Folks:
On a writer's list I'm on, one of the professional writers asked for advice for where to find books on screenwriting because he wanted to convert one of his novels to a screenplay.
As it happened, this is a subject I've been focusing on lately, so here is my answer.
Syd Field, the great screenwriting teacher, states categorically (in SCREENWRITING) that a novel is NOT a movie and shows you how and why that's so.
That incontrovertible fact is the reason so many writers are bummed when they see their work made for the screen, small or large. Scriptwriters always end up changing the THEME of the work, because they aren't you and can't "have" your idea from scratch.
So they do violence to your idea to conform it to the commercial marketplace. (i.e., they make the protag's motive revenge because audiences understand that better than what you used which the screenwriter just didn't understand. That is, "revenge" is a higher concept than your novel's concept. It is understood more easily by more people. So with big bucks riding on it, the protag's character gets warped into vengeful.)
Doing the conversion yourself, though, unless you comprehend the hard fact of the nature of the difference and the reasons writers assigned to convert a novel fail, will guarantee your screenplay will never sell.
Your novel must BECOME a screenplay or script for TV (very VERY different markets, and not just a different way of laying out the type on the page, but differing in content and where climaxes have to go by page number and the kind of character work you can do.)
Creating characters for a script is to creating novel characters as Japanese Brush Painting is to Rembrandt.
They're both highly advanced art forms -- but they are different SKILLS. The Japanese artist's eye is trained to "see" differently. The scriptwriter's "eye" for character is trained to "see" differently from the novelist's.
For a script to sell, the characters must be OUTLINES, vivid and identifyable archetypes, not individuals.
Why?
Because films cost too much to make.
To sell the script, you must attract the best name actors, and those actors will judge your script by how well they can fit themselves inside the outline of your characters. If you fill in all the colors, tones, and dimensions (as Rembrandt) you leave no room for the actor's SELF, and the script will not sell, or if it does, the actor will warp the character to suit himself and the director.
That's not art -- it's business. It's all about the cost difference per minute of entertainment delivered via the novel and the film.
I do intend to convert some of my novels to scripts, and am working through a course on screenwriting now.
I have lots to learn, but if you've learned and internalized the NOVEL paradigm, you can learn any paradigm used for storytelling.
That is, you have to understand intellectually, just how you accomplished the structuring of your original story -- the more you rely on your innate "talent," the more likely you are to fail at the converting of your own novel to a screenplay.
You have to know and understand the story-structure mechanism in a coldly analytical way to be able to accomplish this conversion trick.
If you can turn your "talent" instinct on and off, you can do it.
I highly recommend SAVE THE CAT! by Blake Snyder and the brand new board software (also titled SAVE THE CAT! ) that lets you lay out your material in the standard Hollywood format on electronic 3X5 cards (that grow to whatever size you need as you make notes). Both book and software include the precise beat-sheet which is the key to success in selling your screenplay. (Mention my name if you email Blake.)
See my Amazon review of the book. I'm vetting the software now. It's amazing. It's not on amazon yet. You can get it on blakesnyder.com though.
http://www.amazon.com/Save-Last-Book-Screenwriting-Youll/dp/1932907009/rereadablebooksr/
I also have two review columns in the New Age Magazine column I do focusing on the esoteric reasons for the difference between novel and screenplay. I use SAVE THE CAT! as the basis of comparison. Those two columns will be posted on my own site in February and April. Blake Snyder wants to link to the April review because he thought I explained it well.
http://www.simegen.com/reviews/rereadablebooks/2007/
The real trick of this head-spinning conversion problem is to realize that a great novel concept is NOT a saleable film concept. The concept needs to be recast from the inside out to become a movie.
And then you have to use the beat sheet to structure the script precisely from that filmable concept - NOT from anything in the novel itself.
The novel's material and climaxes are all in the wrong places -- the character arcs and the character formulations are all wrong. The description is all wrong. The details are all wrong. It all has to be redone from scratch, as if you'd never written the novel and are just burning to tell this story in screenplay form.
Read Syd Field's (he's very repetitive, but that emphasizes the points) opus SCREENWRITING where he explains the how and why of this novel/screenplay conversion process.
You can probably get his books from the library, but I bought 3 of his books and filled them with underlines and post-it notes.
However, my desk reference as I work on scripting a story is SAVE THE CAT! with its complete beat sheet. That beat sheet and accompanying explanation is well worth the price of the book. You can download a copy of the beat sheet without explanation on blakesnyder.com then use it in notepad or Word to structure your story into screenplay format.
Remember, you can't take the novel you've written, it's characters and their conflicts, and just take the words and reformat them into script form scene by scene.
You have to "have the idea" for the novel over again from scratch, casting it in High Concept form, or it just has no chance in today's flooded script market.
You probably already know more about screenwriting than you do about novel writing -- because you've probably seen more movies than you've read books, so you can "sense" the formula behind movies. You always know what's coming when watching a film, don't you? That's unconscious. To write a film, you have to make that gut knowledge into conscious knowledge.
Read SAVE THE CAT! where those current best selling script formulas are revealed in detail. Pick one and re-have your Idea in Concept form. (you don't get ideas for movies, you get concepts -- and there is a very important difference -- but it's all just storycraft.)
Jacqueline Lichtenberg
http://www.simegen.com/jl/
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Monday, November 27, 2006
Debunking Authorly Urban Legends
Eons ago, when I was in college (or it might have been grad school), I remember listening to a professor expounded on what L. Frank Baum really meant to say when he wrote the Wizard of Oz. It had something to do with repressed homosexual urges and a fascination with bestiality…well, you can figure out the rest. It was, to my way of thinking, really off the wall. And of course, L. Frank was dead and couldn’t walk up to the professor and pop the man one in the eye for his far-fetched statements.
But the prof said all this with such authority. Because he was a learned prof and therefore, knew more than the poor little author did.
I laughed about it then. Being a poor little author myself, I’m not laughing about it now.
Thankfully, Linnea Urban Legends are rare (at least, I’ve not been pointed to a great many of them). But there are a few out there that readers have directed me to. And since I’m still alive and kicking, I’d like to debunk a few of those before some learned prof stands up in class fifty years from now telling people what Linnea Sinclair really meant when she wrote her books—and have it all be so very wrong.
These are a few things (paraphrased and clipped for brevity) I’ve seen reviewers, bloggers et al state they "know" about me and my writing:
1 - McMaster Bujold is obviously Sinclair's SF antecedents. The opening scenes of Finders Keepers owe a great deal to Shards of Honor.
Answer – This is really embarrassing to admit but I’ve never read Shards of Honor. I know I should read Bujold but I haven’t. Slap me silly for not keeping up with my required reading but don’t make assumptions as to where I get my storylines from. Try asking me. So any conclusion that I’ve ripped off Bujold’s work is pure bunk.
2 – I just finished Gabriel’s Ghost. Having read An Accidental Goddess, Gabriel’s Ghost is proof that the author gets better the more she writes.
Answer – Thanks for the backhanded compliment. Check the publication dates. Gabriel’s was written before Goddess. So I guess I’m going downhill. It must be age and an increasing lack of tolerance for alcohol.
3 – Gabriel's Ghost was written by someone whose SF influences are movies and TV series… It's clear from Linnea Sinclair's skills that Gabriel's Ghost is not the product of a writer who doesn't read. [Therefore] Gabriel's Ghost is the result of a canny calculation... poised to pull an audience... ignorant of...nanotechnology, quantum states, posthumans, the singularity and other staples of post-1980s prose SF. [Gabriel's Ghost is] a romantically charged SF novel that sticks to humanoid aliens and media-SF technology.
Answer – And you say that like it's such a bad thing...
Okay, if I'm reading it right, the reviewer here had decided that because my book didn’t focus on quantum states and singularities, that it was a deliberate concoction on my part to garner a non-scientifically oriented audience ("dominated by women and girls"). Wow. I had no idea I was so smart, marketing-wise. How come Madison Avenue isn’t banging down my door? Fact is, Gabriel’s Ghost is what it is. No, I didn’t sit down one morning and say, hmm, the next book I’m writing will be geared towards women unfamiliar with nanotechnology. I wrote Sully and Chaz’s story with nary a thought to marketing or audience. I write ALL my books that way. I write my character’s stories. Period. Please don’t assume nefarious behind-the-scenes machinations on my part. If you want to know why I wrote a book, ask me.
And finally…
4 – ICK! The book has romance!
Answer – Yep, it does. The corollary to ICK is "It’s shelved in science fiction!" as if my books infect those around them on the shelves with some disgusting malady. The Urban Legend associated with this is that somehow Linnea Sinclair browbeat or bribed the powers that be at Bantam to shelve the books in science fiction, or that the author is in any way responsible for a book’s shelving. WE ARE NOT. I AM NOT. No one ever asked me where my books belong. If you have an issue with those who like romance and romantic subplots in their novels, do not demean, denigrate or damn those of us who do…and those of us who write it. We don’t put you down for what you like to read.
There are a few more but they’re pretty much variations on the above themes.
Point is this, and I’ve already said it several times above: ask me. Ask any author why they wrote the book they did, why their characters are such, why the plot took the twist it did. I’ve been blessed with some wonderful interviews—on line, in print, and in radio and television—where people took time to ascertain the facts and not just throw assumptions and accusations together. Ask.
And by the way, to the blogger who complained that Sully was a typical alpha male, he’s not. For one thing, I don’t write to archetypes. But if I did, Sully would be more gamma (poet, monk and warrior).
Just wanted to clear that up.
~Linnea
But the prof said all this with such authority. Because he was a learned prof and therefore, knew more than the poor little author did.
I laughed about it then. Being a poor little author myself, I’m not laughing about it now.
Thankfully, Linnea Urban Legends are rare (at least, I’ve not been pointed to a great many of them). But there are a few out there that readers have directed me to. And since I’m still alive and kicking, I’d like to debunk a few of those before some learned prof stands up in class fifty years from now telling people what Linnea Sinclair really meant when she wrote her books—and have it all be so very wrong.
These are a few things (paraphrased and clipped for brevity) I’ve seen reviewers, bloggers et al state they "know" about me and my writing:
1 - McMaster Bujold is obviously Sinclair's SF antecedents. The opening scenes of Finders Keepers owe a great deal to Shards of Honor.
Answer – This is really embarrassing to admit but I’ve never read Shards of Honor. I know I should read Bujold but I haven’t. Slap me silly for not keeping up with my required reading but don’t make assumptions as to where I get my storylines from. Try asking me. So any conclusion that I’ve ripped off Bujold’s work is pure bunk.
2 – I just finished Gabriel’s Ghost. Having read An Accidental Goddess, Gabriel’s Ghost is proof that the author gets better the more she writes.
Answer – Thanks for the backhanded compliment. Check the publication dates. Gabriel’s was written before Goddess. So I guess I’m going downhill. It must be age and an increasing lack of tolerance for alcohol.
3 – Gabriel's Ghost was written by someone whose SF influences are movies and TV series… It's clear from Linnea Sinclair's skills that Gabriel's Ghost is not the product of a writer who doesn't read. [Therefore] Gabriel's Ghost is the result of a canny calculation... poised to pull an audience... ignorant of...nanotechnology, quantum states, posthumans, the singularity and other staples of post-1980s prose SF. [Gabriel's Ghost is] a romantically charged SF novel that sticks to humanoid aliens and media-SF technology.
Answer – And you say that like it's such a bad thing...
Okay, if I'm reading it right, the reviewer here had decided that because my book didn’t focus on quantum states and singularities, that it was a deliberate concoction on my part to garner a non-scientifically oriented audience ("dominated by women and girls"). Wow. I had no idea I was so smart, marketing-wise. How come Madison Avenue isn’t banging down my door? Fact is, Gabriel’s Ghost is what it is. No, I didn’t sit down one morning and say, hmm, the next book I’m writing will be geared towards women unfamiliar with nanotechnology. I wrote Sully and Chaz’s story with nary a thought to marketing or audience. I write ALL my books that way. I write my character’s stories. Period. Please don’t assume nefarious behind-the-scenes machinations on my part. If you want to know why I wrote a book, ask me.
And finally…
4 – ICK! The book has romance!
Answer – Yep, it does. The corollary to ICK is "It’s shelved in science fiction!" as if my books infect those around them on the shelves with some disgusting malady. The Urban Legend associated with this is that somehow Linnea Sinclair browbeat or bribed the powers that be at Bantam to shelve the books in science fiction, or that the author is in any way responsible for a book’s shelving. WE ARE NOT. I AM NOT. No one ever asked me where my books belong. If you have an issue with those who like romance and romantic subplots in their novels, do not demean, denigrate or damn those of us who do…and those of us who write it. We don’t put you down for what you like to read.
There are a few more but they’re pretty much variations on the above themes.
Point is this, and I’ve already said it several times above: ask me. Ask any author why they wrote the book they did, why their characters are such, why the plot took the twist it did. I’ve been blessed with some wonderful interviews—on line, in print, and in radio and television—where people took time to ascertain the facts and not just throw assumptions and accusations together. Ask.
And by the way, to the blogger who complained that Sully was a typical alpha male, he’s not. For one thing, I don’t write to archetypes. But if I did, Sully would be more gamma (poet, monk and warrior).
Just wanted to clear that up.
~Linnea
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Empires, Dreams
Stayed up late last night, I did.
Empire Of Dreams was absolutely fascinating, to me, and to those with whom I watched it. I'm sure each one of us took something different away from it.
The insight that I appreciate most (at this moment) was the fact that the actor inside Darth Vader's helmet was pronouncing --and acting-- from one script, and Luke was reacting to another.
Now that really was the ultimate in saying one thing and meaning another... or of not being on the same page! I suppose it wasn't really much different from script management for Who Shot JR...? But it seemed deeper to this viewer.
I knew that Darth Vader's voice had been dubbed in later, but how cool it was to hear the difference in soundtrack when the original actor spoke. What a difference the "right" voice makes! Or the right howls. Wasn't it fascinating that Chewbacca originally had lines? Talking of Chewbacca, I greatly enjoyed the revelation that some of the movie makers were worried about the Wookie's lack of underwear. I'd noticed that uncivilized omission only the night before.
On Thursday night I tried to watch The Empire Strikes Back. I have it out from the library too, but it's a VCR and in almost unwatchably bad condition. Imagine my joy when it was on TV on Friday night. I was very pleased to see swordmaster Bob Anderson's name in the credits as a stunt double. (Recently I blogged about the account I'd read in By The Sword of why a genuine swordsman, not an actor, had to perform Darth Vader's fight with Luke.)
The music was something else I'd never really thought about--apart from the "declarative" Imperial theme for whenever Darth Vader stalked across the screen, like the wolf theme in Peter And The Wolf, only much more wicked.
How fascinating that the composer had recently finished the score for Jaws, where the
antagonist got the catchy, sinister theme music! What a twist for those of us accustomed to the Bond theme... the Here Comes The Hero refrain. When the movie music is really, really good, I don't notice it much, apart from the theme tunes. It's amusing what a difference a good orchestra makes to an aerial dogfight, isn't it?
I've watched a lot of The Making Of... documentaries, but I don't think I've grasped how much goes into making a great movie quite as vividly as I did last night, watching Empire Of Dreams.
What did you like best?
Best wishes,
Rowena Cherry
Empire Of Dreams was absolutely fascinating, to me, and to those with whom I watched it. I'm sure each one of us took something different away from it.
The insight that I appreciate most (at this moment) was the fact that the actor inside Darth Vader's helmet was pronouncing --and acting-- from one script, and Luke was reacting to another.
Now that really was the ultimate in saying one thing and meaning another... or of not being on the same page! I suppose it wasn't really much different from script management for Who Shot JR...? But it seemed deeper to this viewer.
I knew that Darth Vader's voice had been dubbed in later, but how cool it was to hear the difference in soundtrack when the original actor spoke. What a difference the "right" voice makes! Or the right howls. Wasn't it fascinating that Chewbacca originally had lines? Talking of Chewbacca, I greatly enjoyed the revelation that some of the movie makers were worried about the Wookie's lack of underwear. I'd noticed that uncivilized omission only the night before.
On Thursday night I tried to watch The Empire Strikes Back. I have it out from the library too, but it's a VCR and in almost unwatchably bad condition. Imagine my joy when it was on TV on Friday night. I was very pleased to see swordmaster Bob Anderson's name in the credits as a stunt double. (Recently I blogged about the account I'd read in By The Sword of why a genuine swordsman, not an actor, had to perform Darth Vader's fight with Luke.)
The music was something else I'd never really thought about--apart from the "declarative" Imperial theme for whenever Darth Vader stalked across the screen, like the wolf theme in Peter And The Wolf, only much more wicked.
How fascinating that the composer had recently finished the score for Jaws, where the
antagonist got the catchy, sinister theme music! What a twist for those of us accustomed to the Bond theme... the Here Comes The Hero refrain. When the movie music is really, really good, I don't notice it much, apart from the theme tunes. It's amusing what a difference a good orchestra makes to an aerial dogfight, isn't it?
I've watched a lot of The Making Of... documentaries, but I don't think I've grasped how much goes into making a great movie quite as vividly as I did last night, watching Empire Of Dreams.
What did you like best?
Best wishes,
Rowena Cherry
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Life in the real world
I know I've missed some of my days. My only excuse is the holidays are upon us. With several deadlines such as books, getting the house decorated, getting my invitations for my party out, decorating my mother's house I've just been too frazzled to concentrate on anything at all.
But as my mind searches for conventient ways to do the decorating, such as wouldn't it be nice if your tree could just pop up out of the floor fully decorated? I've wondered...will our Christmas traditions survive into the future? You read historicals all the time with Christmas scenes (Let me recommend my own Windfall) but are there ever any holiday celebrations in our futuristics? Anyone ever read a book about a futuristic Christmas?
As our civilization moves out into space the Christmas story will go with it. But it will be interesting to see what the celebration will become.
Ideas anyone?
But as my mind searches for conventient ways to do the decorating, such as wouldn't it be nice if your tree could just pop up out of the floor fully decorated? I've wondered...will our Christmas traditions survive into the future? You read historicals all the time with Christmas scenes (Let me recommend my own Windfall) but are there ever any holiday celebrations in our futuristics? Anyone ever read a book about a futuristic Christmas?
As our civilization moves out into space the Christmas story will go with it. But it will be interesting to see what the celebration will become.
Ideas anyone?
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Living with Technology
Nobody in our family has a Playstation 3. (Our youngest son got a Nintendo Wii, which seemed to be less chaotic in its launch, not to mention more reasonably priced.) I got some amusement from reading the newspaper accounts of long lines camping out overnight for the Playstation. The hysteria became unfunny, though, when police had to quell outbreaks of violence at some locations. At least one store in this part of the state decided not to sell the system on launch day at all. What struck me most about the stories, however, was the account of a homeless woman walking along one of the waiting lines begging for change. She was quoted as saying she couldn't understand why people would be so silly as to sleep outside when they didn't have to and pay such an exorbitant amount of money for a "toy." Cue irony.
So, I pondered, how can I use this squirm-inducing story as a blog topic? Well, how about the role of high-tech in our daily lives? As a family, we've never been early adopters. (A statement that doesn't necessarily apply to our grown sons.) We tend to acquire the Next Big Thing after it's been tested on the market for a while. I can't comment on video games because I've never played them, but I can't imagine that even for something I really, really wanted I would stand in line on the first day or pay above retail price. (Who ARE these people who buy "flipped" Playstations on the Internet for thousands of dollars when they could get a new one at list price by waiting a few weeks?) And I'm not one bit interested in HDTV. The cheapest television at Best Buy plays programs just fine by my relaxed standards, and quantum levels better than the sets I watched as a kid. (Remember that extinct subspecies, the TV repairman?)
Some high-tech products, however, have changed my life so much for the better that I can hardly imagine how I lived without them. Remember when missing a TV program meant waiting for the rerun? When you couldn't see an old movie unless it was revived in your town's theater or broadcast on the local TV station? (How did film studies classes manage, I wonder?) When missing a phone call meant hoping they'd call back? When you couldn't get money while the bank was closed unless you could find a store willing to cash a check? (Before ATMs and universal acceptance of credit cards, each of our military moves involved serious preplanning and juggling to avoid being stranded with no means of buying daily necessities such as food until our newly opened local bank account in our new city of residence issued us checks the stores would accept.) When there was no Internet to use for requesting library books, ordering postage stamps, transferring funds between your bank accounts, buying products your local store didn't have in stock, reserving plane tickets, finding directions for a trip, or getting quick information on any topic? I can't guess what stage my writing career would have reached at this point in my life if I hadn't had the Internet to seek out writers' guidelines or communicate with publishers and fellow authors, not to mention that most of the publishers that have released my books wouldn't have existed in the first place (since they're e-pubs). The very existence of the computer has improved my writing to an unguessable degree, because not having to re-transcribe a whole manuscript for each set of changes means I'm far more willing to rewrite. I can tinker with a sentence over and over, without having to decided whether a contemplated small change is worth retyping a page. E-mail is a great boon, combining the best features of snail mail (you can think about what you want to say at leisure and revise it) and the telephone (you can usually get a fast reply) without the disadvantages (postal mail -- often not timely enough for the situation; phone -- you have to worry about disturbing the person and catching him/her at home or waiting for him/her to call back, plus you have to pay extra to talk to someone on the other side of the country or the world).
Good grief, there was a time when we didn't have a MICROWAVE! And, before that, there was an era when cars didn't have seat belts, or any music systems other than the radio. Also, while this doesn't exactly qualify as high-tech, packaged foods didn't bear lists of ingredients and nutritional content. To cite a high-tech advance in that area, consider the bar code. Although at first it was odd getting used to not having price tags on most groceries, soon it became pleasant to be able to move through the checkout line faster.
And then there's the cell phone. A mixed blessing, some people might say. :) I carry one and would hate to be deprived of it, but I don't use it for casual conversation, and I don't keep it turned on unless I've arranged in advance for somebody to call me for a particular purpose. In my worldview, the cell phone exists to make OUTGOING calls. When we need it, though, we REALLY need it. Before it existed, you'd have to search for a pay phone if your car broke down, or just to call home if you were delayed or make contact with a child who had to be picked up from an after-school activity. (It's often been remarked that high-tech devices such as this make a writer's job harder in some respects. If the heroine of your suspense novel carries a phone in her purse, how do you arrange for her to be stranded with no means of calling for help?) Remember how expensive our first hand-held calculators were? Today we can buy a smaller, far more versatile one in the supermarket stationery aisle for under $20. As an electronically published author, I'm waiting for a hand-held e-book reading device that's as cheap, durable, user-friendly, and ubiquitous as a calculator.
What wonders does the future hold? Already I'm seeing TV commercials for disk-shaped robots that vacuum or scrub the floors. I wouldn't think of paying the current price for them. Eventually, though, the day will come when they're as cheap and commonplace as computers are today. Then I'll get one. Will we ever see housecleaning robots that look, talk, and behave like human beings? Would we want them to? If they appeared too human, we'd have to consider the ethical quandary of whether they deserved individual rights, and as far as having cheap, unobtrusive domestic labor is concerned, we'd be back where we started. And as these new conveniences enter our lives and transform from luxuries to necessities (some public schools, not to mention colleges, already seem to assume that all students have computer access), what is our responsibility for ensuring their availability to everyone, not just the middle- and upper-class educated elite?
Nothing terribly original in these musings about the advantages and challenges of high-tech, but hey, it's a holiday. :) Happy Thanksgiving to all who celebrate it!
So, I pondered, how can I use this squirm-inducing story as a blog topic? Well, how about the role of high-tech in our daily lives? As a family, we've never been early adopters. (A statement that doesn't necessarily apply to our grown sons.) We tend to acquire the Next Big Thing after it's been tested on the market for a while. I can't comment on video games because I've never played them, but I can't imagine that even for something I really, really wanted I would stand in line on the first day or pay above retail price. (Who ARE these people who buy "flipped" Playstations on the Internet for thousands of dollars when they could get a new one at list price by waiting a few weeks?) And I'm not one bit interested in HDTV. The cheapest television at Best Buy plays programs just fine by my relaxed standards, and quantum levels better than the sets I watched as a kid. (Remember that extinct subspecies, the TV repairman?)
Some high-tech products, however, have changed my life so much for the better that I can hardly imagine how I lived without them. Remember when missing a TV program meant waiting for the rerun? When you couldn't see an old movie unless it was revived in your town's theater or broadcast on the local TV station? (How did film studies classes manage, I wonder?) When missing a phone call meant hoping they'd call back? When you couldn't get money while the bank was closed unless you could find a store willing to cash a check? (Before ATMs and universal acceptance of credit cards, each of our military moves involved serious preplanning and juggling to avoid being stranded with no means of buying daily necessities such as food until our newly opened local bank account in our new city of residence issued us checks the stores would accept.) When there was no Internet to use for requesting library books, ordering postage stamps, transferring funds between your bank accounts, buying products your local store didn't have in stock, reserving plane tickets, finding directions for a trip, or getting quick information on any topic? I can't guess what stage my writing career would have reached at this point in my life if I hadn't had the Internet to seek out writers' guidelines or communicate with publishers and fellow authors, not to mention that most of the publishers that have released my books wouldn't have existed in the first place (since they're e-pubs). The very existence of the computer has improved my writing to an unguessable degree, because not having to re-transcribe a whole manuscript for each set of changes means I'm far more willing to rewrite. I can tinker with a sentence over and over, without having to decided whether a contemplated small change is worth retyping a page. E-mail is a great boon, combining the best features of snail mail (you can think about what you want to say at leisure and revise it) and the telephone (you can usually get a fast reply) without the disadvantages (postal mail -- often not timely enough for the situation; phone -- you have to worry about disturbing the person and catching him/her at home or waiting for him/her to call back, plus you have to pay extra to talk to someone on the other side of the country or the world).
Good grief, there was a time when we didn't have a MICROWAVE! And, before that, there was an era when cars didn't have seat belts, or any music systems other than the radio. Also, while this doesn't exactly qualify as high-tech, packaged foods didn't bear lists of ingredients and nutritional content. To cite a high-tech advance in that area, consider the bar code. Although at first it was odd getting used to not having price tags on most groceries, soon it became pleasant to be able to move through the checkout line faster.
And then there's the cell phone. A mixed blessing, some people might say. :) I carry one and would hate to be deprived of it, but I don't use it for casual conversation, and I don't keep it turned on unless I've arranged in advance for somebody to call me for a particular purpose. In my worldview, the cell phone exists to make OUTGOING calls. When we need it, though, we REALLY need it. Before it existed, you'd have to search for a pay phone if your car broke down, or just to call home if you were delayed or make contact with a child who had to be picked up from an after-school activity. (It's often been remarked that high-tech devices such as this make a writer's job harder in some respects. If the heroine of your suspense novel carries a phone in her purse, how do you arrange for her to be stranded with no means of calling for help?) Remember how expensive our first hand-held calculators were? Today we can buy a smaller, far more versatile one in the supermarket stationery aisle for under $20. As an electronically published author, I'm waiting for a hand-held e-book reading device that's as cheap, durable, user-friendly, and ubiquitous as a calculator.
What wonders does the future hold? Already I'm seeing TV commercials for disk-shaped robots that vacuum or scrub the floors. I wouldn't think of paying the current price for them. Eventually, though, the day will come when they're as cheap and commonplace as computers are today. Then I'll get one. Will we ever see housecleaning robots that look, talk, and behave like human beings? Would we want them to? If they appeared too human, we'd have to consider the ethical quandary of whether they deserved individual rights, and as far as having cheap, unobtrusive domestic labor is concerned, we'd be back where we started. And as these new conveniences enter our lives and transform from luxuries to necessities (some public schools, not to mention colleges, already seem to assume that all students have computer access), what is our responsibility for ensuring their availability to everyone, not just the middle- and upper-class educated elite?
Nothing terribly original in these musings about the advantages and challenges of high-tech, but hey, it's a holiday. :) Happy Thanksgiving to all who celebrate it!
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Come Play In My Backyard
Folks:
Here's an interesting statistic:
In the film industry, it is believed that:
Happy Endings make more money than any other type. (Protag. attains a goal PLUS a need.)
Down or Tragic endings win appreciation from critics. (Protag attains neither a goal nor a need.)
Ironic endings are most often picked for Oscar attention. (Protag attains either goal or need)
I was told this about the book industry -- but I had no idea it applied to films. I never analyzed the Oscar winners, and I don't read "critics." (I REVIEW books, not criticise them).
I've always thought that you bring your story to it's PROPER -- internally consistent -- ending and you have a chance at any or all 3 of the above, money, fame, or glory.
But apparently that's not so, according to screenwriting lore.
Therefore, before starting to craft an IDEA into a story, complete with protagonist, antagonist, conflict, beginning, middle, end and resolution of the conflict, you really should think hard about the ENDING.
What a backwards way of looking at it.
Most Romances -- even Alien Romances -- have "happy" endings in that the main characters find true happiness, even if they've switched partners a few times during the story.
So Romance is not always about attaining a GOAL -- i.e. you don't have a "happy ending" unless the protagonist attains their goal and also gets what they really need in life. A Romance ends where the protags get what they NEED -- and only sometimes what they thought they were going after.
In fact, the most interesting Romances are ones where both protags shift their goals during the story and only gradually discover their own needs -- and the needs of their S. O.
Could that be why very few serious and complex Romances make it to the screen?
Romances should be cheap to make -- well, not Alien Romances or grand Historical Romances (costume pieces), but contemporary, A.U. or even most Paranormals would be filmable.
But to justify the expense of making a film -- (which in my not at all humble opinion is what Alien Romance should be! TV and Film is the right medium for this wonderful sub-genre) -- you need:
a) 4 audience demographics -- this is from SAVE THE CAT! by Blake Snyder but he didn't invent it:
Men over 25
Men under 25
Women over 25
Women under 25
Believe it or not, that's how Hollywood looks at us.
Men under 25 are THE core film audience courted most by Hollywood because they go to films more than anyone else -- AND they bring their dates to films.
So if it doesn't interest "men under 25" when presented as a poster, your story won't be made into a high profile film with the Stars you might envision in the lead roles.
Romances aren't seen as inherently interesting to men under 25.
BUT SCIENCE FICTION IS!!!!
So the SF-Romance should be a classic 4-Quadrant genre!
So if you can create an SF-Romance with blazing action, (Think TERMINATOR or STARMAN) you can write a novel that will be made into a blockbuster film.
All you have to do is craft a totally HAPPY ENDING with maybe a whiff of IRONY onto an SF-ROMANCE to have the kind of audience "reach" and Awards Potential to get a big budget with Big Stars wanting an Oscar. You could rival STAR WARS for opening weekend boxoffice.
OK, we have 6 dynamite alien romance writers here. Can we come up with a dynamite CONCEPT with an ending like that for a standard 110 page screenplay?
When I started in fandom, we did a thing called a ROUND ROBIN -- in fact my very first fiction writing that got me started so that I couldn't stop was a ROUND ROBIN where an alternate-I was my character.
So just for fun, I have an opening Round Robin challenge for each writer to add to in outline here. Let's see if we can fulfill the Hollywood formula.
Here are the elements we need:
CONCEPT LOGLINE: An interstellar dog catcher meets her match.
Opening Image: Inara stands over a huge cage made of light-bars. Within is a dark, dirty, vicious and angry creature.
Someone off-shot says, "What among all the stars is THAT?!"
Inara, panting discheveled and scratched, shrugs: "Well, my mom told me not to take a job as an xeno-petcatcher. I wonder how she knew?"
The howling, crazed nameless creature in the cage says: "Maybe my mom told her!" Then its gyrations finally release the catch and it scrambles out and away.
OK, WHO WILL ADD A LINE OR THREE TO THAT?
Before this thing could be written, we need to know:
END OF ACT ONE (p 25) major climax into the middle of the film which is the longest part, 60 pages, fully half the 110 pages. The middle is the chase, danger, cliff-hangars, and bonding between the two reluctant soulmates who will become lovers.
END OF ACT TWO (p 85) since this needs a happy ending, p 75-85 have to be the absolute nadir, Inara's most devastating failure, utter and complete loss of everything valuable to her with no apparent way out of the trap she's in. (she can't BE RESCUED - she has to invent an astonishing and successful strategy to get herself out of this, as does her soulmate).
ENDING: This has to be a HAPPY ENDING - where Inara and her soulmate both reach their goals and also attain something they really need, something other than the goal.
TAG: the denoument, page 110 -- the FINAL IMAGE.
Well, if the opening image is a dogcatcher's cage, the final image has to include that, but changed in some way.
QUESTION: is the mad creature in the cage Inara's soulmate -- or is it like a parrot, reciting something it's owner taught it - and the owner is Inara's soulmate.
Perhaps if Inara recaptures the creature, the law says it has to be put to death, so the owner is racing Inara and blocking her every move, to recapture the creature first? Maybe it's a circus creature? Maybe the creature is a human being out where humans are thought to be animals?
Want to play in my backyard?
Jacqueline Lichtenberg
http://www.simegen.com/jl/
Here's an interesting statistic:
In the film industry, it is believed that:
Happy Endings make more money than any other type. (Protag. attains a goal PLUS a need.)
Down or Tragic endings win appreciation from critics. (Protag attains neither a goal nor a need.)
Ironic endings are most often picked for Oscar attention. (Protag attains either goal or need)
I was told this about the book industry -- but I had no idea it applied to films. I never analyzed the Oscar winners, and I don't read "critics." (I REVIEW books, not criticise them).
I've always thought that you bring your story to it's PROPER -- internally consistent -- ending and you have a chance at any or all 3 of the above, money, fame, or glory.
But apparently that's not so, according to screenwriting lore.
Therefore, before starting to craft an IDEA into a story, complete with protagonist, antagonist, conflict, beginning, middle, end and resolution of the conflict, you really should think hard about the ENDING.
What a backwards way of looking at it.
Most Romances -- even Alien Romances -- have "happy" endings in that the main characters find true happiness, even if they've switched partners a few times during the story.
So Romance is not always about attaining a GOAL -- i.e. you don't have a "happy ending" unless the protagonist attains their goal and also gets what they really need in life. A Romance ends where the protags get what they NEED -- and only sometimes what they thought they were going after.
In fact, the most interesting Romances are ones where both protags shift their goals during the story and only gradually discover their own needs -- and the needs of their S. O.
Could that be why very few serious and complex Romances make it to the screen?
Romances should be cheap to make -- well, not Alien Romances or grand Historical Romances (costume pieces), but contemporary, A.U. or even most Paranormals would be filmable.
But to justify the expense of making a film -- (which in my not at all humble opinion is what Alien Romance should be! TV and Film is the right medium for this wonderful sub-genre) -- you need:
a) 4 audience demographics -- this is from SAVE THE CAT! by Blake Snyder but he didn't invent it:
Men over 25
Men under 25
Women over 25
Women under 25
Believe it or not, that's how Hollywood looks at us.
Men under 25 are THE core film audience courted most by Hollywood because they go to films more than anyone else -- AND they bring their dates to films.
So if it doesn't interest "men under 25" when presented as a poster, your story won't be made into a high profile film with the Stars you might envision in the lead roles.
Romances aren't seen as inherently interesting to men under 25.
BUT SCIENCE FICTION IS!!!!
So the SF-Romance should be a classic 4-Quadrant genre!
So if you can create an SF-Romance with blazing action, (Think TERMINATOR or STARMAN) you can write a novel that will be made into a blockbuster film.
All you have to do is craft a totally HAPPY ENDING with maybe a whiff of IRONY onto an SF-ROMANCE to have the kind of audience "reach" and Awards Potential to get a big budget with Big Stars wanting an Oscar. You could rival STAR WARS for opening weekend boxoffice.
OK, we have 6 dynamite alien romance writers here. Can we come up with a dynamite CONCEPT with an ending like that for a standard 110 page screenplay?
When I started in fandom, we did a thing called a ROUND ROBIN -- in fact my very first fiction writing that got me started so that I couldn't stop was a ROUND ROBIN where an alternate-I was my character.
So just for fun, I have an opening Round Robin challenge for each writer to add to in outline here. Let's see if we can fulfill the Hollywood formula.
Here are the elements we need:
CONCEPT LOGLINE: An interstellar dog catcher meets her match.
Opening Image: Inara stands over a huge cage made of light-bars. Within is a dark, dirty, vicious and angry creature.
Someone off-shot says, "What among all the stars is THAT?!"
Inara, panting discheveled and scratched, shrugs: "Well, my mom told me not to take a job as an xeno-petcatcher. I wonder how she knew?"
The howling, crazed nameless creature in the cage says: "Maybe my mom told her!" Then its gyrations finally release the catch and it scrambles out and away.
OK, WHO WILL ADD A LINE OR THREE TO THAT?
Before this thing could be written, we need to know:
END OF ACT ONE (p 25) major climax into the middle of the film which is the longest part, 60 pages, fully half the 110 pages. The middle is the chase, danger, cliff-hangars, and bonding between the two reluctant soulmates who will become lovers.
END OF ACT TWO (p 85) since this needs a happy ending, p 75-85 have to be the absolute nadir, Inara's most devastating failure, utter and complete loss of everything valuable to her with no apparent way out of the trap she's in. (she can't BE RESCUED - she has to invent an astonishing and successful strategy to get herself out of this, as does her soulmate).
ENDING: This has to be a HAPPY ENDING - where Inara and her soulmate both reach their goals and also attain something they really need, something other than the goal.
TAG: the denoument, page 110 -- the FINAL IMAGE.
Well, if the opening image is a dogcatcher's cage, the final image has to include that, but changed in some way.
QUESTION: is the mad creature in the cage Inara's soulmate -- or is it like a parrot, reciting something it's owner taught it - and the owner is Inara's soulmate.
Perhaps if Inara recaptures the creature, the law says it has to be put to death, so the owner is racing Inara and blocking her every move, to recapture the creature first? Maybe it's a circus creature? Maybe the creature is a human being out where humans are thought to be animals?
Want to play in my backyard?
Jacqueline Lichtenberg
http://www.simegen.com/jl/
Come Play In My Backyard
Folks:
Here's an interesting statistic:
In the film industry, it is believed that:
Happy Endings make more money than any other type. (Protag. attains a goal PLUS a need.)
Down or Tragic endings win appreciation from critics. (Protag attains neither a goal nor a need.)
Ironic endings are most often picked for Oscar attention. (Protag attains either goal or need)
I was told this about the book industry -- but I had no idea it applied to films. I never analyzed the Oscar winners, and I don't read "critics." (I REVIEW books, not criticise them).
I've always thought that you bring your story to it's PROPER -- internally consistent -- ending and you have a chance at any or all 3 of the above, money, fame, or glory.
But apparently that's not so, according to screenwriting lore.
Therefore, before starting to craft an IDEA into a story, complete with protagonist, antagonist, conflict, beginning, middle, end and resolution of the conflict, you really should think hard about the ENDING.
What a backwards way of looking at it.
Most Romances -- even Alien Romances -- have "happy" endings in that the main characters find true happiness, even if they've switched partners a few times during the story.
So Romance is not always about attaining a GOAL -- i.e. you don't have a "happy ending" unless the protagonist attains their goal and also gets what they really need in life. A Romance ends where the protags get what they NEED -- and only sometimes what they thought they were going after.
In fact, the most interesting Romances are ones where both protags shift their goals during the story and only gradually discover their own needs -- and the needs of their S. O.
Could that be why very few serious and complex Romances make it to the screen?
Romances should be cheap to make -- well, not Alien Romances or grand Historical Romances (costume pieces), but contemporary, A.U. or even most Paranormals would be filmable.
But to justify the expense of making a film -- (which in my not at all humble opinion is what Alien Romance should be! TV and Film is the right medium for this wonderful sub-genre) -- you need:
a) 4 audience demographics -- this is from SAVE THE CAT! by Blake Snyder but he didn't invent it:
Men over 25
Men under 25
Women over 25
Women under 25
Believe it or not, that's how Hollywood looks at us.
Men under 25 are THE core film audience courted most by Hollywood because they go to films more than anyone else -- AND they bring their dates to films.
So if it doesn't interest "men under 25" when presented as a poster, your story won't be made into a high profile film with the Stars you might envision in the lead roles.
Romances aren't seen as inherently interesting to men under 25.
BUT SCIENCE FICTION IS!!!!
So the SF-Romance should be a classic 4-Quadrant genre!
So if you can create an SF-Romance with blazing action, (Think TERMINATOR or STARMAN) you can write a novel that will be made into a blockbuster film.
All you have to do is craft a totally HAPPY ENDING with maybe a whiff of IRONY onto an SF-ROMANCE to have the kind of audience "reach" and Awards Potential to get a big budget with Big Stars wanting an Oscar. You could rival STAR WARS for opening weekend boxoffice.
OK, we have 6 dynamite alien romance writers here. Can we come up with a dynamite CONCEPT with an ending like that for a standard 110 page screenplay?
When I started in fandom, we did a thing called a ROUND ROBIN -- in fact my very first fiction writing that got me started so that I couldn't stop was a ROUND ROBIN where an alternate-I was my character.
So just for fun, I have an opening Round Robin challenge for each writer to add to in outline here. Let's see if we can fulfill the Hollywood formula.
Here are the elements we need:
CONCEPT LOGLINE: An interstellar dog catcher meets her match.
Opening Image: Inara stands over a huge cage made of light-bars. Within is a dark, dirty, vicious and angry creature.
Someone off-shot says, "What among all the stars is THAT?!"
Inara, panting discheveled and scratched, shrugs: "Well, my mom told me not to take a job as an xeno-petcatcher. I wonder how she knew?"
The howling, crazed nameless creature in the cage says: "Maybe my mom told her!" Then its gyrations finally release the catch and it scrambles out and away.
OK, WHO WILL ADD A LINE OR THREE TO THAT?
Before this thing could be written, we need to know:
END OF ACT ONE (p 25) major climax into the middle of the film which is the longest part, 60 pages, fully half the 110 pages. The middle is the chase, danger, cliff-hangars, and bonding between the two reluctant soulmates who will become lovers.
END OF ACT TWO (p 85) since this needs a happy ending, p 75-85 have to be the absolute nadir, Inara's most devastating failure, utter and complete loss of everything valuable to her with no apparent way out of the trap she's in. (she can't BE RESCUED - she has to invent an astonishing and successful strategy to get herself out of this, as does her soulmate).
ENDING: This has to be a HAPPY ENDING - where Inara and her soulmate both reach their goals and also attain something they really need, something other than the goal.
TAG: the denoument, page 110 -- the FINAL IMAGE.
Well, if the opening image is a dogcatcher's cage, the final image has to include that, but changed in some way.
QUESTION: is the mad creature in the cage Inara's soulmate -- or is it like a parrot, reciting something it's owner taught it - and the owner is Inara's soulmate.
Perhaps if Inara recaptures the creature, the law says it has to be put to death, so the owner is racing Inara and blocking her every move, to recapture the creature first? Maybe it's a circus creature? Maybe the creature is a human being out where humans are thought to be animals?
Want to play in my backyard?
Jacqueline Lichtenberg
http://www.simegen.com/jl/
Here's an interesting statistic:
In the film industry, it is believed that:
Happy Endings make more money than any other type. (Protag. attains a goal PLUS a need.)
Down or Tragic endings win appreciation from critics. (Protag attains neither a goal nor a need.)
Ironic endings are most often picked for Oscar attention. (Protag attains either goal or need)
I was told this about the book industry -- but I had no idea it applied to films. I never analyzed the Oscar winners, and I don't read "critics." (I REVIEW books, not criticise them).
I've always thought that you bring your story to it's PROPER -- internally consistent -- ending and you have a chance at any or all 3 of the above, money, fame, or glory.
But apparently that's not so, according to screenwriting lore.
Therefore, before starting to craft an IDEA into a story, complete with protagonist, antagonist, conflict, beginning, middle, end and resolution of the conflict, you really should think hard about the ENDING.
What a backwards way of looking at it.
Most Romances -- even Alien Romances -- have "happy" endings in that the main characters find true happiness, even if they've switched partners a few times during the story.
So Romance is not always about attaining a GOAL -- i.e. you don't have a "happy ending" unless the protagonist attains their goal and also gets what they really need in life. A Romance ends where the protags get what they NEED -- and only sometimes what they thought they were going after.
In fact, the most interesting Romances are ones where both protags shift their goals during the story and only gradually discover their own needs -- and the needs of their S. O.
Could that be why very few serious and complex Romances make it to the screen?
Romances should be cheap to make -- well, not Alien Romances or grand Historical Romances (costume pieces), but contemporary, A.U. or even most Paranormals would be filmable.
But to justify the expense of making a film -- (which in my not at all humble opinion is what Alien Romance should be! TV and Film is the right medium for this wonderful sub-genre) -- you need:
a) 4 audience demographics -- this is from SAVE THE CAT! by Blake Snyder but he didn't invent it:
Men over 25
Men under 25
Women over 25
Women under 25
Believe it or not, that's how Hollywood looks at us.
Men under 25 are THE core film audience courted most by Hollywood because they go to films more than anyone else -- AND they bring their dates to films.
So if it doesn't interest "men under 25" when presented as a poster, your story won't be made into a high profile film with the Stars you might envision in the lead roles.
Romances aren't seen as inherently interesting to men under 25.
BUT SCIENCE FICTION IS!!!!
So the SF-Romance should be a classic 4-Quadrant genre!
So if you can create an SF-Romance with blazing action, (Think TERMINATOR or STARMAN) you can write a novel that will be made into a blockbuster film.
All you have to do is craft a totally HAPPY ENDING with maybe a whiff of IRONY onto an SF-ROMANCE to have the kind of audience "reach" and Awards Potential to get a big budget with Big Stars wanting an Oscar. You could rival STAR WARS for opening weekend boxoffice.
OK, we have 6 dynamite alien romance writers here. Can we come up with a dynamite CONCEPT with an ending like that for a standard 110 page screenplay?
When I started in fandom, we did a thing called a ROUND ROBIN -- in fact my very first fiction writing that got me started so that I couldn't stop was a ROUND ROBIN where an alternate-I was my character.
So just for fun, I have an opening Round Robin challenge for each writer to add to in outline here. Let's see if we can fulfill the Hollywood formula.
Here are the elements we need:
CONCEPT LOGLINE: An interstellar dog catcher meets her match.
Opening Image: Inara stands over a huge cage made of light-bars. Within is a dark, dirty, vicious and angry creature.
Someone off-shot says, "What among all the stars is THAT?!"
Inara, panting discheveled and scratched, shrugs: "Well, my mom told me not to take a job as an xeno-petcatcher. I wonder how she knew?"
The howling, crazed nameless creature in the cage says: "Maybe my mom told her!" Then its gyrations finally release the catch and it scrambles out and away.
OK, WHO WILL ADD A LINE OR THREE TO THAT?
Before this thing could be written, we need to know:
END OF ACT ONE (p 25) major climax into the middle of the film which is the longest part, 60 pages, fully half the 110 pages. The middle is the chase, danger, cliff-hangars, and bonding between the two reluctant soulmates who will become lovers.
END OF ACT TWO (p 85) since this needs a happy ending, p 75-85 have to be the absolute nadir, Inara's most devastating failure, utter and complete loss of everything valuable to her with no apparent way out of the trap she's in. (she can't BE RESCUED - she has to invent an astonishing and successful strategy to get herself out of this, as does her soulmate).
ENDING: This has to be a HAPPY ENDING - where Inara and her soulmate both reach their goals and also attain something they really need, something other than the goal.
TAG: the denoument, page 110 -- the FINAL IMAGE.
Well, if the opening image is a dogcatcher's cage, the final image has to include that, but changed in some way.
QUESTION: is the mad creature in the cage Inara's soulmate -- or is it like a parrot, reciting something it's owner taught it - and the owner is Inara's soulmate.
Perhaps if Inara recaptures the creature, the law says it has to be put to death, so the owner is racing Inara and blocking her every move, to recapture the creature first? Maybe it's a circus creature? Maybe the creature is a human being out where humans are thought to be animals?
Want to play in my backyard?
Jacqueline Lichtenberg
http://www.simegen.com/jl/
Monday, November 20, 2006
Jurassic Passions: A Look at Character and Motivation
A dinosaur came into my online classroom a while back, courtesy of one of my students, Celia. Now, let me make clear right up front that I was teaching "Investigative Methodology For Writers" online, so that at best, the dinosaur was an E-mail-osaurus Rex.
But he was a useful bugger and I'm glad Celia brought him in. I'll tell you why.
He was a motivated dinosaur. I named him Celia's Jurassic Passion.
The class was discussing 'motives' and the dinosaur was an example Celia used to illustrate a fictional character's hobby: "A passion so intense that his thinking is temporarily turned off."
Passion. Habit. Achilles' Heel. Motive. In this particular example, this character is tricked into revealing his true identity because of his fascination with dinosaurs. He couldn't stay away from a specific exhibit. This one last shred of his real self gives him away.
Fiction, you say?
Naw. Really happens.
One of the interesting things about a character, or a person's, motivations is that it's often a key issue both in fiction writing and investigative work. It's life imitating art, and art imitating life.
In the case of Celia's Jurassic Passion, we have a unique flavor of motive that works well for a PI and damned beautifully for a writer. It's that one unattainable goal that drives a writer's protagonist or antagonist. That hones a conflict line. That keeps a reader turning page.
For the PI, it's the road sign saying: He Went Thataway.
In any really good PI work, a PI has to climb deeply into the psyche of subject of the investigation. She has to do more than find out the facts. She has to understand what motivated the subject to lie, to steal, to philander, to connive, to run. She has to know what drives him, and what drives him is called motivation.
And it has to be something strong enough, deep enough, to make him go against the norm. To take the risk. To take it all with him or, conversely, leave it all behind.
In an effort not to violate the dictums of "believable characters", many writers seem to choose mundane motivations. One hundred per cent plausible, believable motivations. A drunk driver mows down Alphonse's granny in the middle of Main Street, so Alphonse goes on a rampage against all drunk drivers.
But after ten-plus years as a private investigator, I can tell you that it's not the logic or the believability of the motive that is the crux, but the intensity. I have seen people take actions for some remarkably stupid reasons, in my estimation.
But to them, those reasons were everything. Their own Jurassic Passion.
Intensity is what fuels the motive. Because the motives are, for the most part, as instinctual and primal as, well, a dinosaur, living deep in the very beginnings of our psyche. And often just a beastly.
Many writers develop only lofty, altruistic and logical motives for their characters in the belief that the noble goal is universally understood. In my humble estimation, those writers are missing out on one of the most fascinating elements of the human psyche. Our ability to defy reason, ignore logic, damn the torpedoes and go full speed ahead because we are so blindsided by our passions we can see no other way of responding.
Give me Grieving Alphonse who isn't raging against drunk drivers but against television weather reporters. For it was the TV weather report that made Granny leave her humble home that day and cross the street to buy an umbrella. The drunk driver is simply, in Alphonse's primally passionate mind, a bit player.
As a reader, a passionately illogical motive gives me the better hook, the better twist, the bigger surprise factor when all is finally revealed on the last page.
It also, whether I like it or not, draws me into a shared identity with the character. We all have our Jurassic Passions buried somewhere inside. And motives stem from our passions. The one thing we cannot live with. The one thing we cannot live without.
As an investigator, I sought out motives as my pinpoint flashlight on a roadmap through the winding, bumpy terrain of misinformation. As a writer, you can develop a character's motives and passions as a pinpoint flashlight to zig and zag your reader over a similar emotional terrain.
It's been said that the road to hell is paved with good intentions. It's only fitting, then, that the guy driving the bus to hell is none other than E-mail-osaurus Rex, your friendly and illogical Jurassic Passion.
~Linnea
www.linneasinclair.com
But he was a useful bugger and I'm glad Celia brought him in. I'll tell you why.
He was a motivated dinosaur. I named him Celia's Jurassic Passion.
The class was discussing 'motives' and the dinosaur was an example Celia used to illustrate a fictional character's hobby: "A passion so intense that his thinking is temporarily turned off."
Passion. Habit. Achilles' Heel. Motive. In this particular example, this character is tricked into revealing his true identity because of his fascination with dinosaurs. He couldn't stay away from a specific exhibit. This one last shred of his real self gives him away.
Fiction, you say?
Naw. Really happens.
One of the interesting things about a character, or a person's, motivations is that it's often a key issue both in fiction writing and investigative work. It's life imitating art, and art imitating life.
In the case of Celia's Jurassic Passion, we have a unique flavor of motive that works well for a PI and damned beautifully for a writer. It's that one unattainable goal that drives a writer's protagonist or antagonist. That hones a conflict line. That keeps a reader turning page.
For the PI, it's the road sign saying: He Went Thataway.
In any really good PI work, a PI has to climb deeply into the psyche of subject of the investigation. She has to do more than find out the facts. She has to understand what motivated the subject to lie, to steal, to philander, to connive, to run. She has to know what drives him, and what drives him is called motivation.
And it has to be something strong enough, deep enough, to make him go against the norm. To take the risk. To take it all with him or, conversely, leave it all behind.
In an effort not to violate the dictums of "believable characters", many writers seem to choose mundane motivations. One hundred per cent plausible, believable motivations. A drunk driver mows down Alphonse's granny in the middle of Main Street, so Alphonse goes on a rampage against all drunk drivers.
But after ten-plus years as a private investigator, I can tell you that it's not the logic or the believability of the motive that is the crux, but the intensity. I have seen people take actions for some remarkably stupid reasons, in my estimation.
But to them, those reasons were everything. Their own Jurassic Passion.
Intensity is what fuels the motive. Because the motives are, for the most part, as instinctual and primal as, well, a dinosaur, living deep in the very beginnings of our psyche. And often just a beastly.
Many writers develop only lofty, altruistic and logical motives for their characters in the belief that the noble goal is universally understood. In my humble estimation, those writers are missing out on one of the most fascinating elements of the human psyche. Our ability to defy reason, ignore logic, damn the torpedoes and go full speed ahead because we are so blindsided by our passions we can see no other way of responding.
Give me Grieving Alphonse who isn't raging against drunk drivers but against television weather reporters. For it was the TV weather report that made Granny leave her humble home that day and cross the street to buy an umbrella. The drunk driver is simply, in Alphonse's primally passionate mind, a bit player.
As a reader, a passionately illogical motive gives me the better hook, the better twist, the bigger surprise factor when all is finally revealed on the last page.
It also, whether I like it or not, draws me into a shared identity with the character. We all have our Jurassic Passions buried somewhere inside. And motives stem from our passions. The one thing we cannot live with. The one thing we cannot live without.
As an investigator, I sought out motives as my pinpoint flashlight on a roadmap through the winding, bumpy terrain of misinformation. As a writer, you can develop a character's motives and passions as a pinpoint flashlight to zig and zag your reader over a similar emotional terrain.
It's been said that the road to hell is paved with good intentions. It's only fitting, then, that the guy driving the bus to hell is none other than E-mail-osaurus Rex, your friendly and illogical Jurassic Passion.
~Linnea
www.linneasinclair.com
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Insufficient Mating Material--embarrassing things to ask dignified people
Reviews are starting to come in for Insufficient Mating Material, and --much too late-- I'm having visions of readers sidling up to librarians and whispering "Do you have Insufficient Mating Material?"
I never thought of that before. My grandfather, who was mischievous, used to amuse himself by tapping the Fish menu and asking impassive-faced waiters slightly ungrammatical questions that involved the words "are soles?"
No doubt my Grandpa would have taken great delight in choosing his victim, and demanding my book in the most inappropriate wording possible.
Best wishes,
Rowena Cherry
Utterly enthralling
A year ago Tarrant-Arragon wouldn’t believe he was going to set his sister up… I loved this book, and I know Insufficient Mating Material is a book you will not want to miss either.~ Rose, Romanceatheart.com
What is it like, exactly, when two gods go head to head?
Stellar wit, wonderful characters and amazing research into basic and not so basic survival techniques make for a very real and relatable
environment for the prince and princess. This was without a doubt one
of my favorite reads of 2006! ~ Kenda Montgomery
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Interspecies Cooperation
I'm almost finished rereading WIZARDS AT WAR, the latest in Diane Duane's "Young Wizards" series. In this novel the teenage protagonists of the series, Kit and Nita, have to work with other wizards to save the universe from an abnormal proliferation of "dark matter." Their team comprises four Earth-human adolescents (including Kit's non-magical sister), a humanoid prince from a distant star system, a giant bug, an intelligent plant who looks like an ambulatory Christmas tree, Kit's dog (who has some magical gifts), and a sentient laptop computer. The larger group of Earth wizards includes whales and cats as well as human people. This delightful picture of interspecies cooperation reminds me of Madeleine L'Engle's A WRINKLE IN TIME and its sequels. L'Engle's human characters, at various times, work with cherubim, a unicorn, a friendly snake, assorted extraterrestrials, microscopic creatures within a small boy's body, and three angelic beings disguised as eccentric old ladies. James White's books set in a hospital on a space station show the protagonist, a human doctor, treating patients from many different planets. I enjoy stories that feature human beings and varied types of aliens seeing behind their mutual strangeness to the "soul," rejoicing in both their likenesses and their differences.
C. S. Lewis' OUT OF THE SILENT PLANET takes the hero, Ransom, to Mars, which he finds inhabited by three different intelligent species. A Martian native expresses amazement at learning Earth has only one. How, he asks, can we objectively evaluate our own thought processes if we can't compare them to thought that "floats on different blood"? I use this phrase in the title of my literary survey DIFFERENT BLOOD: THE VAMPIRE AS ALIEN from Amber Quill Press (www.amberquill.com).
Lewis' friend J. R. R. Tolkien says in "On Fairy Stories" that one of the universal human wishes fulfilled by fairy tales is the desire to communicate with other species. The talking animals in folklore vicariously heal the wound of our separation from the other creatures in our world. I find similar consolation in stories of friendship or love between human characters and members of intelligent nonhuman races. The Star Trek principle of IDIC, "Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations," celebrates bridging the gulf between species to form multi-species alliances, friendships, or intimate bonds. Which raises the question of how faithfully we live out this ideal in our mundane lives. Do we science fiction and fantasy fans typically rejoice in the other races and cultures on our own planet as wholeheartedly as we hope we would rejoice in elves and extraterrestrials? I must freely admit that most of my appreciation occurs at a distance; I grew up in a suburban WASP environment and have lived mostly in that kind of cultural context throughout my life. Therefore, my images of the ethnic groups with which I don't come into frequent contact tend, I'm sure, to be romanticized.
C. S. Lewis' OUT OF THE SILENT PLANET takes the hero, Ransom, to Mars, which he finds inhabited by three different intelligent species. A Martian native expresses amazement at learning Earth has only one. How, he asks, can we objectively evaluate our own thought processes if we can't compare them to thought that "floats on different blood"? I use this phrase in the title of my literary survey DIFFERENT BLOOD: THE VAMPIRE AS ALIEN from Amber Quill Press (www.amberquill.com).
Lewis' friend J. R. R. Tolkien says in "On Fairy Stories" that one of the universal human wishes fulfilled by fairy tales is the desire to communicate with other species. The talking animals in folklore vicariously heal the wound of our separation from the other creatures in our world. I find similar consolation in stories of friendship or love between human characters and members of intelligent nonhuman races. The Star Trek principle of IDIC, "Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations," celebrates bridging the gulf between species to form multi-species alliances, friendships, or intimate bonds. Which raises the question of how faithfully we live out this ideal in our mundane lives. Do we science fiction and fantasy fans typically rejoice in the other races and cultures on our own planet as wholeheartedly as we hope we would rejoice in elves and extraterrestrials? I must freely admit that most of my appreciation occurs at a distance; I grew up in a suburban WASP environment and have lived mostly in that kind of cultural context throughout my life. Therefore, my images of the ethnic groups with which I don't come into frequent contact tend, I'm sure, to be romanticized.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Susan Kearney News
Hi,
I'm pleased to announce I just sold two more books to Tor. In 2008 SOLAR HEAT will be available , my sequel to ISLAND HEAT and in the future this series will connect to my Rystani warrior series that began with THE CHALLENGE.
And I'm also now writing romantic suspense. The first book KISS ME DEADLY will be out this summer and I'll be writing the sequel this year. I'm very pleased to be writing in two genres. It keeps me fresh as a writer. Right now I'm having a blast with SOLAR HEAT. The book is back in space and my heroine is trapped, the hero is searching for her. It's time for her to save herself!!
Guess I'll get back to writing.
SueK.
I'm pleased to announce I just sold two more books to Tor. In 2008 SOLAR HEAT will be available , my sequel to ISLAND HEAT and in the future this series will connect to my Rystani warrior series that began with THE CHALLENGE.
And I'm also now writing romantic suspense. The first book KISS ME DEADLY will be out this summer and I'll be writing the sequel this year. I'm very pleased to be writing in two genres. It keeps me fresh as a writer. Right now I'm having a blast with SOLAR HEAT. The book is back in space and my heroine is trapped, the hero is searching for her. It's time for her to save herself!!
Guess I'll get back to writing.
SueK.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
More than you want to know!
Folks:
I've been very busy this week with mundane life, but also several writing projects active at once.
But I got a nice surprise that might interest some of you Trek fans.
There's a new e-zine, Sci Fi Studios Magazine just started. And I'm in the first issue!
Long story:
A few years ago COMMUNICATOR MAGAZINE -- a newstand slick focused on Star Trek -- was in the process of doing an article on me as part of a features series. They did one on Shirley Maiewski -- long time head of the Star Trek Welcommittee who died recently -- and had just done one on Joan Winston when the Magazine folded.
I saw the fellow who ran COMMUNICATOR at a con or two, did some panels with him, and he still had hope that COMMUNICATOR would re-launch. But so far it hasn't.
However, he is now involved in the new e-zine for Sci Fi Studios (which is connected with a lot of Hollywood pros who love Trek, endorsed by Rod Roddenberry, too) , and they contacted me to do an interview by email which I did. That was months ago and I'd all but forgotten it.
Last week, I got an email announcing the first issue - almost didn't go look at it - found a minute, browsed over, and Lo! There's a picture of me composited from a still taken during the interview I did which is in the documentary Trekkies2.
The interview with me is there, too.
Here's the ISSUE ONE of the new online magazine
http://scifi-studios.com/magazine/magcover1.htm
http://scifi-studios.com/magazine/ is the index page.
http://www.scifi-studios.com/magazine/content/view/75/26/ is the article itself.
This website is unique and a ground-breaker. They are Industry pros who are reaching out to involve FANS in the creation and production of actual, real SF the way we like it.
I really hope some Alien Romance writers get involved. I just have too many projects on my desk right now to be able to DO what I'd like to see done on that website.
So take a look at it.
Jacqueline Lichtenberg
http://www.simegen.com/jl/
I've been very busy this week with mundane life, but also several writing projects active at once.
But I got a nice surprise that might interest some of you Trek fans.
There's a new e-zine, Sci Fi Studios Magazine just started. And I'm in the first issue!
Long story:
A few years ago COMMUNICATOR MAGAZINE -- a newstand slick focused on Star Trek -- was in the process of doing an article on me as part of a features series. They did one on Shirley Maiewski -- long time head of the Star Trek Welcommittee who died recently -- and had just done one on Joan Winston when the Magazine folded.
I saw the fellow who ran COMMUNICATOR at a con or two, did some panels with him, and he still had hope that COMMUNICATOR would re-launch. But so far it hasn't.
However, he is now involved in the new e-zine for Sci Fi Studios (which is connected with a lot of Hollywood pros who love Trek, endorsed by Rod Roddenberry, too) , and they contacted me to do an interview by email which I did. That was months ago and I'd all but forgotten it.
Last week, I got an email announcing the first issue - almost didn't go look at it - found a minute, browsed over, and Lo! There's a picture of me composited from a still taken during the interview I did which is in the documentary Trekkies2.
The interview with me is there, too.
Here's the ISSUE ONE of the new online magazine
http://scifi-studios.com/magazine/magcover1.htm
http://scifi-studios.com/magazine/ is the index page.
http://www.scifi-studios.com/magazine/content/view/75/26/ is the article itself.
This website is unique and a ground-breaker. They are Industry pros who are reaching out to involve FANS in the creation and production of actual, real SF the way we like it.
I really hope some Alien Romance writers get involved. I just have too many projects on my desk right now to be able to DO what I'd like to see done on that website.
So take a look at it.
Jacqueline Lichtenberg
http://www.simegen.com/jl/
Monday, November 13, 2006
101 Uses for Email Spammers
This is a blog about writing.
This is a blog about how authors sometimes use unusual sources for characters' names.
This is a blog about how great minds think alike.
Now that I've set the stage...welcome to my latest insanity. We all get email spam. Nothing can really turn a good day on a nasty edge then to be trying to get a manuscript done, waiting for feedback from your beloved critique partners, logging into your email program and you sit there for five frikkin' minutes whilst oodles of spam downloads and is snagged--one by one--by your spam filter.
Dink-kaching. Dink-kaching. Dink-kaching. (My spam filter makes little noises so I know it's actually earning the bucks I paid for it). Dink-kaching. I usually at this point go to the kitchen, brew another cup of cappuccino and return to my desk just in time for the last of the dink-kachings.
Then I noticed something while I was scanning the spam folder just in case a lovely fan mail note was erroneously dink-kachinged: spammers have started using some really neat-o peachy keen fun names as senders.
I've started saving them. Do I have a problem or what? But I've started saving them because I thought at some point they might make a fun addition to a book as a character. It would certainly save me the time and headache of creating a name.
Because, you see, I spend a lot of time creating a character's name. I listen to its melody, its cadence. I work with is masculine/feminine principles. I want it to correctly reflect my character's, well, character.
So imagine, if you will, just what these lovely characters would be like (and I'd LOVE to see your feedback--give them stories and careers and post them here!):
Headley Knoblock
Paneling L. Crib
Ceased H. Comfy
Fox O. Ethereal
Dillon Furze
Myopic U. Romeo
Repetitive H. Neurons
Hoose J. Rochester
Shocking H. Separates
Hensel F. Chowdhury
Nosedives H. Cursory
Preppier S. Barometers
Hunter Valentine (I really like this one--I think he'd make a great hard-drinkin', gun-totin' PI!)
Puppet C. Zambians
Parsifal Gandara
Nails H. Quitted
Bluford Q. Longmire
Zvonko Belvin
and that's just in the past month and it's not even all of them.
Brilliant, eh?
So in my whimsy I email author-buddy Susan Grant. And guess what? (Here comes the Great Minds part). She's doing the same thing! She's not only saving spammers names but she already USED one in an upcoming release. The character? Tibor Frix.
Now it's up to you to make some good use of annoying spammers. Tell me--in ten sentences or less--about Zvonko Belvin and Nosedives H. Cursory, et al. Let's see how creative you can get (but keep it short, eh? Ten sentences or less).
Admiringly yours,
~Linnea
www.linneasinclair.com
This is a blog about how authors sometimes use unusual sources for characters' names.
This is a blog about how great minds think alike.
Now that I've set the stage...welcome to my latest insanity. We all get email spam. Nothing can really turn a good day on a nasty edge then to be trying to get a manuscript done, waiting for feedback from your beloved critique partners, logging into your email program and you sit there for five frikkin' minutes whilst oodles of spam downloads and is snagged--one by one--by your spam filter.
Dink-kaching. Dink-kaching. Dink-kaching. (My spam filter makes little noises so I know it's actually earning the bucks I paid for it). Dink-kaching. I usually at this point go to the kitchen, brew another cup of cappuccino and return to my desk just in time for the last of the dink-kachings.
Then I noticed something while I was scanning the spam folder just in case a lovely fan mail note was erroneously dink-kachinged: spammers have started using some really neat-o peachy keen fun names as senders.
I've started saving them. Do I have a problem or what? But I've started saving them because I thought at some point they might make a fun addition to a book as a character. It would certainly save me the time and headache of creating a name.
Because, you see, I spend a lot of time creating a character's name. I listen to its melody, its cadence. I work with is masculine/feminine principles. I want it to correctly reflect my character's, well, character.
So imagine, if you will, just what these lovely characters would be like (and I'd LOVE to see your feedback--give them stories and careers and post them here!):
Headley Knoblock
Paneling L. Crib
Ceased H. Comfy
Fox O. Ethereal
Dillon Furze
Myopic U. Romeo
Repetitive H. Neurons
Hoose J. Rochester
Shocking H. Separates
Hensel F. Chowdhury
Nosedives H. Cursory
Preppier S. Barometers
Hunter Valentine (I really like this one--I think he'd make a great hard-drinkin', gun-totin' PI!)
Puppet C. Zambians
Parsifal Gandara
Nails H. Quitted
Bluford Q. Longmire
Zvonko Belvin
and that's just in the past month and it's not even all of them.
Brilliant, eh?
So in my whimsy I email author-buddy Susan Grant. And guess what? (Here comes the Great Minds part). She's doing the same thing! She's not only saving spammers names but she already USED one in an upcoming release. The character? Tibor Frix.
Now it's up to you to make some good use of annoying spammers. Tell me--in ten sentences or less--about Zvonko Belvin and Nosedives H. Cursory, et al. Let's see how creative you can get (but keep it short, eh? Ten sentences or less).
Admiringly yours,
~Linnea
www.linneasinclair.com
Sunday, November 12, 2006
The best swordfighting scenes
What do Pierce Brosnan in Die Another Day, Roger Moore in Moonraker, Sean Connery in Highlander, Chris O'Donnell in The Three Musketeers, Catherine Zeta Jones, Anthony Hopkins, and Antonio Banderas in The Mask of Zorro, and Liv Tyler in LOTR have in common?
I found this fascinating!
According to Richard Cohen in By The Sword, the sword fighting consultant for all those great movie swordfighting scenes was Bob Anderson. A tidbit that interested me most was that it was Bob Anderson himself in the Darth Vader costume during that steamy light saber duel with Luke in The Empire Strikes Back.
Apparently, in order to keep the steam-effect from freezing Han Solo, the stage had to be kept very hot indeed, which was especially uncomfortable for a man in a helmet and long black robes.
None of this --movie trivia-- is especially helpful to me in my research for a swordfighting hero for my next alien djinn romance, but it gives me a new respect for Hollywood, and a new perspective on the "romantic" versus the "swashbuckling" versus the "pain of it" schools of movie swordfighting.
My next title is Knight's Fork. It's not about a Retiarius! Although it is Rhett's story.
Best wishes,
Rowena
I found this fascinating!
According to Richard Cohen in By The Sword, the sword fighting consultant for all those great movie swordfighting scenes was Bob Anderson. A tidbit that interested me most was that it was Bob Anderson himself in the Darth Vader costume during that steamy light saber duel with Luke in The Empire Strikes Back.
Apparently, in order to keep the steam-effect from freezing Han Solo, the stage had to be kept very hot indeed, which was especially uncomfortable for a man in a helmet and long black robes.
None of this --movie trivia-- is especially helpful to me in my research for a swordfighting hero for my next alien djinn romance, but it gives me a new respect for Hollywood, and a new perspective on the "romantic" versus the "swashbuckling" versus the "pain of it" schools of movie swordfighting.
My next title is Knight's Fork. It's not about a Retiarius! Although it is Rhett's story.
Best wishes,
Rowena
Friday, November 10, 2006
Shooting Star...Ruben's crash
Ruben set the angle to enter the atmosphere and searched for his water bottle. It wasn’t in its usual place and he recalled that he had forgotten to fill it before he left Oasis. He’d had other things on his mind. He’d have to go aft to find some but the prickling on the back of his neck kept him in place. With yoke in hand wondered why he had not been hailed from below.
“Anything on the com?” he asked.
“I’d be sure to let you know,” Eli replied.
She was definitely pouting.
Surely they had some sort of security set up on the planet. He opened his hailing frequencies.
“See if you can raise someone,” he instructed.
“I have,” Eli replied.
“Do it again.”
Next thing you know she…it…was going to expect presents.
“Standard hailing frequencies,” Ruben added. At least he was doing his part. There was no way he could be coming in unannounced.
“Warning,” Eli said. “Unknown craft approaching from below.” A shrill jangle from the com let him know that she…it…wasn’t making it up.
“This is Shooting Star calling the planet Lavign,” Ruben yelled into the com as he punched off the warning beacon. “Repeat Shooting Star calling Lavign. Request landing coordinates.”
Nothing. Ruben did a quick visual of the deepening sky. He was coming in at a glorious sunset. He could just see the curve of the sun dipping over the edge of the planet and the orange-pink brilliance of the sky above it.
It reminded him of Oasis. Clean and pure.
“Are you sure there’s something out there?” he asked.
“Yes. But if you don’t believe me you can check for yourself.”
His com showed a blip. There was another craft out there, somewhere. It should be close enough for a visual but a crafty pilot could hide in the glare from the sun and use it’s reflection as a cloak.
He’d done it himself, many a time….
“Repeat Shooting Star calling planet Lavign. I am unarmed and seeking coordinates for landing.”
No response. The sun, now gone, gave way to a clear black sky.
“Show me the geopoll.” Ruben barked out.
It was a handy tool to have when smuggling, especially when he was trying to avoid interaction with the Senate outposts. Infrared under the three dimensional image showed sparse population of human and animal. The terrain was rolling with mountains showing in the distance. No industry showed of any kind. There were no lights sparkling from below to show the location of a city and no power blip to show an energy source.
The night skies, brightly lit with millions of stars, gave the appearance that he could reach through the plexi and gather a handful to keep. The absence of light below gave the illusion that they were close and tempting, a treasure to be collected.
Maybe he should have done some more research before he took off on his quest to find his brother. It made more sense than just going on his gut…
Another alarm went off with a whoop. “We’ve been locked,” Eli said calmly.
Someone was targeting him. Where was it? What was after him?
Ruben didn’t have time to think about it as the single blip on his screen suddenly split in two. He’d been fired upon. He pulled the Shooting Star into a quick roll to the port side and the ship responded gracefully.
From the corner of his eye Ruben caught a quick flash as the missile passed on by and exploded in the atmosphere. The light from the blast bounced off something solid.
There was another ship out there. His screen showed the blip was somewhere above him.
“My sensors indicate that the other ship is now above us,” Eli said.
“Yeah, I already figured that out sweetheart.”
What he wouldn’t give to have Shaun sitting up in the turret gun right now. The empty co-pilot seat beside him reminded him more of his solitude than he cared to admit. Maybe he should fix it, once this ride was over with.
He flipped on the screen that gave him a visual link with the turret and pushed the yoke forward so the screen was aimed towards the atmosphere above.
He saw it on the screen. The absence of light. The craft that was after him was as black as the night sky. Deliberately. Whoever was flying it did not want it to be seen. . It was a clever idea and would be handy on a cloudy night but tonight when the stars were dazzling in their brilliance the craft blocked them from view.
So what was the problem? If it was planetary defense then why the need for camouflage? They were within their rights to protect their skies from invaders although some might have issue with it.
Kind of hard to argue the point if you were dead however.
The back of his neck told him that it was not planetary defense. Something was going on here. And just maybe it was related to what he…felt…about his brother. He came here looking for answers and obviously someone did not want the questions asked.
“Look for a place to land,” he said.
He needed to get away from his attackers. And he better do it quick before whoever it was figured out that he was about to fly up…
Too late. Ruben caught the impression of a dive but it was hard to track the ship visually once it started its counter measures.
“Warning. Warning. Attack imminent,” Eli said.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
He should have taken it out when he had the chance. But it wasn’t as if the Shooting Star was a Falcon and fully loaded with armament.
The blip on his screen told him his pursuer was still there, and he’d better do something quick.
Where are you?
Ruben didn’t bother with a visual check as he armed his missiles. All these years and he’d never used them. He never had a reason. Shaun and the turret gun had gotten them out of more scrapes than anything. He couldn’t even say for sure the last time he’d bothered to check the proton chambers.
It was time to make his move. The blip was behind him now and coming fast.
Too fast…Ruben’s curse exploded from his lips at the exact same time that he took the yoke and kicked in a quick burst of hyperion. Another second’s delay and he’d be a meteor shower, falling to the planet below.
The Shooting Star had taken a hit.
He was losing pressure in the cargo bay.
“Pressure leak. Cargo bay.”
Ruben slapped a button on the com. That would shut her up. He didn’t need any help communicating with the Shooting Star. He knew exactly what she was capable of.
“Come on baby,” he urged the ship as he fought for control. He knew the Air was purging behind the sealed doors and also knew that if he’d been in the stratosphere that he would be nothing more than an imploded mass of metal right now.
He was going to have to ditch.
But not without a fight.
The hyperion burst had taken him out of range but not for long. He knew the mysterious dark ship would be closing in on him for the kill.
“I hope you’ve got something left sweetheart.”
Ruben punched the dials on his com. He blew his spare tank, knowing that the gases would form a harmless cerulean cloud in the pristine oxygen of the planet. It would also make his attacker think he was on his last legs, which he was…
So why should I let them…they…it…
Who are these guys?
He couldn’t have more than a few seconds left. Ruben jerked back on the yoke and the Shooting Star pushed her curved nose into the Air.
She’s heavy…
Ruben watched the blip on his screen as he silently urged his craft upwards. He knew he only had one chance before she gave out on him.
NOW!
Ruben threw the lever above his head as his pursuer flew into the cloud, right beneath and behind his position. He felt the shudder as the cargo hold separated from the module that held the cockpit, his personal quarters and the mechanical operations of the Shooting Star.
Like a bomb the hold fell, straight out of the sky, its trajectory right on target.
“Yes!” Ruben whooped as he felt the explosion beneath. It was more than he could hope for.
The answering shudder from the Shooting Star was not part of the celebration. Alarms sounded, more noise to distract him.
“Shut up!” Ruben barked.
It had to be shrapnel. The noise was enough to kill him. If he survived this…
After I survive this…
He was going to do some serious work on his systems. Maybe he should go ahead and take the next step in his voice data. Let Eli talk sexy to him. Maybe even give her a feminine name so she…it…could whisper sweet things to him while he was in cryo.
“You’d be waking up in a state too,” he said out loud as if to assure himself that he was still alive. For the moment. “And there’d be no one available to warm your sheets.”
Yeah, that gave him something to live for…
He didn’t have time to admire the ball of flame that shot up from the ground below as his enemy exploded upon contact.
“Sorry,” Ruben muttered as an apology to the inhabitants below. It was all he could offer at the moment. He had his own crash too avoid.
As if he could. He summoned the geopoll again with the flip of a switch. There was a clearing ahead. Unfortunately it was in the same vicinity as the crash. So now he’d have it to avoid, along with the dense forest and the mountains that took a sudden rise.
“I hope there’s no one out for an evening stroll,” he said.
If there was, they were in for a show. Ruben said a silent prayer as he lowered his emergency landing gear. What was left of the Shooting Star was designed for a quick getaway and a bay landing. Ruben was certain of his skills and knew his craft like he knew his body, but a drop like a stone out of the sky landing was something that he’d never tried before.
He only had one chance to get it right….
“Come on baby,” he urged as he saw the treetops getting closer. If only he could make it to the clearing he had a chance of not ripping her belly out.
He felt the popping of the tree tops as he skirted along and then dropped lower, willing the craft on just by sheer will power.
And then just as suddenly he was there and realized he’d run out of room faster than he thought. He was headed straight for the ball of fire that was all that was left of his enemy.
He jerked her nose up and the engines stalled. The Shooting Star fell to the earth, landing on her tail with a thud before she toppled over.
Ruben catapulted from his chair and slammed against the co-pilots seat before being thrown on the com. Pain exploded in his side and in his ankle as his eyes tried to focus through the plexi on something dark and strange looking huddled on the ground as he felt himself falling towards the earth with his ship. The entire clearing was aglow with the light from the fire but for him, the light was fading fast. The impact of the ship hitting the earth threw him to the deck and the world went dark.
“Anything on the com?” he asked.
“I’d be sure to let you know,” Eli replied.
She was definitely pouting.
Surely they had some sort of security set up on the planet. He opened his hailing frequencies.
“See if you can raise someone,” he instructed.
“I have,” Eli replied.
“Do it again.”
Next thing you know she…it…was going to expect presents.
“Standard hailing frequencies,” Ruben added. At least he was doing his part. There was no way he could be coming in unannounced.
“Warning,” Eli said. “Unknown craft approaching from below.” A shrill jangle from the com let him know that she…it…wasn’t making it up.
“This is Shooting Star calling the planet Lavign,” Ruben yelled into the com as he punched off the warning beacon. “Repeat Shooting Star calling Lavign. Request landing coordinates.”
Nothing. Ruben did a quick visual of the deepening sky. He was coming in at a glorious sunset. He could just see the curve of the sun dipping over the edge of the planet and the orange-pink brilliance of the sky above it.
It reminded him of Oasis. Clean and pure.
“Are you sure there’s something out there?” he asked.
“Yes. But if you don’t believe me you can check for yourself.”
His com showed a blip. There was another craft out there, somewhere. It should be close enough for a visual but a crafty pilot could hide in the glare from the sun and use it’s reflection as a cloak.
He’d done it himself, many a time….
“Repeat Shooting Star calling planet Lavign. I am unarmed and seeking coordinates for landing.”
No response. The sun, now gone, gave way to a clear black sky.
“Show me the geopoll.” Ruben barked out.
It was a handy tool to have when smuggling, especially when he was trying to avoid interaction with the Senate outposts. Infrared under the three dimensional image showed sparse population of human and animal. The terrain was rolling with mountains showing in the distance. No industry showed of any kind. There were no lights sparkling from below to show the location of a city and no power blip to show an energy source.
The night skies, brightly lit with millions of stars, gave the appearance that he could reach through the plexi and gather a handful to keep. The absence of light below gave the illusion that they were close and tempting, a treasure to be collected.
Maybe he should have done some more research before he took off on his quest to find his brother. It made more sense than just going on his gut…
Another alarm went off with a whoop. “We’ve been locked,” Eli said calmly.
Someone was targeting him. Where was it? What was after him?
Ruben didn’t have time to think about it as the single blip on his screen suddenly split in two. He’d been fired upon. He pulled the Shooting Star into a quick roll to the port side and the ship responded gracefully.
From the corner of his eye Ruben caught a quick flash as the missile passed on by and exploded in the atmosphere. The light from the blast bounced off something solid.
There was another ship out there. His screen showed the blip was somewhere above him.
“My sensors indicate that the other ship is now above us,” Eli said.
“Yeah, I already figured that out sweetheart.”
What he wouldn’t give to have Shaun sitting up in the turret gun right now. The empty co-pilot seat beside him reminded him more of his solitude than he cared to admit. Maybe he should fix it, once this ride was over with.
He flipped on the screen that gave him a visual link with the turret and pushed the yoke forward so the screen was aimed towards the atmosphere above.
He saw it on the screen. The absence of light. The craft that was after him was as black as the night sky. Deliberately. Whoever was flying it did not want it to be seen. . It was a clever idea and would be handy on a cloudy night but tonight when the stars were dazzling in their brilliance the craft blocked them from view.
So what was the problem? If it was planetary defense then why the need for camouflage? They were within their rights to protect their skies from invaders although some might have issue with it.
Kind of hard to argue the point if you were dead however.
The back of his neck told him that it was not planetary defense. Something was going on here. And just maybe it was related to what he…felt…about his brother. He came here looking for answers and obviously someone did not want the questions asked.
“Look for a place to land,” he said.
He needed to get away from his attackers. And he better do it quick before whoever it was figured out that he was about to fly up…
Too late. Ruben caught the impression of a dive but it was hard to track the ship visually once it started its counter measures.
“Warning. Warning. Attack imminent,” Eli said.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
He should have taken it out when he had the chance. But it wasn’t as if the Shooting Star was a Falcon and fully loaded with armament.
The blip on his screen told him his pursuer was still there, and he’d better do something quick.
Where are you?
Ruben didn’t bother with a visual check as he armed his missiles. All these years and he’d never used them. He never had a reason. Shaun and the turret gun had gotten them out of more scrapes than anything. He couldn’t even say for sure the last time he’d bothered to check the proton chambers.
It was time to make his move. The blip was behind him now and coming fast.
Too fast…Ruben’s curse exploded from his lips at the exact same time that he took the yoke and kicked in a quick burst of hyperion. Another second’s delay and he’d be a meteor shower, falling to the planet below.
The Shooting Star had taken a hit.
He was losing pressure in the cargo bay.
“Pressure leak. Cargo bay.”
Ruben slapped a button on the com. That would shut her up. He didn’t need any help communicating with the Shooting Star. He knew exactly what she was capable of.
“Come on baby,” he urged the ship as he fought for control. He knew the Air was purging behind the sealed doors and also knew that if he’d been in the stratosphere that he would be nothing more than an imploded mass of metal right now.
He was going to have to ditch.
But not without a fight.
The hyperion burst had taken him out of range but not for long. He knew the mysterious dark ship would be closing in on him for the kill.
“I hope you’ve got something left sweetheart.”
Ruben punched the dials on his com. He blew his spare tank, knowing that the gases would form a harmless cerulean cloud in the pristine oxygen of the planet. It would also make his attacker think he was on his last legs, which he was…
So why should I let them…they…it…
Who are these guys?
He couldn’t have more than a few seconds left. Ruben jerked back on the yoke and the Shooting Star pushed her curved nose into the Air.
She’s heavy…
Ruben watched the blip on his screen as he silently urged his craft upwards. He knew he only had one chance before she gave out on him.
NOW!
Ruben threw the lever above his head as his pursuer flew into the cloud, right beneath and behind his position. He felt the shudder as the cargo hold separated from the module that held the cockpit, his personal quarters and the mechanical operations of the Shooting Star.
Like a bomb the hold fell, straight out of the sky, its trajectory right on target.
“Yes!” Ruben whooped as he felt the explosion beneath. It was more than he could hope for.
The answering shudder from the Shooting Star was not part of the celebration. Alarms sounded, more noise to distract him.
“Shut up!” Ruben barked.
It had to be shrapnel. The noise was enough to kill him. If he survived this…
After I survive this…
He was going to do some serious work on his systems. Maybe he should go ahead and take the next step in his voice data. Let Eli talk sexy to him. Maybe even give her a feminine name so she…it…could whisper sweet things to him while he was in cryo.
“You’d be waking up in a state too,” he said out loud as if to assure himself that he was still alive. For the moment. “And there’d be no one available to warm your sheets.”
Yeah, that gave him something to live for…
He didn’t have time to admire the ball of flame that shot up from the ground below as his enemy exploded upon contact.
“Sorry,” Ruben muttered as an apology to the inhabitants below. It was all he could offer at the moment. He had his own crash too avoid.
As if he could. He summoned the geopoll again with the flip of a switch. There was a clearing ahead. Unfortunately it was in the same vicinity as the crash. So now he’d have it to avoid, along with the dense forest and the mountains that took a sudden rise.
“I hope there’s no one out for an evening stroll,” he said.
If there was, they were in for a show. Ruben said a silent prayer as he lowered his emergency landing gear. What was left of the Shooting Star was designed for a quick getaway and a bay landing. Ruben was certain of his skills and knew his craft like he knew his body, but a drop like a stone out of the sky landing was something that he’d never tried before.
He only had one chance to get it right….
“Come on baby,” he urged as he saw the treetops getting closer. If only he could make it to the clearing he had a chance of not ripping her belly out.
He felt the popping of the tree tops as he skirted along and then dropped lower, willing the craft on just by sheer will power.
And then just as suddenly he was there and realized he’d run out of room faster than he thought. He was headed straight for the ball of fire that was all that was left of his enemy.
He jerked her nose up and the engines stalled. The Shooting Star fell to the earth, landing on her tail with a thud before she toppled over.
Ruben catapulted from his chair and slammed against the co-pilots seat before being thrown on the com. Pain exploded in his side and in his ankle as his eyes tried to focus through the plexi on something dark and strange looking huddled on the ground as he felt himself falling towards the earth with his ship. The entire clearing was aglow with the light from the fire but for him, the light was fading fast. The impact of the ship hitting the earth threw him to the deck and the world went dark.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Star-Crossed Lovers
In the latest ROMANTIC TIMES, I read about MaryJanice Davidson's forthcoming mermaid novel. Her heroine is only half mermaid and therefore can appear human and function on land. Romance between mermaids and human men isn't always that easy, though. The heroine of the movie SPLASH magically transformed into an apparently normal woman, but her legs turned into a tail whenever she got wet. The Little Mermaid in Hans Christian Andersen's classic tale made a much rougher choice. She had to sacrifice her voice for legs, and every step felt like walking on knives.
In the absence of magic to transform a mermaid to a human woman (or her lover into a merman), the two would never be able to remain together, since they couldn't survive in each other's natural environments. I've just read a Silhouette Nocturne vampire romance, FROM THE DARK, by Michele Hauf, in which the heroine is a witch. In this fictional world, witches seem to comprise a subspecies of humanity. Witch blood is poisonous to vampires. Therefore, the hero and heroine are kept apart by their biology. Naturally, Hauf devises a way to overcome this barrier.
The Romeo and Juliet scenario, of course, the theme of lovers separated by a deep-rooted antipathy arising from their different backgrounds, is a perennial favorite among romance plots. Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet actually had everything in their favor, aside from that silly family feud. They grew up in the same city, followed the same religion, and sprang from the same socio-economic stratum. If their parents had renounced the enmity between their houses before it was too late, the young couple would probably have enjoyed a successful marriage. Tony and Maria in the modern adaptation, WEST SIDE STORY, have more serious difficulties, coming from rival ethnic groups, but at least they live in the same city at a similar income level. For a truly tragic example of a love affair destroyed by differences in background, look at SOUTH PACIFIC. Both Nellie Forbush and Lt. Cable initially reject the people they love because of racial factors; Nellie's rich planter has fathered half-Polynesian children, and Lt. Cable's innocent Liat is Tonkinese (or possibly half, fathered by another French planter -- the movie doesn't go into details of her background). In James Michener's original book, TALES OF THE SOUTH PACIFIC, Nellie's quandary is more wrenching and her reaction more blatantly racist; her would-be fiance has had multiple children by several mistresses of different races, and Nellie mentally applies the N-word to the Polynesian mistress. The ethnic barrier proves insurmountable for Lt. Cable, who rejects Liat and subsequently gets killed by the Japanese. Nellie comes to realize love is more important than the prejudices she has been "carefully taught," so she achieves a happy ending. To be fair to Lt. Cable, his dilemma really is more difficult than hers. Nellie joined the Navy for adventure and will have little difficulty in setting down new roots as the wife of a planter on a tropical island. In writing home to her family and friends, she can remain vague about her husband's previous "marriage." Lt. Cable would have to choose between abandoning his career and family to "go native" or taking poor Liat back to Philadelphia to face the contempt of his upper-middle-class social circle. Michener's short novel SAYONARA portrays a still worse scenario, a tragic love between an American soldier and his Japanese wife, whose marriage makes them outcast from both cultures. Their suicide affects the protagonist, an American officer also serving in occupied Japan, so deeply that he is forced to embrace his own love for a Japanese woman despite the cultural obstacles.
But suppose a hero and heroine come from such radically different worlds, literally, that they can't possibly form a romantic union? To produce a happy ending rather than a tragedy from this kind of plot, the author has to find a method of overcoming the barrier between them that doesn't look like a cop-out. This is a difficulty I often wrestle with in writing paranormal romances: If the obstacles keeping the lovers apart are convincingly serious, how can I invent a convincing solution to bring them together without, effectively, leaping over the crisis and starting the next scene with the equivalent of "once I got out of that pit..."?
In the absence of magic to transform a mermaid to a human woman (or her lover into a merman), the two would never be able to remain together, since they couldn't survive in each other's natural environments. I've just read a Silhouette Nocturne vampire romance, FROM THE DARK, by Michele Hauf, in which the heroine is a witch. In this fictional world, witches seem to comprise a subspecies of humanity. Witch blood is poisonous to vampires. Therefore, the hero and heroine are kept apart by their biology. Naturally, Hauf devises a way to overcome this barrier.
The Romeo and Juliet scenario, of course, the theme of lovers separated by a deep-rooted antipathy arising from their different backgrounds, is a perennial favorite among romance plots. Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet actually had everything in their favor, aside from that silly family feud. They grew up in the same city, followed the same religion, and sprang from the same socio-economic stratum. If their parents had renounced the enmity between their houses before it was too late, the young couple would probably have enjoyed a successful marriage. Tony and Maria in the modern adaptation, WEST SIDE STORY, have more serious difficulties, coming from rival ethnic groups, but at least they live in the same city at a similar income level. For a truly tragic example of a love affair destroyed by differences in background, look at SOUTH PACIFIC. Both Nellie Forbush and Lt. Cable initially reject the people they love because of racial factors; Nellie's rich planter has fathered half-Polynesian children, and Lt. Cable's innocent Liat is Tonkinese (or possibly half, fathered by another French planter -- the movie doesn't go into details of her background). In James Michener's original book, TALES OF THE SOUTH PACIFIC, Nellie's quandary is more wrenching and her reaction more blatantly racist; her would-be fiance has had multiple children by several mistresses of different races, and Nellie mentally applies the N-word to the Polynesian mistress. The ethnic barrier proves insurmountable for Lt. Cable, who rejects Liat and subsequently gets killed by the Japanese. Nellie comes to realize love is more important than the prejudices she has been "carefully taught," so she achieves a happy ending. To be fair to Lt. Cable, his dilemma really is more difficult than hers. Nellie joined the Navy for adventure and will have little difficulty in setting down new roots as the wife of a planter on a tropical island. In writing home to her family and friends, she can remain vague about her husband's previous "marriage." Lt. Cable would have to choose between abandoning his career and family to "go native" or taking poor Liat back to Philadelphia to face the contempt of his upper-middle-class social circle. Michener's short novel SAYONARA portrays a still worse scenario, a tragic love between an American soldier and his Japanese wife, whose marriage makes them outcast from both cultures. Their suicide affects the protagonist, an American officer also serving in occupied Japan, so deeply that he is forced to embrace his own love for a Japanese woman despite the cultural obstacles.
But suppose a hero and heroine come from such radically different worlds, literally, that they can't possibly form a romantic union? To produce a happy ending rather than a tragedy from this kind of plot, the author has to find a method of overcoming the barrier between them that doesn't look like a cop-out. This is a difficulty I often wrestle with in writing paranormal romances: If the obstacles keeping the lovers apart are convincingly serious, how can I invent a convincing solution to bring them together without, effectively, leaping over the crisis and starting the next scene with the equivalent of "once I got out of that pit..."?
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Invective and Elimination -- soooo Romantic
Folks:
The last two posts here are very typical of what writers in general spend their time thinking about -- invective (or anthropology and linguistics) and Elimination (or The Five Life Functions that define what is alive and what is not).
But what's that got to do with Romance, alien or otherwise?
Ah, but what is romance?
Do you suppose Romance is the 6th "Life Function" -- that all living things (even retro-viruses) do something during sex (or asexual reproduction) that pertains more to the spiritual dimension that the physical?
In fact, would anyone agree that Romance has nothing to do with sex?
It might be postulated that in many ways, Romance has little if anything to do with Relationship. It's possible to be catapulted into the state called "In Love" without the other person responding in kind. Being "In Love" (receptive to Romance) is a very personal thing, not necessarily shared.
I think on this blog we call an Alien Romance blog, we haven't paused in our headlong discussion to define ROMANCE, nevermind alien.
So what exactly is Romance?
Is it perhaps a state of mind in which an individual is capable of putting aside their personal, ego-centered individuality, blurring or softening the shell around "self" and joining with "other" and through "other" joining with the whole universe? Is "Romance" the joining with the Ineffable?
Is Romance a spiritual state or process in which a higher union is possible - a kind of union which actually isn't very functional in our everyday reality (people "in love" aren't usually very productive at work) - a kind of union which feeds the spirit rather than the body?
And if the spirit is a thing that needs "feeding" -- (i.e. participates in the Life Function called Nutrition) - is it possible that feeding the spirit is as necessary for the continuance of Life as the other 5 "Life Functions"?
We say that when we die, the spirit leaves the body.
What happens when the spirit dies?
Jacqueline Lichtenberg
http://www.simegen.com/jl/
The last two posts here are very typical of what writers in general spend their time thinking about -- invective (or anthropology and linguistics) and Elimination (or The Five Life Functions that define what is alive and what is not).
But what's that got to do with Romance, alien or otherwise?
Ah, but what is romance?
Do you suppose Romance is the 6th "Life Function" -- that all living things (even retro-viruses) do something during sex (or asexual reproduction) that pertains more to the spiritual dimension that the physical?
In fact, would anyone agree that Romance has nothing to do with sex?
It might be postulated that in many ways, Romance has little if anything to do with Relationship. It's possible to be catapulted into the state called "In Love" without the other person responding in kind. Being "In Love" (receptive to Romance) is a very personal thing, not necessarily shared.
I think on this blog we call an Alien Romance blog, we haven't paused in our headlong discussion to define ROMANCE, nevermind alien.
So what exactly is Romance?
Is it perhaps a state of mind in which an individual is capable of putting aside their personal, ego-centered individuality, blurring or softening the shell around "self" and joining with "other" and through "other" joining with the whole universe? Is "Romance" the joining with the Ineffable?
Is Romance a spiritual state or process in which a higher union is possible - a kind of union which actually isn't very functional in our everyday reality (people "in love" aren't usually very productive at work) - a kind of union which feeds the spirit rather than the body?
And if the spirit is a thing that needs "feeding" -- (i.e. participates in the Life Function called Nutrition) - is it possible that feeding the spirit is as necessary for the continuance of Life as the other 5 "Life Functions"?
We say that when we die, the spirit leaves the body.
What happens when the spirit dies?
Jacqueline Lichtenberg
http://www.simegen.com/jl/
Monday, November 06, 2006
Part Deux: Swearing in Alien Tongues
Is everything okay?
An innocuous question; one posed daily, if not hourly in our society. Yet several years ago, answering that question almost put a friend of mine in the midst of a full-blown melee.
You see, he was in a restaurant in a foreign country and was asked by the restaurant owner (via an interpreter) if “…everything (meal, wine, service) was okay.”
Not being fluent in the local language, my friend responded by making the good ol' American 'okay' sign: his thumb and index finger forming a circle, the other three fingers extended.
As the proprietor bellowed and tables almost overturned, my friend realized he'd evidently made a big mistake. He had. In his present locale, that hand gesture was synonymous for a lower body orifice, and not a pleasant orifice at that.
For all intents and purposes, he'd just called his host an…well, you know what he'd called him.
When I write my science fiction romance novels, I think about things like that. Not lower body orifices, mind you. I think about what we in this country, on the planet, deem as insulting. And how that might translate to the culture I've built for my novels.
The first lesson I've learned from the above example is that profanity is not planet-wide. What's okay in America may well be a reason to riot in Rio. Though admittedly, it was what the gesture stood for, and not the gesture itself, that was found so offensive.
Which brings me to the question I always ask myself when I'm world building: Self, what would this alien culture find offensive, and why?
It's rather a nice question to ask yourself as well, as you embark on your SF&F world building. Because answering it will make your worlds and your characters that much more complete, that much more alive to your readers.
In general, those that reside on this planet we call Earth find the following categories offensive and fertile fodder for foul language: blaspheming a revered deity, excrement, sexual acts, illegitimacy, body parts relating to excrement and sexual activity, and sexual activity with culturally unacceptable participants, including oneself.
All fairly obvious and self-explanatory to us here on Earth (and if you want to explore the matter further, the tome most oft cited is Geoffrey Hughes' Swearing: A Social History of Foul Language, Oaths and Profanity in English, Penguin USA). But we're not writing about here on Earth. We're writing about Rigel-V and Tatooine and the Skolian Empire and Moabar. Or maybe the Vash Nadah or the Khalar.
So we need to understand what those people in those places value, or don't, in order to understand how they swear.
Couldn't they value the same things we do? Sure. But why stop there? Moreover, why would they value exactly the same things we do? If the fictional culture you're creating is a carbon copy of Freehold, New Jersey set but set on the planet Gryck-2, then, in my humble opinion, you're cheating your readers. People don't read SF because they want to be immersed in the common. They read it to explore the uncommon.
If you read C.J. Cherryh's Chanur series, you'll see that one of the most common insults the feline race known as the Hani has is to call another Hani “an earless bastard.” And it isn't the bastardy that's the serious part of the insult—it’s the earless-ness. Ears, and the adornment of ears, are symbolic of success. (Being owned by cats myself, I can confirm that ears and tails are sources of great pride.)
So what does your fantasy or sci fi culture hold dear, and what do they disdain?
If parentage is taken lightly, then calling someone a bastard will most likely not be effective (this is true of some aboriginal cultures here on this planet). If there are no restrictions on sexual practices or partners, then perhaps your character could start a fistfight by calling the bad guy a monogamist.
How would those who spend their lives in the space lanes—perhaps are even born in space—view those who've never left the planet? “Dirtsuckers” is a term I've used derisively in my books, showing a prejudice by the space-born against the planet-born.
The entire issue of prejudice fueled the culture, and many of the insults, in my Gabriel's Ghost. The Taka are a furred race that, for the most part, work only in the lowest-paying and demeaning jobs. Prejudice against them, by humanoids, is common in the world of Captain Chasidah Bergren and Gabriel Ross Sullivan:
The term 'furry', inoffensive to us, is a slur here.
But the Takas aren't the only species looked down upon in Gabriel's Ghost, as Chaz knows when she's speaking to Captain Philip Guthrie:
As readers of Gabriel's Ghost learn, Stolorths are feared. Takas are simply dismissed as lesser beings. But both are recipients of prejudice, and often out of prejudice are insults born.
Blasphemy is born out of devotion. What gods or goddesses do your characters revere? What edicts has their religion placed on them? Is there a place, like hell, that your characters long to send their enemies? Or, if your characters are star-travelers, is it sufficient simply to sneer, "Oh, go suck dirt!" in order to be insulting?
A caution on using invented words: Oh, grzzbft! tends to sound more comical than threatening to English-acclimated ears. That doesn't mean you can't utilize your alien language in order to create alien profanity. Just try to anchor it to something the reader can identify with—an alien word or concept already used in the story, for example. Or use the 'comparative' method I noted in my previous article on constructing alien languages.
I used both methods in my upcoming Games of Command—which is, by the way, considerably lighter in tone than Gabriel's Ghost—so I wasn't quite as worried about the giggle factor:
And
Don't ignore the foul-language factor when creating your world. Take some time to see how and why and when we on this planet swear and integrate that knowledge with your alien or fantasy culture. Your readers--and your characters--will thank you. After all, your heroine does need something appropriate to say when she drops a sonic-wrench on her toe.
~Linnea
www.linneasinclair.com
An innocuous question; one posed daily, if not hourly in our society. Yet several years ago, answering that question almost put a friend of mine in the midst of a full-blown melee.
You see, he was in a restaurant in a foreign country and was asked by the restaurant owner (via an interpreter) if “…everything (meal, wine, service) was okay.”
Not being fluent in the local language, my friend responded by making the good ol' American 'okay' sign: his thumb and index finger forming a circle, the other three fingers extended.
As the proprietor bellowed and tables almost overturned, my friend realized he'd evidently made a big mistake. He had. In his present locale, that hand gesture was synonymous for a lower body orifice, and not a pleasant orifice at that.
For all intents and purposes, he'd just called his host an…well, you know what he'd called him.
When I write my science fiction romance novels, I think about things like that. Not lower body orifices, mind you. I think about what we in this country, on the planet, deem as insulting. And how that might translate to the culture I've built for my novels.
The first lesson I've learned from the above example is that profanity is not planet-wide. What's okay in America may well be a reason to riot in Rio. Though admittedly, it was what the gesture stood for, and not the gesture itself, that was found so offensive.
Which brings me to the question I always ask myself when I'm world building: Self, what would this alien culture find offensive, and why?
It's rather a nice question to ask yourself as well, as you embark on your SF&F world building. Because answering it will make your worlds and your characters that much more complete, that much more alive to your readers.
In general, those that reside on this planet we call Earth find the following categories offensive and fertile fodder for foul language: blaspheming a revered deity, excrement, sexual acts, illegitimacy, body parts relating to excrement and sexual activity, and sexual activity with culturally unacceptable participants, including oneself.
All fairly obvious and self-explanatory to us here on Earth (and if you want to explore the matter further, the tome most oft cited is Geoffrey Hughes' Swearing: A Social History of Foul Language, Oaths and Profanity in English, Penguin USA). But we're not writing about here on Earth. We're writing about Rigel-V and Tatooine and the Skolian Empire and Moabar. Or maybe the Vash Nadah or the Khalar.
So we need to understand what those people in those places value, or don't, in order to understand how they swear.
Couldn't they value the same things we do? Sure. But why stop there? Moreover, why would they value exactly the same things we do? If the fictional culture you're creating is a carbon copy of Freehold, New Jersey set but set on the planet Gryck-2, then, in my humble opinion, you're cheating your readers. People don't read SF because they want to be immersed in the common. They read it to explore the uncommon.
If you read C.J. Cherryh's Chanur series, you'll see that one of the most common insults the feline race known as the Hani has is to call another Hani “an earless bastard.” And it isn't the bastardy that's the serious part of the insult—it’s the earless-ness. Ears, and the adornment of ears, are symbolic of success. (Being owned by cats myself, I can confirm that ears and tails are sources of great pride.)
So what does your fantasy or sci fi culture hold dear, and what do they disdain?
If parentage is taken lightly, then calling someone a bastard will most likely not be effective (this is true of some aboriginal cultures here on this planet). If there are no restrictions on sexual practices or partners, then perhaps your character could start a fistfight by calling the bad guy a monogamist.
How would those who spend their lives in the space lanes—perhaps are even born in space—view those who've never left the planet? “Dirtsuckers” is a term I've used derisively in my books, showing a prejudice by the space-born against the planet-born.
The entire issue of prejudice fueled the culture, and many of the insults, in my Gabriel's Ghost. The Taka are a furred race that, for the most part, work only in the lowest-paying and demeaning jobs. Prejudice against them, by humanoids, is common in the world of Captain Chasidah Bergren and Gabriel Ross Sullivan:
Sully stepped up to the worker. “Pardon, brother. We seek a Takan brother with urgent family news.”
The man barely glanced at Sully as he ran his hand through his thinning hair in an exasperated motion. Chatter still came from the podium speaker.
“What’s that? Hang on, I got some religious guy here needs to find a furry.”
The term 'furry', inoffensive to us, is a slur here.
But the Takas aren't the only species looked down upon in Gabriel's Ghost, as Chaz knows when she's speaking to Captain Philip Guthrie:
[Guthrie]: “No. The Farosians. With a Stolorth Ragkiril. We know that. How you would get involved with them, how you would get involved with that I cannot understand.”
‘That’ meant a Stolorth. A Fleet-issue sentiment of disgust.
As readers of Gabriel's Ghost learn, Stolorths are feared. Takas are simply dismissed as lesser beings. But both are recipients of prejudice, and often out of prejudice are insults born.
Blasphemy is born out of devotion. What gods or goddesses do your characters revere? What edicts has their religion placed on them? Is there a place, like hell, that your characters long to send their enemies? Or, if your characters are star-travelers, is it sufficient simply to sneer, "Oh, go suck dirt!" in order to be insulting?
A caution on using invented words: Oh, grzzbft! tends to sound more comical than threatening to English-acclimated ears. That doesn't mean you can't utilize your alien language in order to create alien profanity. Just try to anchor it to something the reader can identify with—an alien word or concept already used in the story, for example. Or use the 'comparative' method I noted in my previous article on constructing alien languages.
I used both methods in my upcoming Games of Command—which is, by the way, considerably lighter in tone than Gabriel's Ghost—so I wasn't quite as worried about the giggle factor:
She heard the smart click of the cabin door lock recycling. She dove under the desk, fitting her small form into the kneehole, and shoved her com badge down the front of her shirt. If it beeped now, she was toast.
Cabin lights flicked on. Heavy footsteps moved across the carpeted floor as the door swooshed closed.
Damn! Shit! Sonofabitch! Sass ran through every swearword she knew in five languages. Frack! Grenzar! Antz-k’ran! Trock!
And
“I’d love to launch a raftwide mullytrock, but then we’d have every other damned jockey in straps burning bulkheads. ’Course, that would work too. RaftTraff wouldn’t know which one of us to send the sec tugs after first.”
Mullytrock. Definitely Lady Sass. He remembered Ralland at fourteen getting his mouth washed out with soap for saying that.
Don't ignore the foul-language factor when creating your world. Take some time to see how and why and when we on this planet swear and integrate that knowledge with your alien or fantasy culture. Your readers--and your characters--will thank you. After all, your heroine does need something appropriate to say when she drops a sonic-wrench on her toe.
~Linnea
www.linneasinclair.com
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Worldbuilding with my head in a bathroom fixture
Did we ever seen anyone go to the toilet on Star Trek (TM)?
I mean that in all sincerity and with the greatest of respect,
and in the best possible taste.
Jacqueline's first rate posting about servants has stimulated me to
consider other necessary matters that world leaders would like to do
--or get done-- silently, invisibly, without fuss or flap.
Snort!
Once upon a time, the King of a large, modern, Western country
came to visit one of a major auto-maker's design facilities. Both the Gents' and Ladies' bathrooms on one floor were closed to the public and reserved for their visiting Majesties' exclusive convenience.
As I recall the tale as it was told to me, their Majesties availed themselves of the opportunity (Royalty always goes when the opportunity presents itself, or is respectfully presented), took the entire entourage in with them (the host had assumed that the entourage would wait outside, and go afterwards), and conversation continued uninterrupted by any acknowledgement whatsoever that the setting was temporarily less formal.
My source has completely forgotten ever telling me this. He says I imagined it. I never forget a good potty story (but I do have strange dreams).
Bathroom scenes are part of my world building. The logistics of necessity are important to my fashionista heroine when she is marooned on a previously uninhabited island in INSUFFICIENT MATING MATERIAL. She warms up to the hero considerably when he takes the time to fashion a decent toilet seat for her.
There are bathroom fixtures I've considered that would probably never get past an editor of romances. Just like only villains in Regency romances have bad breath, no one breaks wind in a spaceship, and there is no mechanism to deal with a problem that even aliens ought to have... I would have thought.
It's simply not heroic to back up to an interior, miniature porthole.
If water might be a precious commodity in outer space, much might be done with suction and air pressure (I suppose). Also recycling. One has to think of physics, and chemistry, and gravity, and logistics.
Assuming that all romantic aliens are humanoid... now I pause to think of the alien who kept his genitals in his knee caps... and if one could eliminate waste through ones feet, that could be convenient, depending where one lived, but again, it would not be romantic.
I've never been sure about fictional bathrooms on spaceships that appear out of nowhere at the push of a button. Walls move. Space is created with no discernable impact on the size of the living area. Solid bathroom fixtures appear. How? Is the bathroom like Dr. Who's Tardis? I could accept a shower, but not a jacuzzi, I guess. But, then, I am not a plumber.
Why push a button? What about a Clap-On Crapper? What fun if the alien-romance's human heroine were to clap her hands in delight over some unrelated matter, and the toilet would shoot out of the walls, slosh and retreat, and reappear until she had the wit to stop clapping!
Can any reader point me in the direction of a well designed alien loo?
Best wishes,
Rowena
http://romanceatheart.com/interview/rowenacherry.html
I mean that in all sincerity and with the greatest of respect,
and in the best possible taste.
Jacqueline's first rate posting about servants has stimulated me to
consider other necessary matters that world leaders would like to do
--or get done-- silently, invisibly, without fuss or flap.
Snort!
Once upon a time, the King of a large, modern, Western country
came to visit one of a major auto-maker's design facilities. Both the Gents' and Ladies' bathrooms on one floor were closed to the public and reserved for their visiting Majesties' exclusive convenience.
As I recall the tale as it was told to me, their Majesties availed themselves of the opportunity (Royalty always goes when the opportunity presents itself, or is respectfully presented), took the entire entourage in with them (the host had assumed that the entourage would wait outside, and go afterwards), and conversation continued uninterrupted by any acknowledgement whatsoever that the setting was temporarily less formal.
My source has completely forgotten ever telling me this. He says I imagined it. I never forget a good potty story (but I do have strange dreams).
Bathroom scenes are part of my world building. The logistics of necessity are important to my fashionista heroine when she is marooned on a previously uninhabited island in INSUFFICIENT MATING MATERIAL. She warms up to the hero considerably when he takes the time to fashion a decent toilet seat for her.
There are bathroom fixtures I've considered that would probably never get past an editor of romances. Just like only villains in Regency romances have bad breath, no one breaks wind in a spaceship, and there is no mechanism to deal with a problem that even aliens ought to have... I would have thought.
It's simply not heroic to back up to an interior, miniature porthole.
If water might be a precious commodity in outer space, much might be done with suction and air pressure (I suppose). Also recycling. One has to think of physics, and chemistry, and gravity, and logistics.
Assuming that all romantic aliens are humanoid... now I pause to think of the alien who kept his genitals in his knee caps... and if one could eliminate waste through ones feet, that could be convenient, depending where one lived, but again, it would not be romantic.
I've never been sure about fictional bathrooms on spaceships that appear out of nowhere at the push of a button. Walls move. Space is created with no discernable impact on the size of the living area. Solid bathroom fixtures appear. How? Is the bathroom like Dr. Who's Tardis? I could accept a shower, but not a jacuzzi, I guess. But, then, I am not a plumber.
Why push a button? What about a Clap-On Crapper? What fun if the alien-romance's human heroine were to clap her hands in delight over some unrelated matter, and the toilet would shoot out of the walls, slosh and retreat, and reappear until she had the wit to stop clapping!
Can any reader point me in the direction of a well designed alien loo?
Best wishes,
Rowena
http://romanceatheart.com/interview/rowenacherry.html
Saturday, November 04, 2006
Shooting Star
Here's an exerpt from my December release Shooting Star.
It was parade day. It was also his birthday. The boy, impatient with the maid who dressed him, broke away from her constant straightening and list of instructions and ran through the luxuriously appointed apartment to his mother’s room.
His little brother was there, clinging to her skirts with his thumb stuck deep into his mouth as always. The boy’s face brightened at the sight of his older brother.
“Ben!” he said in his baby voice as he popped his thumb out and then back in.
Their mother gently touched the golden brown hair of the boy at her side and then removed his hand so she could kneel to welcome the older son.
“Happy Birthday Ben,” she said and swept her son into a warm hug.
“Is the parade really for me mother?” Ben asked.
“Yes. Your father and the people want to honor the day of your birth,” she said.
No need to tell the boy that it just an excuse for his father to placate the people and give them another show of his strength. With twenty-one sons, all of which were to be held in high esteem by the population, there was a constant celebration and parade through the streets of the capital.
“You’re father will come for you and honor you on this day,” the mother continued as she checked to make sure that the innocent face before her was clean and the clothing was appropriate. His eyes, so blue, looked up at her with childish excitement. She straightened a wayward curl over his forehead.
Not that it really mattered what the boy looked like. His father, the esteemed leader of their world, would stop at the appropriate place and display the boy before the people. He would be announced as the twelfth heir to the throne. This day only his mother would recognize the insignificant ranking of her son’s birth. She was nothing but a lesser wife who was gifted to the emperor by her father as part of a peace treaty. Her youthful beauty and grace were prominently displayed at the time. She was welcomed into the emperor’s bed, compliantly did her duty and then gifted him with another son.
Perhaps if she had given him a daughter it would have been a novelty and she would have earned a higher place in the order of wives.
Instead she bore another son in a long succession of sons. He was another trophy to the never ending greatness and sexual prowess of the emperor. And because the emperor had noticed her son do something exceptional one day during his warrior training the emperor was pleased and graced the almost forgotten wife with a visit and as the result another son, Stefan Andreas, was borne and declared the twentieth heir to the throne. And another wife had given him number twenty one. There would probably be more. Why even bother to count them after the heir and the spare both born to the same wife. The first wife. The honored wife.
“Did you have your breakfast?” she asked. It would be a long day for the boy. An exciting day.
“Yes mother.
“Good.” She smiled at him. He face held the promise of masculine good looks. The softness of childhood was giving way to the angles and planes of manhood. He had the same look as her brother, dead these many years, with his hair of golden brown and his bright blue eyes. And young Stefan looked just like him also.
How dear her brother, Stefanas’s, memory was to her after his death so many years ago in the planetary wars. His loss had devastated her father and the result was the treaty and her life as a gift to the conqueror of their planet.
“It’s time to go,” the mother said. She took Ben’s hand into hers and with the other took the hand of his brother and led them to the balcony that over looked the main thoroughfare of the capital city.
In the distance the shield wall that protected the capital could be seen. It shimmered beneath the assault of the two suns that were at their zenith in the bright yellow sky. The people were grateful for the shield wall; it protected them from their enemies. They were also grateful for the strength of their emperor and his armies. After all, without him they would be at the mercy of the universe.
Or so the emperor told them.
All the wives gathered on the common balcony that faced the street. Their apartments were all linked together by the balcony on one side and a private courtyard on the other. They all came forth, dressed in their best, with their children at their sides. All came forth to celebrate the birthday of son number twelve, Rubikhan Benjamin, born to the mighty emperor and his fourth wife, the Princess Rowena of the Planet Kalember.
The banners proclaimed it. The heralds proclaimed it. The broadcasters proclaimed it, placing the proper spin on all of it for those who were unfortunate enough to have to watch from their homes. The emperor is great. The emperor is strong. Long live the emperor.
“Doesn’t the emperor look great?”
“Isn’t the Princess Rowena beautiful, even if she is getting on in years?”
“How handsome the young Prince is growing.” The very image of his father. Or so they were told to report. All of the young prince’s were the image of their father. Thus his difficulty in telling them apart the broadcaster thought to herself. No room for such rebellion. Not if she wanted to succeed. She read the script as it ran across the screen before her.
“The young Prince is now twelve years old. It is reported by his tutors that the Prince Rubikhan Benjamin is exceptional in all of his classes, especially his weapons training. He has a natural ability that astounds those that watch him.” The broadcaster checked her screen to as the last sentence that she read seemed different than the usual rote that she was required to repeat at each birthday. Yes, she had read correctly. A sentence had been added. The young prince must be exceptional to have something different added to his publicity release.
“We look forward to seeing him lead our warriors someday,” she went off the routine script with a genuine smile.
The camera’s focused on the balcony and the women and children gathered there. Seven wives and twenty sons all lined up. They were all there but the eldest. He had moved on to be with his father a long time ago.
Rowena and her sons occupied the second apartment. She was second in political ranking only to the first wife. The first wife had given the emperor his heir and three other sons. Her fourth son was only a few weeks younger than Ben. The boy looked at Ben with his pale, sour face. Could he be jealous? He had his own honors coming in just a few weeks after all. Rowena took a half step forward to shelter her son from the vicious looks coming his way while she tried to remember the boys name.
Dyson. His name was Dyson. Chubby cheeks, weak blue eyes and white blonde hair. How could she forget his name? Was it because he looked so much like his mother?
“Look Mother,” Ben said.
The heralds were passing, carrying banners with her son’s name. Next there was a hover pod with a soldier on board. He was being honored for some great accomplishment. Rowena stole a look at the great monitor hanging on the side of one of the buildings. It showed a close up of the soldier with the subtitles of his feats. The soldier seemed bored as he slowly drove the small hover craft down the street lined with wildly cheering patrons. But he did wave to the crowd, which drove the gathered mob into frenzied screams of celebration.
Next there were the various officers and the current top celebrities. It was getting close to the arts awards day. The top runners were all on open hover pods, wearing their best smiles as they blew kisses to the crowd. One especially handsome actor flashed his famous smile and the women gathered along the street below screamed in appreciation at the treat.
“Where’s my father?” Ben asked. Impatient as always, he stepped closer to the balcony’s edge and looked towards his father’s residence, ignoring the honorees that were lined up right below his nose. Dyson stepped forward also, blocking Ben’s view.
Rowena’s face remained composed. She would not show her aggravation with the child. Since they were close in age he shared a tutor with Ben and it had become a competition instead of a class.
Rowena had advised Ben to let it be. It would pass. The boy’s dishonesty would show itself, just as his mother’s had, at least to the other wives. She had born the heir. Why did she always feel the need to remind them of it?
“He’ll be here,” Rowena assured him.
How many times had Ben actually seen his father? Twenty, maybe that she could remember. There was never a time when the boy had been with him, one on one. It had always been in passing. There would be a comment on his growth, a question about his studies and the typical urging to keep the boy’s focus where it should be.
Today would be different however. Today Ben was twelve and he would get to go with his father to the governmental palaces and share dinner with him while his father told him his plans for the future. He would be introduced to the powerful on the planet. He would be honored by all who came into his presence.
Today would be different. Her son was special. Rowena knew it. She had watched him, taught him, he would excel. He would be noticed. He would earn his place by his father’s side. He would accomplish great things. He would see the things that needed to be changed and he would change them.
After today, things would be different.
Rowena bent over Ben’s shoulder and inconspicuously pointed towards the east.
“There he is,” she said into his ear. Ben’s hands tightened on the balcony rail, his knuckles white with the strength of his grip.
How could the emperor be missed? His hover pod was, of course, riding higher than the rest. It was bigger, as expected; it needed to be because of the body guards, the huge black newfs that never left the emperor’s presence and the personal driver. The sides of the hover pod were covered with clear plexi to protect the esteemed leader of the people and the top was covered with an ornate crown like molding, indicative of the high position of its passenger. It was hard to see exactly who was inside but Rowena knew who it was. Who else could it be?
The heralds stopped below the balcony. Soldiers and security officers lined up. The stairs were cleared. The hover pod stopped and the emperor stepped out onto the platform that had been placed there, just for that purpose.
He waved to the cheering crowd and proceeded up the steps with the two huge newfs following. An assistant brought up the rear. Under his arm he carried a large clear celpad and stylus, which was no doubt the only way he could keep track of all the details of the day.
The emperor looked dashing yet elegant in his uniform. A man for the people. The protector of the planet. A loving father intent on visiting his son.
Rowena placed her hands on Ben’s shoulders and without a word he stepped back, holding himself at attention as he’d been taught. They waited for his father.
The emperor waved to the crowd once more as he found the summit of the stairs. He took a few steps and then stopped. The newfs quickly sat down behind their master, patiently waiting for the next subtle command.
Ben’s father stopped in front of Dyson.
“So you are turning twelve?” he said.
“Yes sir,” Dyson responded with a bright smile. It wasn’t a lie. He was turning twelve. In just a few days.
Ben’s shoulders tensed under her hands. Rowena squeezed her fingers over the tense muscles. Patience my son…Rowena’s eyes darted towards the assistant who stood at attention behind the emperor and implored him with her lovely blue eyes.
The man shrugged his shoulders after he checked his celpad.
Dyson’s mother’s face held a self satisfied smile.
He has the wrong child…
Who would dare to point that out? Who among this was brave enough to risk their lives to tell the emperor that he had made a mistake in front of the entire population?
Surely he would realize his mistake? If Dyson had any honor he would tell it himself. If Dyson’s mother was the woman she pretended to be, she would and could smooth it over and turn it into a victory for the emperor. Not only did he care for Rubikhan Benjamin but he cared for Dyson, whatever his other name was, also. It would and could endear him to the people. Why didn’t she see it?
Because it was her son being noticed. Not Rowena’s. Why was she so vindictive? It wasn’t as if Rowena got any of his attention. She was long forgotten, as she had hoped to be. She couldn’t stand the man. The thought of him sickened her. Yes he was handsome, yes he was strong, and yes he was seductive. But he was also a shallow pool, without even so much as a ripple given out towards those who should be close to him.
Rowena didn’t dare make a sound lest she seem jealous, or weak. She had to remain strong and without emotion. It was the only way they would survive the day. It was the only way they could survive the rest of their lives. They could not show emotion. Doing so would only weaken their position and their position was tenuous at best. Did not the man even know who had mothered which child? Could he not recognize the mother at least and then conclude the son?
Politics ran deep in the colony of wives, just as it did everywhere else in the universe.
“Then let us go then and celebrate,” the emperor said. He took Dyson’s hand and led him to the rail. He lifted their joint hands together in a signal of victory. The crowd seemed confused but cheered as they always did.
They had no choice in that.
Hand and hand the two went down the steps to the hover pod with the canines and the assistant following, as they always did.
Rowena felt the trembling of Ben’s muscles beneath her hands.
It didn’t show. His posture remained impassive and his gaze focused on the crowd below.
Be strong my son…
They remained so, all of them on the balcony until the hover pod disappeared from sight in its continuation of the parade.
There were looks of sympathy from the lesser wives. There was a smile of victory on the first wife’s face. They all moved inside until all that remained on the balcony was Rowena, Ben and Stefan.
A servant, quietly sympathetic, took Stefan inside.
“I don’t understand,” Ben said finally as the first sun dipped behind their building, creating long shadows that contrasted greatly against the orange hue of the sky. “It’s my
birthday,” he continued with a sigh.
“He made a mistake,” Rowena said. The all powerful, all knowing, had made a mistake.
“Doesn’t he know me? Doesn’t he know who I am?”
How could she explain it? How do you tell a boy that his father doesn’t really care? That it’s all for show, and pageantry and pomp. There was only one son that concerned him. The heir, which even now had his own room close to his father so that he may learn best how to rule.
“You and Dyson are close in age. Perhaps he got the dates confused.”
“But my name is everywhere,” Ben pointed out. “He would have to know it is my birthday, not Dyson’s.”
Not if he didn’t know the difference between them. And not only did he not know who was who, but his assistant didn’t know either. After all, he had been the one whispering in the emperor’s ear.
Justifying it didn’t excuse it. A father should know his sons. He should know all of them.
Rowena didn’t know what to say.
“Why didn’t you tell him it was me?” Ben asked. He took a step forward, removing himself from contact with his mother. Her hands reached for him, then dropped as Ben stepped to the balcony rail and gripped it once more.
A gentle breeze, herald of the coming sunset ruffled the banners that proclaimed his name. Even now they were being removed from the parade route, the workers busily efficient so that nothing of this day would remain. After all they had to prepare for the next one. They had to get ready for Dyson’s.
“You didn’t tell him,” Ben said. His voice cracked on the words. Whether from emotion, or just the fact that he had begun the change into manhood, Rowena couldn’t tell. The shoulders remained straight and the spine rigid as the boy looked out over the street.
I didn’t tell him…
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Differences or Defects?
Recently Gallaudet University, a distinguished college for the deaf in Maryland, revoked the contract of its prospective president partly because she learned American Sign Language in adulthood instead of early childhood. Many leaders in the deaf community regard deafness as a unifying characteristic of a subculture, rather than a disability. If I understand their position correctly, as a matter of ideological principle they object to the privileging of lip reading over sign language and the automatic assumption that all deaf children should, if possible, undergo surgery to enable them to hear. (I'm not sure whether this principle applies only to people born deaf or also those who lose their hearing at an early age.)
I'm reminded of H. G. Wells' classic story "The Country of the Blind," a riff on the proverb, "In the country of the blind, the one-eyed man is king." Just the opposite proves true for the sighted protagonist from the outside world stranded in an isolated community of people whose eyes atrophied generations ago. Since they are active at night, when it's cool, and sleep in the heat of the day, the hero loses whatever advantage his sight would have given him. Instead, the blind people think he is deranged when he talks about "seeing." They decide the strange lumps ("eyes") under his brows cause delusions by pressure on his brain. In this environment sight, not blindness, is a disability.
The Gallaudet case, like Wells' story, highlights the problem of distinguishing between a disability and a value-neutral difference. Left-handedness used to be viewed as a defect; left-handed children were retrained in school to use their right hands. If dogs had human intelligence, they would consider us profoundly disabled because our noses are so feeble compared to theirs. If dolphins could talk, they might express pity for our near-deafness in being unable to hear ultrasonics.
Suppose a race of aliens settled on Earth, beings similar to our species but communicating through telepathy? They would consider us defective or disabled for our lack of telepathy. If a device or surgical procedure existed to make human beings telepathic, people who rejected this gift might be regarded as foolish and pitiable. Yet some people might refuse telepathy on principle as undermining their uniquely human culture.
More immediately plausible, what will happen when advanced genetic engineering becomes commonplace? As many SF authors have speculated, those who choose not to have themselves or their offspring "improved" might be treated as inferior, even subjected to social and financial penalties (e.g., inability to buy health insurance). A recent story in the MAGAZINE OF FANTASY AND SCIENCE FICTION envisions a future when an immortality drug is readily available. Those who refuse the treatment are viewed as outcasts. Furthermore, if they choose to bear children (the immortality drug causes sterility), they become criminals, because of course a world of immortals has no space for additional people, and therefore reproducing is illegal.
Normality, difference, disability—where do we draw the distinctions?
I'm reminded of H. G. Wells' classic story "The Country of the Blind," a riff on the proverb, "In the country of the blind, the one-eyed man is king." Just the opposite proves true for the sighted protagonist from the outside world stranded in an isolated community of people whose eyes atrophied generations ago. Since they are active at night, when it's cool, and sleep in the heat of the day, the hero loses whatever advantage his sight would have given him. Instead, the blind people think he is deranged when he talks about "seeing." They decide the strange lumps ("eyes") under his brows cause delusions by pressure on his brain. In this environment sight, not blindness, is a disability.
The Gallaudet case, like Wells' story, highlights the problem of distinguishing between a disability and a value-neutral difference. Left-handedness used to be viewed as a defect; left-handed children were retrained in school to use their right hands. If dogs had human intelligence, they would consider us profoundly disabled because our noses are so feeble compared to theirs. If dolphins could talk, they might express pity for our near-deafness in being unable to hear ultrasonics.
Suppose a race of aliens settled on Earth, beings similar to our species but communicating through telepathy? They would consider us defective or disabled for our lack of telepathy. If a device or surgical procedure existed to make human beings telepathic, people who rejected this gift might be regarded as foolish and pitiable. Yet some people might refuse telepathy on principle as undermining their uniquely human culture.
More immediately plausible, what will happen when advanced genetic engineering becomes commonplace? As many SF authors have speculated, those who choose not to have themselves or their offspring "improved" might be treated as inferior, even subjected to social and financial penalties (e.g., inability to buy health insurance). A recent story in the MAGAZINE OF FANTASY AND SCIENCE FICTION envisions a future when an immortality drug is readily available. Those who refuse the treatment are viewed as outcasts. Furthermore, if they choose to bear children (the immortality drug causes sterility), they become criminals, because of course a world of immortals has no space for additional people, and therefore reproducing is illegal.
Normality, difference, disability—where do we draw the distinctions?
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