. Who of course should be played by me!
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Attracting Aliens
Recently Cerridwen Press (www.cerridwenpress.com) published my elf romance, PRINCE OF THE HOLLOW HILLS. As members of a long-lived species from another "world" with a few superhuman powers, they qualify as aliens of a sort. My naturally evolved vampires (first appearing in a novel with my "book of the heart" DARK CHANGELING and most recently in an Ellora's Cave novella, "Tall, Dark, and Deadly") also have extraordinary powers and lifespan, plus the need to consume blood. When writing about my favorite scenario, relationships between human and nonhuman entities, I face the problem of plausibly explaining why a powerful creature who has lived for centuries would be attracted to an ordinary human being on a personal level, much less as an equal.
With my vampires, the craving for blood also involves a requirement to feed on human emotions; that's why they can't survive solely on animal blood, which provides bulk nourishment. So they have to get close to their prey, even if some of them find this necessity distasteful. But why prefer one donor over another? I have sometimes approached this problem by endowing the heroine with inborn psychic talents that make her stand out from the common "herd" (as a vampire would see it) or by giving her some means of resisting the hero's hypnotic influence, thus making her an intriguing challenge. I also postulate that a vampire can attain true fulfillment only through a bond with a single donor. Many vampires disdain becoming so dependent on an "inferior," but of course we write about the exceptions. Other authors such as Christine Feehan in particular have created the concept of a single "soulmate" for each immortal.
With elves, I use the common theme that immortal beings, leading a cool, serene existence, can become fascinated with the volatile passions and short, intense lives of mortals. Also, it's sometimes assumed that elves lack the spark of creativity possessed by the human race and are attracted to those gifts in our kind. In another Ellora's Cave novella, “Dragon's Tribute,” I deal with a love affair between a captive young woman and a dragon who can take human form. He finds the heroine more appealing than the previous sacrificial maidens because, unknown to herself, she has part-dragon ancestry.
A formerly human "alien" such as a traditional undead vampire or a Highlander-style Immortal might be attracted to an "ordinary" woman because, far from disdaining mortality, he might want to stay in touch with the remnants of his own humanity.
Another device that can be useful for bringing mortal and immortal together in intimacy is to place the nonhuman character in an unusually vulnerable position, so that he has to accept help from the human heroine and thereby comes to recognize and appreciate her valuable qualities.
In short, it's clear why we yearn for intimacy with aliens, but it takes more ingenuity to discern why they would fall in love with us.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
What does it mean to be in love?
Does love really conquer all?
Does being in love actually mean that one's judgement is shunted out of the circuit so that it's like being drunk, not even knowing that you aren't assessing the other person clearly?
And maybe the most appalling question of all: why should we assume that love even has any kind of adversary to conquer?
Love joins two into one -- wife and husband; mother and child; father and child; brother and sister and the whole extended family.
Pairs and larger networks of pairs are formed from the silken bonds of love. Such bonds limit personal freedom, perhaps, but also open vistas of experience beyond the "self."
Such a gift is divine, from beyond our reality, from the maker of our reality. It is in fact an inextricable attribute of our reality.
Without Love there could be no universe. (well, to me that's an axiom, to others it's a postulate yet to be proven, but let's consider what it means if it is an axiom and needs no proof).
If Love is an attribute of "Reality" such that its absense would abrogate the manifestation of what we deem reality -- then what is there for Love to Conquer?
Nothing within "Reality" could possibly oppose Love, at least not in any noticable way because Love is in fact synonymous with Reality.
So then is Romance really about "falling in Love" and drowning in a false projection of Reality - a fabrication of the mind that bears no actual resemblance to reality?
Or is that vision that is bestowed upon those who have "Fallen in Love" the actual real Reality, and what we live in everyday is the false view?
In other words, if Love is the silken cord that binds all Reality, then when someone falls in love and sees only the good and great atttributes of the object of their love, they are actually "seeing" the truth of the person -- the point at which that person is connected to the ineffable, the creator of reality.
Maybe, as readers of Romance, we could learn to cultivate that vision of the people around us, to see in others all those wondrous attributes we could only wish we had and ignore or discard or filter out the more negative traits?
What does the phrase "fall in love" actually suggest? If our normal perceptive state is "higher" than that of someone in the grip of Romance, then the person in love is far more "down to Earth" - more practical - more in touch with nature and reality than we are in everyday consciousness.
Is it really necessary to be "In Love" -- fallen down from a presumably "higher" state -- to see the truth of the best in human nature?
Can we, with a little practice, open our inner eye and see that truth in others, even when it is only potential, only not-quite manifested?
Is that the exercise that incessant reading of Romance novels is all about: not sinking into delusion and wish-fulfillment but a practical means to cutting through to the stark practical reality beneath our daily lives?
Jacqueline Lichtenberg
http://www.simegen.com/jl/
Does being in love actually mean that one's judgement is shunted out of the circuit so that it's like being drunk, not even knowing that you aren't assessing the other person clearly?
And maybe the most appalling question of all: why should we assume that love even has any kind of adversary to conquer?
Love joins two into one -- wife and husband; mother and child; father and child; brother and sister and the whole extended family.
Pairs and larger networks of pairs are formed from the silken bonds of love. Such bonds limit personal freedom, perhaps, but also open vistas of experience beyond the "self."
Such a gift is divine, from beyond our reality, from the maker of our reality. It is in fact an inextricable attribute of our reality.
Without Love there could be no universe. (well, to me that's an axiom, to others it's a postulate yet to be proven, but let's consider what it means if it is an axiom and needs no proof).
If Love is an attribute of "Reality" such that its absense would abrogate the manifestation of what we deem reality -- then what is there for Love to Conquer?
Nothing within "Reality" could possibly oppose Love, at least not in any noticable way because Love is in fact synonymous with Reality.
So then is Romance really about "falling in Love" and drowning in a false projection of Reality - a fabrication of the mind that bears no actual resemblance to reality?
Or is that vision that is bestowed upon those who have "Fallen in Love" the actual real Reality, and what we live in everyday is the false view?
In other words, if Love is the silken cord that binds all Reality, then when someone falls in love and sees only the good and great atttributes of the object of their love, they are actually "seeing" the truth of the person -- the point at which that person is connected to the ineffable, the creator of reality.
Maybe, as readers of Romance, we could learn to cultivate that vision of the people around us, to see in others all those wondrous attributes we could only wish we had and ignore or discard or filter out the more negative traits?
What does the phrase "fall in love" actually suggest? If our normal perceptive state is "higher" than that of someone in the grip of Romance, then the person in love is far more "down to Earth" - more practical - more in touch with nature and reality than we are in everyday consciousness.
Is it really necessary to be "In Love" -- fallen down from a presumably "higher" state -- to see the truth of the best in human nature?
Can we, with a little practice, open our inner eye and see that truth in others, even when it is only potential, only not-quite manifested?
Is that the exercise that incessant reading of Romance novels is all about: not sinking into delusion and wish-fulfillment but a practical means to cutting through to the stark practical reality beneath our daily lives?
Jacqueline Lichtenberg
http://www.simegen.com/jl/
Monday, September 18, 2006
Susan Kearney's TV interview
Hi,
I've been traveling to promote THE QUEST and finishing up a book that's due, KISS ME DEADLY, a romantic suspense that won't be out until next summer. And I've been to Dragoncon. Pictures are coming soon. But in the meantime, I wanted to share a television interview that I did and now have up on my website. www.susankearney.com If you go to my home page and click on the interview, you can see and hear it. When I get back, I'm going to learn how to blog--in the meantime, Rowena is posting this for me.
Susan Kearney
http://208.36.232.209/susan_kearney_on_daytime.mpg
http://www.susankearney.com
I've been traveling to promote THE QUEST and finishing up a book that's due, KISS ME DEADLY, a romantic suspense that won't be out until next summer. And I've been to Dragoncon. Pictures are coming soon. But in the meantime, I wanted to share a television interview that I did and now have up on my website. www.susankearney.com If you go to my home page and click on the interview, you can see and hear it. When I get back, I'm going to learn how to blog--in the meantime, Rowena is posting this for me.
Susan Kearney
http://208.36.232.209/susan_kearney_on_daytime.mpg
http://www.susankearney.com
HE'S SUCH A CHARACTER!
It dawned on me (things eventually do) that readers are probably much more interested in the characters they've read about in my books than in me, the author. I don't blame you. I know all of us: me, the author, and them, the characters. They are definitely more interesting than I am.
So given, that, I thought I'd share with you some of my characters' backgrounds, secrets, histories and other eccentricities that unfolded as I unfolded their stories.
"...--Khyrhis T'Vahr: 38 year old male; Senior Z'fharin huntership captain; educated; wealthy, powerful, attractive, cold, arrogant, brilliant, decisive, loyal; genetically engineered to be superior; lab-bred; knows is resented by many but feared and respected; isolated; a brief fling with Malika ____ convinced him love was something for other people; problems: feels people see him for what he can do for them; for his status and power (Malika). Goals? His career and his people, the Z'fharin; his duty -- yet always a nagging sense of emptiness.
He lies to Trilby as to who he is he THINKS for security reasons but in reality he is reluctant to see the fear in her eyes that all others have when with him..."
In essence, that was my free-write summary on Rhis. But it wasn't where he started. FINDERS KEEPERS was originally written in 1993 as a novella, not for publication (well, okay, it rather hovered in the back of my mind that I might want to do so at some point...) but more because I couldn't find what I wanted to read, so I wrote what I wanted to read.
In the original version, Rhis awakens much more quickly than in the novel, and 'makes a move' on Trilby much earlier as well...
[snip]..."Trilby." He said her name softly and she turned, surprised to find him standing behind her. "Trilby, what did I say that was so wrong?"
"Nothing." She forced a laugh. "What makes you think you said anything wrong? I--"
And he plucked the datapad from her hands and placed it back on the side of the nav console. "Because you always have a funny sound in your voice right before you jump up and run away. That is how I know something is wrong."
She stepped back and leaned against the edge of the console. He was too close. She could feel the heat from his body, smell the male scent of him. "It's nothing. You didn't do anything wrong. It's just me, okay? I'm, I'm not used to having someone around."
He sighed. "You are many things, but you are not a good liar, Trilbi'chenka."... [snip]
Even back then, Rhis still had his formal-sounding accent. But I'm leaving in the misspelling of 'Trilby-chenka' (which is how it appears in the novel) because this is from the ORIGINAL 1993 version. And that's how I wrote it, then. This scene, above, isn't in the novel. But the essence of what makes Rhis so sexy is in the novel. And that develops from my association with him - Such A Character! - in the earlier novella.
I still have most of my original scribblings for all my novels: WINTERTIDE, FINDERS KEEPERS, GABRIEL'S GHOST and more. If you all would like to continue to see earlier versions of scenes and characters, as well as their motivational outlines, let me know. I'd be glad to let you peek inside the process of creating my books and my characters.
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Insufficient Mating Material
Thank Goodness For Tides: The Sex and surf scene...
In an earlier month's post I blogged about my complete and utter shock and dismay when I saw this cover art, lovely as it is.
What was my problem?
For a start, there was only one point in the book when the heroine's hair was that length, and it was a hundred pages from the end. Moreover, she was always very fashion conscious. Getting sand between her toes was an issue.
Secondly, at that one juncture, the beach ought to have been strewn with unsightly and inconvenient corpses. I couldn't use magic to clean them up, because this is a science fiction romance. I had to use the tide.
However, if I hadn't had strong tides earlier in the survival saga, I needed an explanation (short of a tsunami, for obvious reasons) why the tide would come in higher and go out powerfully lower than usual.
Also, there is the problem of realism. Having done my research and sat in the sea in various parts of the world, I have to report that when the sea is cold, a heroine is preoccupied with the coldness, no matter what else is up!
Someone will tell me that I ought to make the sea warmer, but warming the sea changes the world... the climate, the vegetation, the animals and insects. If I made the sea comfortable for copulating in, it would probably be full of bacteria and algae. It might stink. If I were to counter that by adding a lot of salt, I'd end up with the Dead Sea, and then the hero and heroine would be terribly thirsty... or mad.
Not least, there was the fact that the proverbial world still had to be saved in the following hundred double spaced pages. This roll in the ripples could not be the happy ending of the romance. While sex in the surf had to advance the story (and avoid being gratuitous), it could not be completely satisfying for both of them.
Well, given cold water and sand, the probability that the tide would either be coming in or going out, and the likelihood that there would be crabs in the shallows, making seaside sex less than completely satisfactory was not a problem.
Luckily for me, I had two months to mull over various ways around the difficulties because I didn't wait for my editor to tell me whether or not she wanted the cover scene written.
How many times did I write this scene? At least five.
Was it worth it? I think so.
Best wishes,
Rowena Cherry
Guest Blogger! Susan Grant (Fifth excerpt)
Excerpted from MY FAVORITE EARTHLING
by SUSAN GRANT
copyright Susan Grant 2006
MARCH 2007
ISBN 0373771924; HQN books
This uncorrected excerpt may contain errors and other text not found in the final printed novel and is not for sale. Please don’t share the text with anyone without first receiving permission from the author to do so.
Keira was still shaking as she addressed the leaders she’d summoned from their ridiculous emergency meeting. This was the emergency! “The prince of Earth insulted me. Challenged me. Me—the queen!”
She’d bathed and changed into an exquisite bright yellow ceremonial gown. It constricted her ribs to the point where she couldn’t inhale fully, which contributed to her swimming head. But it helped constrain her temper as well. “He’s a frontiersman, a barbarian, and yet he broke every level of security we have, forcing his image onto my personal view screen.” Searing it into her mind.
Gods, he’d affected her, and in more ways than she cared to admit. She’d thought herself immune from sexy, good-looking, arrogant, supremely confident men and their charms. Particularly those well beneath her social standing.
“How could you let this happen? He taunted me. Your monarch. Your goddess. I’m humiliated and disgusted. I’m...I’m furious!”
Lightheaded, she gripped her rustling skirts in shaking hands. The fabric blotted her sweaty palms, effectively hiding the roiling fear she tried to hard to suppress and hide. You are strong. A warrior. “I want an explanation, and I want it now, or I’ll have every last one of you fools executed.”
“We have put the entire planet on full alert,” the new Minister of Intelligence, Ismae Vemekk, offered. “No craft can get in or out.”
Keira glared at the unfamiliar women with contempt. What were they doing, alternating boy-girl-boy-girl as they replaced Intelligence ministers? Spicing it up for variety? Usually the cronies stayed on in their posts for life. “Who cares about spacecraft when an Earthling can invade my privacy and taunt me at his convenience? No, it isn’t a physical invasion, but is that not the next step?”
“Earth does not have the power to invade the heart of the Coalition,” Neppal said.
“How do we know this? You yourself said that if they align with the Drakken...” She couldn’t finish the thought. “How are we to make an impression on Earth when they so easily make fools of us? Damn you, Neppal. Where were your troops when that signal came in? I was alone. Alone!”
Alone...
A memory ripped through her mind in dark, violent snatches. The smell of her mother’s skin. The sound of her fear-filled voice. They were on a ship and something had happened to it. Her mother stuffed Keira in a dark pipe barely large enough to fit her. Stay here, Keira. Do not move. Do you understand me? No matter what you hear, do not come out. And, oh, what Keira had heard. Awful things. Unforgettable things.
Keira realized she’d brought her flattened hand to her chest to quell her thumping heart. Ashamed, she made a fist. “If I cannot be safe in my own home, then where can I be safe?” She detected a slight thickening in her voice and cleared her throat. They mustn’t see her fear, they mustn’t. She picked up a wine glass Taye had filled with snowberry liqueur, knowing that it calmed her. In one gulp, she emptied it and was about to slam the glass on the table when something more appropriate came to mind. Perhaps not appropriate, but satisfying at least. Sneering, she hurled the glass at the supreme commander. Years of training with weapons had given her dead-on accuracy.
The officer blocked the glass with his arms, fists pressed together. The heavy goblet crashed to the floor and shattered. “The next one will hit the target, I swear it,” she hissed, glowering at Neppal.
Carefully, the prime minister broke in once more. “Perhaps we can see the offending visual ourselves?”
She actually felt a quickening of her heartbeat at the prospect of watching the recording again. Was the prince as proactive and forceful in the other, more personal areas of his life? He’d mentioned a harem. An image of him making love to several women threatened to take her breath away—one: because she didn’t like the thought of other women touching him, and two: no man should look that good naked. Trying to act as coolly as possible, she sashayed to her throne and sat in it with a whoosh of yellow skirts. “Show visual,” she commanded from the enormous, bejeweled chair when the leaders gathered in a half circle around the huge screen.
The recorded image was stopped and brought back to the beginning. Every one of the palace leaders present focused on the display—and the Earthling prince. It grew very quiet in the chamber. All were sizing up the man, seeing if concern was justified, and if so, to what level.
Keira sat rigidly, her hands clasped demurely on her lap, until she noticed her fingers digging into her flesh and slipped her hands under her thighs.
The Earthling’s voice filtered through the translator. His surprise slid into interest, male interest, when he first laid eyes upon her. He finds you attractive.
It took everything she had not to let his appraisal of her matter.
“How dare you?” Keira stiffened at the indignation and shock in her recorded voice. And the anger—anger at herself. That was new. Usually she was angry at other people. Another reason to despise the Earthling prince.
“Trespasser. Barbarian!”
He laughed at her then, called her the barbarian. How dare he treat her with such disrespect?
Onscreen, the Earthling prince leaned forward, his mouth formed in that half-smile that so unsettled her. She couldn’t be further than naked dressed to her chin in the layered and laced traditional gown, but every time the man’s eyes swept passed her body, she felt exposed. She shivered as she always did when hit with a sense of vulnerability, but this time the trembling was different. Quite...different.
She imagined his muscled body sweaty and naked as he struggled to free himself from the cuffs with which she’d bound him. He’d be hers, all hers, and at her mercy. She imagined tasting his skin, touching him wherever she pleased. “By the gods and goddesses,” she whispered.
Keira closed her eyes and prayed to get through this session with her dignity intact. Sometimes, it felt as if her dignity was all she had. In the frightening lonely days after losing her family, dignity served well as a protective wall, one as high and as wide as those surrounding this palace.
She fought to build that wall around her now, listening to the prince rage, “My message to you is this: if your people come back for another try at landing on Earth, we’ll be waiting. A billion more guys like me, waiting.”
The visual ended soon after. Everyone was briefly silent. No one questioned her rage now. They appeared as invaded as she felt.
The new minister of intelligence was the first of the leaders to find her voice. “I am deeply sorry at the distress this invasion caused you, Your Highness. I do not know why the transmission appeared on your screen and no one else’s, bypassing all our security. You have my word we will work ceaselessly on this until we have an answer.”
Keira nodded her thanks yet regarded the tall woman with pity. If the fates of her predecessors were any indication, Ismae Vemekk’s life span would not be noted for its longevity.
Supreme-second Fair Cirrus frowned, rubbing his knuckles across his chin. “Indeed this proves Earth’s cleverness. That cleverness could very well lead them to be reluctant choosing sides in a war they know little about.”
The age-old war with the Drakken.
“There is one way to avoid uncertainty as to their loyalties,” Rissallen said. “A failsafe way.”
“Nothing is failsafe,” Neppal barked.
“This is nearly so. A treaty to take precedence over all treaties.” The prime minister’s mouth slid into a winning smile, revealing perfect, if a little large, teeth. Rissallen could be so oily. What did he have up his sleeve this time? That they simply cut off the power to her visual communications screen? That they eavesdrop on all her private conversations for now on?
Keira slammed her hands onto the armrests of her throne. The jewels on her fingers clattered against the jeweled precious metal on the armrests. “I’ll have you know, Kellen, that I will not be coddled, talked down from my concerns.”
But the leaders seemed not to hear her. “I wonder,” Fair Cirrus said to Rissallen, “is the prince unmarried?”
Rissallen waved at the blank screen. “He did not have a wrist tattoo indicating he was married.”
“Earth tradition may differ.”
“Nor did I see any such jewelry that could possibly signify his marital status.”
“He mentioned a harem,” Fair Cirrus noted.
Keira bounced her gaze from man to man. She expected them to be counting Earth’s warships, not counting the prince’s wives.
“That’s not unusual for a man of power, no matter what his marriage status,” Neppal said. “If single, he’d maintain a harem for sport and for variety. If married, he’d certainly be entitled to additional females to ease the boredom.”
Keira snorted. “The only one bored in your bed, Commander, is the woman you take to it.”
Finally, Neppal met her gaze. A glint of malice glinted in his eyes. “I do not like the idea of bringing in an outsider to be the queen’s consort, but the more I ponder it the better it sounds,” he told the group.
“Consort?” she croaked.
Rissallen dipped in a small bow. “A treaty of marriage would put all our fears to rest because it would link Earth to the Coalition. Permanently.”
“At least until death do they part,” Neppal said smugly.
“Gods,” Vemekk said. “Tell me you’re not considering mating them.”
Mating? Her and the Earthling prince? Keira gave a little squeak. By now, her pulse was making a strange whooshing noise in her ears. “I thought plans were being made for my betrothal to a high-ranking military officer.” Not Neppal, but someone as easily dismissed. “Where is he? Why have I not met him yet?”
The group shuffled their feet and cleared their throats. “Prime Major Far Star is missing,” several admitted at once.
“What happened? Did he run away? Was he too terrified to marry me? Did he hear the rumor about my skill with a sword?” Of course, it wasn’t a rumor, but it served her well as a man deterrent.
Rissallen smiled. “We simply don’t know, My Queen. But he’s old news now. Now we have a new and better man for you to consider.”
The Earthling prince, she thought, struggling to breathe in the constricting dress. Although she wouldn’t truly be allowed to consider him, would she? They’d pretend to include her in the process but ultimately, they’d make the decisions as they always did, as they had ever since she took the throne as a child-queen, a frightened little girl lost in a sea of what she didn’t understand. You’re still that girl. Wasn’t she supposed to hold absolute and holy power? Some goddess she was. She had no free will, no control over her destiny, no choices. Not since childhood had she ventured off this world or mingled with the people who worshipped her daily in their temples. She was a prisoner in this castle, born and bred to breed, and nothing more. She’d never really matter, not like she longed to matter.
Keira strode to the huge window that looked out onto a glacial landscape which held about as much warmth as her blood did in that moment. Her breath formed mist on the glass, obscuring the dramatic views. “I wish it were summer,” she whispered, dragging a finger through the circle of vapor. For those few fleeting weeks out of the year she felt alive. She spent the glorious weeks outside and especially the nights that never grew dark. Sometimes, she even evaded the guards, if only for a few moments.
Her mood darkened. She’d evade her future husband, too. And as often as possible. Once he’d planted a baby in her belly, there was no further need to be with him.
What if he didn’t agree to the treaty of marriage?
Of course, he would. For him, it would be a huge step up. She was a goddess. The blood of Sakkara flowed in her veins. She could trace her ancestors back to the beginning of recorded time. Her family was revered as gods by trillions of Coalition citizens and billions more undocumented believers who lived across the border in Drakken space. She was the goddess they worshipped.
A goddess who felt very human most of the time.
She heard a throat being cleared, and the shuffling of feet as the leaders waited for her to turn around. They’d make the decision for her if she didn’t, citing reasons of national security. She might as well hold onto as much control as she could. She took a breath, her hands fisted at her sides. Then, with dignity holding her smoldering rage in check, she turned around and squared her shoulders. Her ornate dress rustled, the bodice squeezing her ribs. “It must be done. For the sake of my people, I will take the Earthling as my royal consort.” She wasn’t very convincing at altruism but nonetheless, she tried. Luckily, no one snickered.
Unlike the others, who seemed relieved, Vemekk and Neppal continued to act unhappy: the minister quite shocked and dismayed, and the supreme commander simply angry. The commander’s reaction Keira could explain away as sullenness over not having had the chance to go to battle against Earth with his army, but the minister’s reaction was more puzzling.
“Find out the prince’s status,” Keira said. “And if he is free”—her hands opened and closed, itching to throw daggers—“strike a deal with Earth. Tell them they may offer their prince as the price for peace and the opportunity to keep their planet.”
Rissallen slapped his hands together in delight. “Together the Coalition and Earth will present a united front to the Drakken Hoard.”
As for her united front with the Earthling, it need not exist. He’d be given a life of comfort and riches in the galaxy’s most luxurious palace. All he ever needed to sate his appetites would be available to him, so he need not look to her for his satisfaction. And if he were to persist, well, her skill with a plasma sword was legendary.
~~~*~~~
by SUSAN GRANT
copyright Susan Grant 2006
MARCH 2007
ISBN 0373771924; HQN books
This uncorrected excerpt may contain errors and other text not found in the final printed novel and is not for sale. Please don’t share the text with anyone without first receiving permission from the author to do so.
Keira was still shaking as she addressed the leaders she’d summoned from their ridiculous emergency meeting. This was the emergency! “The prince of Earth insulted me. Challenged me. Me—the queen!”
She’d bathed and changed into an exquisite bright yellow ceremonial gown. It constricted her ribs to the point where she couldn’t inhale fully, which contributed to her swimming head. But it helped constrain her temper as well. “He’s a frontiersman, a barbarian, and yet he broke every level of security we have, forcing his image onto my personal view screen.” Searing it into her mind.
Gods, he’d affected her, and in more ways than she cared to admit. She’d thought herself immune from sexy, good-looking, arrogant, supremely confident men and their charms. Particularly those well beneath her social standing.
“How could you let this happen? He taunted me. Your monarch. Your goddess. I’m humiliated and disgusted. I’m...I’m furious!”
Lightheaded, she gripped her rustling skirts in shaking hands. The fabric blotted her sweaty palms, effectively hiding the roiling fear she tried to hard to suppress and hide. You are strong. A warrior. “I want an explanation, and I want it now, or I’ll have every last one of you fools executed.”
“We have put the entire planet on full alert,” the new Minister of Intelligence, Ismae Vemekk, offered. “No craft can get in or out.”
Keira glared at the unfamiliar women with contempt. What were they doing, alternating boy-girl-boy-girl as they replaced Intelligence ministers? Spicing it up for variety? Usually the cronies stayed on in their posts for life. “Who cares about spacecraft when an Earthling can invade my privacy and taunt me at his convenience? No, it isn’t a physical invasion, but is that not the next step?”
“Earth does not have the power to invade the heart of the Coalition,” Neppal said.
“How do we know this? You yourself said that if they align with the Drakken...” She couldn’t finish the thought. “How are we to make an impression on Earth when they so easily make fools of us? Damn you, Neppal. Where were your troops when that signal came in? I was alone. Alone!”
Alone...
A memory ripped through her mind in dark, violent snatches. The smell of her mother’s skin. The sound of her fear-filled voice. They were on a ship and something had happened to it. Her mother stuffed Keira in a dark pipe barely large enough to fit her. Stay here, Keira. Do not move. Do you understand me? No matter what you hear, do not come out. And, oh, what Keira had heard. Awful things. Unforgettable things.
Keira realized she’d brought her flattened hand to her chest to quell her thumping heart. Ashamed, she made a fist. “If I cannot be safe in my own home, then where can I be safe?” She detected a slight thickening in her voice and cleared her throat. They mustn’t see her fear, they mustn’t. She picked up a wine glass Taye had filled with snowberry liqueur, knowing that it calmed her. In one gulp, she emptied it and was about to slam the glass on the table when something more appropriate came to mind. Perhaps not appropriate, but satisfying at least. Sneering, she hurled the glass at the supreme commander. Years of training with weapons had given her dead-on accuracy.
The officer blocked the glass with his arms, fists pressed together. The heavy goblet crashed to the floor and shattered. “The next one will hit the target, I swear it,” she hissed, glowering at Neppal.
Carefully, the prime minister broke in once more. “Perhaps we can see the offending visual ourselves?”
She actually felt a quickening of her heartbeat at the prospect of watching the recording again. Was the prince as proactive and forceful in the other, more personal areas of his life? He’d mentioned a harem. An image of him making love to several women threatened to take her breath away—one: because she didn’t like the thought of other women touching him, and two: no man should look that good naked. Trying to act as coolly as possible, she sashayed to her throne and sat in it with a whoosh of yellow skirts. “Show visual,” she commanded from the enormous, bejeweled chair when the leaders gathered in a half circle around the huge screen.
The recorded image was stopped and brought back to the beginning. Every one of the palace leaders present focused on the display—and the Earthling prince. It grew very quiet in the chamber. All were sizing up the man, seeing if concern was justified, and if so, to what level.
Keira sat rigidly, her hands clasped demurely on her lap, until she noticed her fingers digging into her flesh and slipped her hands under her thighs.
The Earthling’s voice filtered through the translator. His surprise slid into interest, male interest, when he first laid eyes upon her. He finds you attractive.
It took everything she had not to let his appraisal of her matter.
“How dare you?” Keira stiffened at the indignation and shock in her recorded voice. And the anger—anger at herself. That was new. Usually she was angry at other people. Another reason to despise the Earthling prince.
“Trespasser. Barbarian!”
He laughed at her then, called her the barbarian. How dare he treat her with such disrespect?
Onscreen, the Earthling prince leaned forward, his mouth formed in that half-smile that so unsettled her. She couldn’t be further than naked dressed to her chin in the layered and laced traditional gown, but every time the man’s eyes swept passed her body, she felt exposed. She shivered as she always did when hit with a sense of vulnerability, but this time the trembling was different. Quite...different.
She imagined his muscled body sweaty and naked as he struggled to free himself from the cuffs with which she’d bound him. He’d be hers, all hers, and at her mercy. She imagined tasting his skin, touching him wherever she pleased. “By the gods and goddesses,” she whispered.
Keira closed her eyes and prayed to get through this session with her dignity intact. Sometimes, it felt as if her dignity was all she had. In the frightening lonely days after losing her family, dignity served well as a protective wall, one as high and as wide as those surrounding this palace.
She fought to build that wall around her now, listening to the prince rage, “My message to you is this: if your people come back for another try at landing on Earth, we’ll be waiting. A billion more guys like me, waiting.”
The visual ended soon after. Everyone was briefly silent. No one questioned her rage now. They appeared as invaded as she felt.
The new minister of intelligence was the first of the leaders to find her voice. “I am deeply sorry at the distress this invasion caused you, Your Highness. I do not know why the transmission appeared on your screen and no one else’s, bypassing all our security. You have my word we will work ceaselessly on this until we have an answer.”
Keira nodded her thanks yet regarded the tall woman with pity. If the fates of her predecessors were any indication, Ismae Vemekk’s life span would not be noted for its longevity.
Supreme-second Fair Cirrus frowned, rubbing his knuckles across his chin. “Indeed this proves Earth’s cleverness. That cleverness could very well lead them to be reluctant choosing sides in a war they know little about.”
The age-old war with the Drakken.
“There is one way to avoid uncertainty as to their loyalties,” Rissallen said. “A failsafe way.”
“Nothing is failsafe,” Neppal barked.
“This is nearly so. A treaty to take precedence over all treaties.” The prime minister’s mouth slid into a winning smile, revealing perfect, if a little large, teeth. Rissallen could be so oily. What did he have up his sleeve this time? That they simply cut off the power to her visual communications screen? That they eavesdrop on all her private conversations for now on?
Keira slammed her hands onto the armrests of her throne. The jewels on her fingers clattered against the jeweled precious metal on the armrests. “I’ll have you know, Kellen, that I will not be coddled, talked down from my concerns.”
But the leaders seemed not to hear her. “I wonder,” Fair Cirrus said to Rissallen, “is the prince unmarried?”
Rissallen waved at the blank screen. “He did not have a wrist tattoo indicating he was married.”
“Earth tradition may differ.”
“Nor did I see any such jewelry that could possibly signify his marital status.”
“He mentioned a harem,” Fair Cirrus noted.
Keira bounced her gaze from man to man. She expected them to be counting Earth’s warships, not counting the prince’s wives.
“That’s not unusual for a man of power, no matter what his marriage status,” Neppal said. “If single, he’d maintain a harem for sport and for variety. If married, he’d certainly be entitled to additional females to ease the boredom.”
Keira snorted. “The only one bored in your bed, Commander, is the woman you take to it.”
Finally, Neppal met her gaze. A glint of malice glinted in his eyes. “I do not like the idea of bringing in an outsider to be the queen’s consort, but the more I ponder it the better it sounds,” he told the group.
“Consort?” she croaked.
Rissallen dipped in a small bow. “A treaty of marriage would put all our fears to rest because it would link Earth to the Coalition. Permanently.”
“At least until death do they part,” Neppal said smugly.
“Gods,” Vemekk said. “Tell me you’re not considering mating them.”
Mating? Her and the Earthling prince? Keira gave a little squeak. By now, her pulse was making a strange whooshing noise in her ears. “I thought plans were being made for my betrothal to a high-ranking military officer.” Not Neppal, but someone as easily dismissed. “Where is he? Why have I not met him yet?”
The group shuffled their feet and cleared their throats. “Prime Major Far Star is missing,” several admitted at once.
“What happened? Did he run away? Was he too terrified to marry me? Did he hear the rumor about my skill with a sword?” Of course, it wasn’t a rumor, but it served her well as a man deterrent.
Rissallen smiled. “We simply don’t know, My Queen. But he’s old news now. Now we have a new and better man for you to consider.”
The Earthling prince, she thought, struggling to breathe in the constricting dress. Although she wouldn’t truly be allowed to consider him, would she? They’d pretend to include her in the process but ultimately, they’d make the decisions as they always did, as they had ever since she took the throne as a child-queen, a frightened little girl lost in a sea of what she didn’t understand. You’re still that girl. Wasn’t she supposed to hold absolute and holy power? Some goddess she was. She had no free will, no control over her destiny, no choices. Not since childhood had she ventured off this world or mingled with the people who worshipped her daily in their temples. She was a prisoner in this castle, born and bred to breed, and nothing more. She’d never really matter, not like she longed to matter.
Keira strode to the huge window that looked out onto a glacial landscape which held about as much warmth as her blood did in that moment. Her breath formed mist on the glass, obscuring the dramatic views. “I wish it were summer,” she whispered, dragging a finger through the circle of vapor. For those few fleeting weeks out of the year she felt alive. She spent the glorious weeks outside and especially the nights that never grew dark. Sometimes, she even evaded the guards, if only for a few moments.
Her mood darkened. She’d evade her future husband, too. And as often as possible. Once he’d planted a baby in her belly, there was no further need to be with him.
What if he didn’t agree to the treaty of marriage?
Of course, he would. For him, it would be a huge step up. She was a goddess. The blood of Sakkara flowed in her veins. She could trace her ancestors back to the beginning of recorded time. Her family was revered as gods by trillions of Coalition citizens and billions more undocumented believers who lived across the border in Drakken space. She was the goddess they worshipped.
A goddess who felt very human most of the time.
She heard a throat being cleared, and the shuffling of feet as the leaders waited for her to turn around. They’d make the decision for her if she didn’t, citing reasons of national security. She might as well hold onto as much control as she could. She took a breath, her hands fisted at her sides. Then, with dignity holding her smoldering rage in check, she turned around and squared her shoulders. Her ornate dress rustled, the bodice squeezing her ribs. “It must be done. For the sake of my people, I will take the Earthling as my royal consort.” She wasn’t very convincing at altruism but nonetheless, she tried. Luckily, no one snickered.
Unlike the others, who seemed relieved, Vemekk and Neppal continued to act unhappy: the minister quite shocked and dismayed, and the supreme commander simply angry. The commander’s reaction Keira could explain away as sullenness over not having had the chance to go to battle against Earth with his army, but the minister’s reaction was more puzzling.
“Find out the prince’s status,” Keira said. “And if he is free”—her hands opened and closed, itching to throw daggers—“strike a deal with Earth. Tell them they may offer their prince as the price for peace and the opportunity to keep their planet.”
Rissallen slapped his hands together in delight. “Together the Coalition and Earth will present a united front to the Drakken Hoard.”
As for her united front with the Earthling, it need not exist. He’d be given a life of comfort and riches in the galaxy’s most luxurious palace. All he ever needed to sate his appetites would be available to him, so he need not look to her for his satisfaction. And if he were to persist, well, her skill with a plasma sword was legendary.
~~~*~~~
Guest Blogger! Susan Grant
We're honored to have award winning alien romance author Susan Grant as our guest.
Excerpted from: MY FAVORITE EARTHLING
by SUSAN GRANT
copyright Susan Grant 2006
MARCH 2007
ISBN 0373771924; HQN books
This uncorrected excerpt may contain errors and other text not found in the final printed novel and is not for sale. Please don’t share the text with anyone without first receiving permission from the author to do so.
Prologue
CALIFORNIA POLITICIAN AND ALIEN LOVER SAVE THE WORLD
Reuters – one hour ago
WASHINGTON, DC (Reuters) – After spending much of the night in emergency meetings, a visibly emotional President Laurel Ramos announced that the alien invasion force threatening Earth has been turned away. “Today we have two new heroes—California State Senator Jana Jasper and her extraordinary extraterrestrial friend, Cavin of Far Star. It is not an exaggeration to say that they saved the world. I hereby rescind the state of emergency and declare this day a national holiday. Senator Jasper, Major Far Star, today we celebrate your courage and vision as one world newly united by a common cause. A very grateful world, indeed.”
Over the weekend, Jasper, 32, and Far Star, 34(est.) were taken by officials to an undisclosed location in the western United States where the pair were successful in deterring the invasion. Because of possible monitoring of Earth communications by the aliens, full details on the operation will not be revealed. At the news, celebrations broke out all over the world.
The tale of terror and daring had a romantic beginning. Jasper, the youngest child of US congressman John Jasper and former Soviet Ballet dancer Larisa Porizkova met Far Star in the late 1980s when both were children. Far Star’s father, a scientist, traveled to Earth to determine its suitability for alien habitation, a fact not known by Far Star at the time. Sources close to the couple say that after landing in the invisible spacecraft on the Jasper family ranch, young Far Star sneaked away to explore on his own and encountered the girl. “It was love at first sight,” enthuses Evie Holloway, 35, Jasper’s sister.
Despite the brevity of their initial meeting and the passage of over two decades, the pair never forgot each other. According the sources close to the couple, Far Star abandoned his post as a high-ranking military Coalition officer to warn Jasper that plans were underway for an invasion of Earth. Despite several attempts on his life by an interstellar assassin, now presumed dead, and the almost-fatal destruction of the computers implanted in his body caused by the attacks, Far Star has apparently triumphed, Jasper at his side.
“I wouldn’t get your hopes too high,” the popular senator warned officials after leaving the remote location where she and Far Star are said to have battled the alien fleet. “It was a delay tactic, not a permanent fix. It buys us time to prepare and that’s all.”
“These Coalition dudes are coming back, no doubt about that,” advised Jared Jasper, 36, the senator’s brother. “And whether we like it or not, all of us will be on the frontlines when they do.” The Sacramento real-estate developer and National Guard fighter pilot assisted in fighting off the alien invasion, although details on his role in the operation were not available due to security concerns.
A press conference is scheduled for later today at Mercy Hospital in Sacramento, where legendary Jasper patriarch and former California governor Jake Jasper was rushed early this morning after suffering a massive stroke.
Chapter One
A planet far, far away
The newly installed Minister of Coalition Intelligence listened in astonishment as an unexpected visitor vented his spleen.
“Far Star must be terminated!”
The minister couldn’t quite get over the coldness in his superior’s eyes. You look as if you could do the job with your own two hands. He made a fist in his lap behind his desk where no one could spy the symptom of his nervousness—or his grogginess. He’d been summoned straight out of bed and a deep sleep, made necessary after a hastily arranged meeting regarding a shocking encounter with a small, isolated world known only as Earth had kept him up far too late. “Far Star? As in Prime-major Far Star?”
“Yes, that one!”
The minister couldn’t remember the officer causing any trouble. In fact, quite the opposite. Far Star seemed an affable sort, young and handsome. Intelligent with a bright future. But his superior had been in the government since before he was born. Who was the minister to question that experience?
You ought to be standing, he realized suddenly, and started to get up. He’d been the Minister of Coalition Intelligence for all of a week, not long enough to get over being a little star-struck dealing so personally with palace leaders—Supreme Commander Neppal, Supreme-second Fair Cirrus, Prime Minister Rissallen, and the eunuch Tibor Frix, captain of the Palace Guard—although he’d not yet met the queen, thank the gods.
At the thought of Queen Keira, the minister winced. Other men might like gorgeous, spoiled, willful, wildly unpredictable powerful women. He did not.
“Be seated,” his superior commanded. Please. I’m here off the record.”
Indeed. There was nothing lawful about an in-house assassination.
“The order was put in three Septumdays ago! Receipt was confirmed by one of your REEFs—the very best, I was promised. Yet, we’ve heard nothing, and now Far Star is missing. I had the late minister insert a code in the kill order giving the REEF a time limit to track down and kill Far Star. One week! It is past that. What happened?”
Barbaric, the minister thought. He knew it was possible to rig an assassin for self-destruct but never heard of it being done. But with a crime this heinous, one wouldn’t want tracks leading back to the source, would they? Better to kill the killer and eliminate any messy evidence. “I’ll see if I can contact the REEF.” He swiveled his chair to access his computer. His communication would be delivered directly to a computer implanted in the individual assassin’s brain, giving a level of security unmatched by any other means. After several tries under intense scrutiny, there was no answer. As a last-ditch effort, the minister pinged the REEF’s ship. Nothing.
“I am unable to contact him. Because of the time limit, since the REEF hasn’t reported back within the prescribed limit, I’m afraid he’s likely suffered a total breakdown of his internal computer systems.”
“Gods be damned. He’s dead?”
“Or a vegetable.”
“Hire me another one!” His superior slammed a hand down on the desk, scattering the most recent panicked communiqué from the fleet commander fleeing Planet Earth’s unexpected wrath. That is the true threat here, this new and powerful world, not Far Star. Yes, the minister needed to devote his attention to galactic matters, but at home trouble was brewing, kill orders were flying, and despite being the supposed overseer of intelligence, he knew nothing. There was something innately humbling about being kept in the dark. But he summoned patience. “I’ll find you a new REEF, though you’d better give him a longer rope, because we don’t know where Far Star is.” Probably lying dead somewhere with the broken REEF nearby. “Meanwhile, as a safeguard, I’ll leave the viewer on the original REEF’s ship set to automatic two-way. The moment he powers up his ship, his image will be displayed onscreen in my office. Then we’ll have our answer.”
“No. Set it to appear on my personal screen, and only my screen.”
“As you wish.”
His visitor’s comm device chimed. It was unfurled and laid on the desk so that the minister, too, could see who’d called. The individual wore a hooded cloak covering his or her face. “I understand there is a problem.” It was a man—a young man by the sound of it. The voice was regally modulated with an accent that sounded familiar, but not familiar enough that the minister could place it. “Is it true? Far Star lives?”
“Far Star is missing,” the minister said. Again, he thought: I should be concentrating on the humiliating rout at Earth, not this.
“You sound distressed, minister.”
“Besides the fact that you have chosen not to identify yourself, I can’t understand this sudden interest in Far Star. He’s missing. Gone. Vanished without a trace. Isn’t that satisfactory?”
“Alive, he remains a major security risk,” his superior explained. “It is why we must locate him. He disappeared before the news was formally announced, but Prime-major Far Star has been chosen to be consort to the queen. This marriage must not take place.”
“Far Star? Royal consort? Good gods. The poor bastard. Years ago, I heard a rumor that the queen killed a man who tried to take her by force by hacking off his male parts with a plasma sword.”
“Almost killed.”
“So, it is true, then.”
“After she sliced off his bullocks, she decided that killing him would be an act of mercy. He lives on at the palace as a eunuch—and as a reminder for those suitors who would attempt to take liberties with the queen.”
The minister winced. Perhaps Far Star’s termination would not be so terrible, after all. It was like euthanizing a sick dog to save it from further misery, no? “I would think, however, a military man like Far Star would make an ideal consort. With martial arts and weapons training, at least he’d stand a chance at defending himself against her.”
“A military man would make an excellent consort indeed. The right military man.” The man onscreen threw back his hood. “Me.”
Good gods. “You’re...you’re...” If Queen Keira were to marry this...this boy, this creature, how would the Coalition survive? These conspirators don’t mean for the Coalition to survive. “I will not be part of this!”
“You’ve already done your part, minister. Thanks to your help, the queen and I will enjoy a long and productive marriage.”
Something hard pressed coldly against the back of the minister’s skull. While he’d been focused on the comm, his superior had rounded the desk. Reflected in a crystal souvenir of the minister’s last assignment on New Darva was the reflection of a gun being held to his head.
Of course, you fool. You know too much to be left alive. Briefly, he wondered what had happened to his predecessor. The woman’s death had been ruled a tragic accident, but now he wondered. Perhaps, after issuing the original kill order, she, too, knew too much. Or perhaps the previous minister had been more courageous and refused to do as these men asked.
Does it matter what path you chose? The final result will be the same.
The minister stared at his desktop and waited for the burst of light that would end his life. It was a plasma gun: a merciful choice in weapons. The end would be quick and clean, and everything the demise of the Coalition wouldn’t be if the circumstances of the queen’s upcoming nuptials were any hint.
But if she knew of the conspiracy, perhaps the result would be different, no? It was worth a try. With his heart thundering in his ears, the minister brushed a fingertip over the data input port on his command center, secretly linking the automatic two-way visual to the queen’s private chambers. If the REEF ever checked in, he’d check in with the queen. With any hope, and it was a tiny one indeed, she’d learn the assassin’s purpose—and the treachery behind it.
And if not, despite the confidence of her hopeful groom, Queen Keira would not go down with a fight. The image of the petulant goddess’s likely reaction to his marriage proposal was so satisfying in the minister’s mind that when the fatal shot was fired in the beautifully appointed office, he died with a smile on his face.
Excerpted from: MY FAVORITE EARTHLING
by SUSAN GRANT
copyright Susan Grant 2006
MARCH 2007
ISBN 0373771924; HQN books
This uncorrected excerpt may contain errors and other text not found in the final printed novel and is not for sale. Please don’t share the text with anyone without first receiving permission from the author to do so.
Prologue
CALIFORNIA POLITICIAN AND ALIEN LOVER SAVE THE WORLD
Reuters – one hour ago
WASHINGTON, DC (Reuters) – After spending much of the night in emergency meetings, a visibly emotional President Laurel Ramos announced that the alien invasion force threatening Earth has been turned away. “Today we have two new heroes—California State Senator Jana Jasper and her extraordinary extraterrestrial friend, Cavin of Far Star. It is not an exaggeration to say that they saved the world. I hereby rescind the state of emergency and declare this day a national holiday. Senator Jasper, Major Far Star, today we celebrate your courage and vision as one world newly united by a common cause. A very grateful world, indeed.”
Over the weekend, Jasper, 32, and Far Star, 34(est.) were taken by officials to an undisclosed location in the western United States where the pair were successful in deterring the invasion. Because of possible monitoring of Earth communications by the aliens, full details on the operation will not be revealed. At the news, celebrations broke out all over the world.
The tale of terror and daring had a romantic beginning. Jasper, the youngest child of US congressman John Jasper and former Soviet Ballet dancer Larisa Porizkova met Far Star in the late 1980s when both were children. Far Star’s father, a scientist, traveled to Earth to determine its suitability for alien habitation, a fact not known by Far Star at the time. Sources close to the couple say that after landing in the invisible spacecraft on the Jasper family ranch, young Far Star sneaked away to explore on his own and encountered the girl. “It was love at first sight,” enthuses Evie Holloway, 35, Jasper’s sister.
Despite the brevity of their initial meeting and the passage of over two decades, the pair never forgot each other. According the sources close to the couple, Far Star abandoned his post as a high-ranking military Coalition officer to warn Jasper that plans were underway for an invasion of Earth. Despite several attempts on his life by an interstellar assassin, now presumed dead, and the almost-fatal destruction of the computers implanted in his body caused by the attacks, Far Star has apparently triumphed, Jasper at his side.
“I wouldn’t get your hopes too high,” the popular senator warned officials after leaving the remote location where she and Far Star are said to have battled the alien fleet. “It was a delay tactic, not a permanent fix. It buys us time to prepare and that’s all.”
“These Coalition dudes are coming back, no doubt about that,” advised Jared Jasper, 36, the senator’s brother. “And whether we like it or not, all of us will be on the frontlines when they do.” The Sacramento real-estate developer and National Guard fighter pilot assisted in fighting off the alien invasion, although details on his role in the operation were not available due to security concerns.
A press conference is scheduled for later today at Mercy Hospital in Sacramento, where legendary Jasper patriarch and former California governor Jake Jasper was rushed early this morning after suffering a massive stroke.
Chapter One
A planet far, far away
The newly installed Minister of Coalition Intelligence listened in astonishment as an unexpected visitor vented his spleen.
“Far Star must be terminated!”
The minister couldn’t quite get over the coldness in his superior’s eyes. You look as if you could do the job with your own two hands. He made a fist in his lap behind his desk where no one could spy the symptom of his nervousness—or his grogginess. He’d been summoned straight out of bed and a deep sleep, made necessary after a hastily arranged meeting regarding a shocking encounter with a small, isolated world known only as Earth had kept him up far too late. “Far Star? As in Prime-major Far Star?”
“Yes, that one!”
The minister couldn’t remember the officer causing any trouble. In fact, quite the opposite. Far Star seemed an affable sort, young and handsome. Intelligent with a bright future. But his superior had been in the government since before he was born. Who was the minister to question that experience?
You ought to be standing, he realized suddenly, and started to get up. He’d been the Minister of Coalition Intelligence for all of a week, not long enough to get over being a little star-struck dealing so personally with palace leaders—Supreme Commander Neppal, Supreme-second Fair Cirrus, Prime Minister Rissallen, and the eunuch Tibor Frix, captain of the Palace Guard—although he’d not yet met the queen, thank the gods.
At the thought of Queen Keira, the minister winced. Other men might like gorgeous, spoiled, willful, wildly unpredictable powerful women. He did not.
“Be seated,” his superior commanded. Please. I’m here off the record.”
Indeed. There was nothing lawful about an in-house assassination.
“The order was put in three Septumdays ago! Receipt was confirmed by one of your REEFs—the very best, I was promised. Yet, we’ve heard nothing, and now Far Star is missing. I had the late minister insert a code in the kill order giving the REEF a time limit to track down and kill Far Star. One week! It is past that. What happened?”
Barbaric, the minister thought. He knew it was possible to rig an assassin for self-destruct but never heard of it being done. But with a crime this heinous, one wouldn’t want tracks leading back to the source, would they? Better to kill the killer and eliminate any messy evidence. “I’ll see if I can contact the REEF.” He swiveled his chair to access his computer. His communication would be delivered directly to a computer implanted in the individual assassin’s brain, giving a level of security unmatched by any other means. After several tries under intense scrutiny, there was no answer. As a last-ditch effort, the minister pinged the REEF’s ship. Nothing.
“I am unable to contact him. Because of the time limit, since the REEF hasn’t reported back within the prescribed limit, I’m afraid he’s likely suffered a total breakdown of his internal computer systems.”
“Gods be damned. He’s dead?”
“Or a vegetable.”
“Hire me another one!” His superior slammed a hand down on the desk, scattering the most recent panicked communiqué from the fleet commander fleeing Planet Earth’s unexpected wrath. That is the true threat here, this new and powerful world, not Far Star. Yes, the minister needed to devote his attention to galactic matters, but at home trouble was brewing, kill orders were flying, and despite being the supposed overseer of intelligence, he knew nothing. There was something innately humbling about being kept in the dark. But he summoned patience. “I’ll find you a new REEF, though you’d better give him a longer rope, because we don’t know where Far Star is.” Probably lying dead somewhere with the broken REEF nearby. “Meanwhile, as a safeguard, I’ll leave the viewer on the original REEF’s ship set to automatic two-way. The moment he powers up his ship, his image will be displayed onscreen in my office. Then we’ll have our answer.”
“No. Set it to appear on my personal screen, and only my screen.”
“As you wish.”
His visitor’s comm device chimed. It was unfurled and laid on the desk so that the minister, too, could see who’d called. The individual wore a hooded cloak covering his or her face. “I understand there is a problem.” It was a man—a young man by the sound of it. The voice was regally modulated with an accent that sounded familiar, but not familiar enough that the minister could place it. “Is it true? Far Star lives?”
“Far Star is missing,” the minister said. Again, he thought: I should be concentrating on the humiliating rout at Earth, not this.
“You sound distressed, minister.”
“Besides the fact that you have chosen not to identify yourself, I can’t understand this sudden interest in Far Star. He’s missing. Gone. Vanished without a trace. Isn’t that satisfactory?”
“Alive, he remains a major security risk,” his superior explained. “It is why we must locate him. He disappeared before the news was formally announced, but Prime-major Far Star has been chosen to be consort to the queen. This marriage must not take place.”
“Far Star? Royal consort? Good gods. The poor bastard. Years ago, I heard a rumor that the queen killed a man who tried to take her by force by hacking off his male parts with a plasma sword.”
“Almost killed.”
“So, it is true, then.”
“After she sliced off his bullocks, she decided that killing him would be an act of mercy. He lives on at the palace as a eunuch—and as a reminder for those suitors who would attempt to take liberties with the queen.”
The minister winced. Perhaps Far Star’s termination would not be so terrible, after all. It was like euthanizing a sick dog to save it from further misery, no? “I would think, however, a military man like Far Star would make an ideal consort. With martial arts and weapons training, at least he’d stand a chance at defending himself against her.”
“A military man would make an excellent consort indeed. The right military man.” The man onscreen threw back his hood. “Me.”
Good gods. “You’re...you’re...” If Queen Keira were to marry this...this boy, this creature, how would the Coalition survive? These conspirators don’t mean for the Coalition to survive. “I will not be part of this!”
“You’ve already done your part, minister. Thanks to your help, the queen and I will enjoy a long and productive marriage.”
Something hard pressed coldly against the back of the minister’s skull. While he’d been focused on the comm, his superior had rounded the desk. Reflected in a crystal souvenir of the minister’s last assignment on New Darva was the reflection of a gun being held to his head.
Of course, you fool. You know too much to be left alive. Briefly, he wondered what had happened to his predecessor. The woman’s death had been ruled a tragic accident, but now he wondered. Perhaps, after issuing the original kill order, she, too, knew too much. Or perhaps the previous minister had been more courageous and refused to do as these men asked.
Does it matter what path you chose? The final result will be the same.
The minister stared at his desktop and waited for the burst of light that would end his life. It was a plasma gun: a merciful choice in weapons. The end would be quick and clean, and everything the demise of the Coalition wouldn’t be if the circumstances of the queen’s upcoming nuptials were any hint.
But if she knew of the conspiracy, perhaps the result would be different, no? It was worth a try. With his heart thundering in his ears, the minister brushed a fingertip over the data input port on his command center, secretly linking the automatic two-way visual to the queen’s private chambers. If the REEF ever checked in, he’d check in with the queen. With any hope, and it was a tiny one indeed, she’d learn the assassin’s purpose—and the treachery behind it.
And if not, despite the confidence of her hopeful groom, Queen Keira would not go down with a fight. The image of the petulant goddess’s likely reaction to his marriage proposal was so satisfying in the minister’s mind that when the fatal shot was fired in the beautifully appointed office, he died with a smile on his face.
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