Art Fish, All Intransigence

Some notes on the PS3

2010-12-30T15:24:00.003-05:00

I haz wun, and itz kewl.

To play regular BluRay discs, you have to turn off the setting that controls how 24Hz BDs are handled. I don't remember the exact name of the setting, but "automatic" apparently isn't. Set it to "no" and you're in.

BluRay movies are better than regular DVDs, but I'm still not sure the difference is entirely worth the price difference. The so-called "live" content could be cool if my network bandwidth were sufficient to play 1080 x 1920p streaming video. It isn't, but that's mostly my own fault. I could move my cable modem to the living room and hook up the PS3 wiredly. Stay tuned about that.

EA Sports' Tiger Woods PGA Golf 11 is very, very cool. It has an experience point system that isn't much unlike Dungeons and Dragons. This system permits you to improve your skills (and it has a lot of skill categories you can tweak), and with your XP you can "buy" things in the Pro Shop. Upgrade your clubs, buy a new hat, sunglasses, shoes, etc. And get this! Various clothing and golfing items improve your skills. Like, just yesterday I bought a pair of "+5% Green Reading" sunglasses for 500 XP. You get the idea.

They also have many add ons for the game: courses, special skill tweaks, etc. I can't really see paying $1.99 real money for a skill tweak. The fun is playing the game, not acquiring things. I do admit, though, that improving my golfing skills is fun. Case in point: when I played the Pebble Beach course the first time I think I scored about 12 over par. Last night I played it to even par, but along the way I had 5 birdies. Also 5 bogies, but I think it's clear I've improved.

One small kvetch: I think sand-saves should be worth XP, since it takes a fair amount of skill to save par after missing the green, especially if your par putt is within 4 feet.

BTW, Tiger Woods does work with the Move controller, but I had trouble getting more than about 60% on any of my shots. On Amazon, most of the complaints about the game was that it didn't work with the PS3 Move controller, but it does now. The putting game (mentioned below) works very well with the Move controller (I think the Move controller would be the preferred method of controlling your putt), but at the same time the Move controller is extremely sensitive to your movements. So much so that I think it makes using the Move not quite worth the effort. See below.

Ratchet and Clank (yeah, I know it's more than one game--they're all fun) is a fun game with interesting graphics, but I suck at shooters, in general, so I'm not having as much fun with this game as others might. Aiming seems to be my problem.

Blur, a racing game, is fun, but I haven't caught on to all the "power ups" you have to get just to have a chance of winning. There's no driving skill involved, at all, but I guess I shouldn't be surprised.

Planet MiniGolf is quite a lot of fun, and it effectively uses the Move option (which I have) but I suck at steep uphill putts. I have also come to realize some courses require using the power ups just to get past some holes, a point to which I most strenuously object. I don't mind gimmicks, but the object of the game should not be to hit the power up on your first shot, just to be able to make the second shot.

BioShock is uber cool as a game (visuals, etc.), but I think the stress of playing it is too much. I'm also not that good at shooters (I did say that before, didn't I?) so getting killed every 5 minutes got sorta frustrating, after about the 10th time. I realize it just takes practice, but know this: I'm probably not motivated to spend the frigging hours it would take to become expert at shooting with the duoshock controller. But it does come in colors.

BTW, you definitely want to hook your PS3 to your interwebz. One word: Netflix streaming. OK, that was two words, but they have a lot of stuff, and the resolution is pretty good even considering my crappy wireless bandwidth. How duz they do that?

I've downloaded several games and even some golf game add ons from the Sony PlayStation Store. Yeah, it's a clear temptation, and tres convenient.

My overall impression of the Move option is that they haven't worked all the operability bugs out of it. It's usually too sensitive to movement and therefore very hard to use for menu navigation, etc. Sometimes it lags, too, but I understand this is fairly endemic to these kinds of game controllers.

The Sports Champions demo game they give away with the Move option is all but totally unplayable. Contrast that to the Wii, where a five-year-old can master the movement in a few minutes. I spent 10 minutes just trying to figure out how to throw the damn frisbee, and could never get it to work. It's just not supposed to be that hard.

Here are the Pros as I see them:

HD-capable. Supports HDMI and digital optical sound output.
Plays BluRay and regular DVDs.
Video resolution is HD, and sound output is very good.
Connects to the internet, and you can buy stuff online right from the device itself. This could be a con, too!
Netflix streaming. We already had the regular DVD mail service, so this is a "free" added bonus.
Tiger Woods PGA 11. Fantastic golf game. Addictive for anyone who likes golf (I happen to love golf).
Will play streamed music, etc., from a Windows Media Server. Did I mention Windows 7 will function as a Media Server?

Some cons:

Move controller is way too sensitive, making it very hard to use.
Needs a keyboard if you want to do much in the way of data entry (like entering a 53 character random passphrase for your WPA-2 authentication).
DVD remote has no power off button (minor gripe), but it is Bluetooth, so I suppose that's to be expected.
If you connect the PS3 wirelessly to your network, expect it not to keep up with streamed music, very well. Wired connection would be better.

The Trolley Problem compared to lifesaving abortions

2010-12-29T14:48:00.003-05:00

I read several posts by Ophelia Benson castigating the Bishop of Phoenix for condemning a Catholic hospital for aborting a pregnancy to save a woman's life. The Church was wrong about that one. So what does the Trolley Problem have to do with this? Well, before we talk about this, let's review the Principle of Double Effect and what that might have to do with evaluating moral right (or wrong).

The Trolley Problem forced someone to choose between two apparent wrongs. Or choosing the lesser of two evils, which is how most of us would act. Flipping the switch to force the trolley onto another track that would kill one person versus five people seems pretty clear. If someone is going to die, fewer is better than more. Shoving the fat man onto the tracks is not the same, because it's pretty clear that he may not stop the trolley and yet still be killed. There's room for doubt, so another alternative would be preferable. There is also the idea of intention. Flipping the switch involves no intention, except to minimize the damage. Throwing the fat man to his death is intentional, though one could suppose he might survive.

So this brings consequences into the discussion. Consequences instantly take the discussion away from the abstract, because if there were no negative consequences to an act (such as pushing a large rock onto the tracks to stop the trolley), then no one would argue against it. Even if the trolley had a dozen people on it; clearly there's a reasonable chance most, if not all, would survive a trolley crash. Blowing up the trolley would be unreasonable unless doing do would definitively save many more. You aren't intending to kill the passengers. Their deaths would be consequential to stopping the trolley.

An eleven-week-old fetus cannot survive without its mother, which is the case mentioned above at the beginning. If there was a way to save both mother and fetus, then that's what you would do. If saving the mother meant doing the abortion, it still seems quite ethical (and moral) to do it, particularly since saving someone whose contribution to both her family and society in general is much more readily quantifiable. No, it's not that her fetus has no value, it's that its value is objectively less than hers.

I suppose the doctors could have counseled the family that they were unable to perform the abortion due to Church strictures, leaving the door open for the family to take the woman to another facility for the procedure, but if she died because of the delay or during the transfer, the ostensibly moral hospital would still be complicit in her death. Medical ethics can't simply be put aside just because of Church-imposed "moral" directives. It's a tough call for the hospital and the doctors, perhaps, but they did the right thing, and should be applauded. If thine eye offends thee; pluck it out. If the Church fails to meet your needs, abandon it as you would a worn-out coat.

I'm not surprised the Church is so hard-line adamant about their rules. After all, you gotta have rules or else all you have is anarchy. Dogs living with cats. Mass hysteria. It's just a shame that women and children don't rate more highly in their ideas of proper morality. Then we might just have something. And as a final parting shot: The Church and Christians like to complain about persecution and a "War Against Christianity." Perhaps they'd be less of a target if they changed some of their stupid, medieval rules, and got with the program. N'est pas?

Untestable hypotheses

2010-11-29T10:16:00.004-05:00

Here is a question, hypothetically speaking: If there is an hypothesis that's untestable, can we even say that it has any effect on the material world, at all? And if the thing we hypothesize has no effect on the world, then can it even be considered relevant or important?

With respect to skepticism and being a skeptic, I look a phenomena and ask "what's the evidence?" Is the hypothesis of the Loch Ness monster testable? Is the idea of ghosts and other paranormal stuff a reasonable one? Do fairies exist? Yeah? What's the evidence?

I also agree that the more extraordinary the claim, the more extraordinary the evidence required to substantiate it. So here's my final question: If the hypothesis of an active, caring god cannot be tested--for any reason--then how can anyone say this god has an influence? Because, if this being influences this world, then we ought to be able to measure it. Otherwise, why do we make these kinds of statements about it? What's our evidence? How do we know?

Saying "you just know" points to things going on inside your mind, and while they're real enough to you, just don't quite rise to the level of reality. Usually we say if something "is only in your mind" and not a reality, we're referring to it as a delusion of some sort; i.e., not real.

I'm not saying; I'm just saying. As a skeptic, I simply cannot give the notion of god a free pass.

Entitlement

2010-07-09T10:38:00.009-04:00

Entitlement: the state of being entitled. Entitled: to give (a person or thing) a title, right, or claim to something; furnish with grounds for laying claim: His executive position entitled him to certain courtesies rarely accorded others.

OK, now that we have defined what we are discussing, let's discuss. I have highlighted the part of this definition that's in contention. Under what circumstances should we feel we have a right to something? What things do we have rights for? More to the point: Does a lifetime (or any amount) of hard work, obeying the law, and being good citizens and taxpayers. Does any of this entitle us to anything?

I have worked hard all throughout my adult life. I worked hard before that, too, but since becoming an independent adult I have expended a lot of effort (and put up with a lot of crap) to ensure a tranquil, secure existence. Pursuit of happiness, I suppose. But was that really my goal? Is that really important? What could I have done--what should I have done--instead?

I'm not looking into my motivations for having pursued the things I have. I am intellectually very curious, and if nothing else I have tried to ensure my ability to indulge my curiosity. I don't have any children, so I have had a certain amount of time on my hands. I like to do architectural design and I am an aspiring writer. Both of those consume a lot of time, and require a certain level of electronic gadgetry to in order to accomplish. So, I have worked to ensure I have a place where I can pursue my avocations, time to work on them, money to buy the things to make them possible, and lastly be able to have "hobbies" in an environment where I'm not worried where my next meal will come from. Wasted life? Wasted effort? Worthless pursuits? No. If I become published I think it will be apparent my time and efforts haven't been wasted.

I'm not focused on my career. It's just a job that enables me to have a real life. And no, my real life is not just sitting all alone and working on my latest story. My real life has a partner in it--my spouse--and I want to ensure she is happy and comfortable where she is. Why? Because when she is happy and content, I am happy and content. I'm experienced enough with myself to know that, and smart enough to have achieved that, as well. I didn't want to be alone, so I'm not. It isn't just money, not by a long way, but money does make it possible. Money makes it easier.

So, I work hard to make enough money to provide a stable, happy, serene home environment for myself and my spouse, and lately we've even been enough to provide a home for my youngest stepdaughter. This has been challenging, from time to time, but quite important for my spouse's happiness. I'd have been a rank fool not to have done it (that is, to have taken in the young woman when she was broke and trying to graduate college). It isn't about the money, but money does make it possible.

I have pursued acquiring stuff in my life: I had an expensive sports car, a few years ago. I had the latest computer equipment (that alone required frequent upgrades). I spent a fair amount of money on clothes and other trappings of "success." Those pursuits were interesting, but as time went by I realized their importance was dissipating. Much of that stuff (pun intended) just doesn't matter very much. Not if happiness is at stake. Having things does not, and will not, represent any sort of goal in my life. Not now, not later.

When we were in Florida on vacation, recently, we were subjected to a very hard-sell attempt to convince us to buy more timeshare points. (I do have a timeshare, already.) The primary notion was that if we wanted to take vacations twice a year, then we really needed more points to make that possible. The question was asked: "Don't you want to be able to travel when you retire, and know it will be taken care of?" Well, I know the answer to that: No. Not even a little bit.

It's not that I wouldn't want to travel and/or take vacations away from home, because from time to time I would (and do) want to do those things. But I see my wants being a very long distance away from the things that are actually important. Maybe there's an implicit assumption here that's not being said--the basic question of why I'm working. Is it to be able to retire in comfort, or is it for some other reason? Well, it's for some other reason.

I have been saving for retirement for a long time, but recent events have made that less certain. Of course, I don't want to have to work until I die, but there's a very real chance I might have to. Do I like that? No, but do I have a choice? What I do for a living is fairly challenging, intellectually, so having to continue working isn't as mind-numbing or dreaded as it might be for some. I'd like to think I can stop working and "relax," but if not, then I'm not going to lose my mind. Sure, I'd like to think I can stop working and spend more leisure time, but I'm not counting on it, and I will not jeopardize anything in the present to "ensure" anything in the future (speaking of vacation timeshares, specifically). Failure to manage the here and now makes the future even less certain, so it's clear to me that sacrificing things now just for more in retirement doesn't make complete sense. Especially since I know I cannot count on having that retirement work out the way I've planned. I'm still saving as much as I can, but I still need to live in the now.

This is where the notion of entitlement comes into play. Sure, I'd like to be able to travel, and not just in retirement. Sure, I'd like to have more "points" to spend on more leisure activities, but there are almost certainly more important things at stake. I am not entitled to have a comfortable retirement. There are no laws guaranteeing this, and no amount of effort on my part (short of becoming independently wealthy) will ensure it. I'm not independently wealthy. It's never been a goal. If I have the resources to have a vacation or two, from time to time, then I consider that a bonus in my life, but there is a huge difference between having disposable resources to use for leisure, and converting those resources into non-elective obligations. The difference should be obvious to anyone.

I guess the reason I've been going on about this "entitlement" thing is that the salesman's arguments all went toward selling to the baby boomer who thinks the world owes them something. They all hinted at the notion of entitlement, and it was that assumption (and the realization that he was probably quite successful selling to others) that struck me so profoundly. Because it just ain't so, and no amount of wishing is going to change anything. (I'm speaking about others' desires to have their two vacations a year guaranteed, or something like that.)

I have noticed quite a few younger folks at these "owner update" sessions. (These sessions are not to update you on anything. They are simply to sell you more stuff.) Now, I'm not wondering how younger (sub 40) folks can afford these relatively expensive timeshare vacations, because they might be doing quite well for themselves. Perhaps even better. Good for them. I also suppose if they feel they should be taking multiple vacations a year, then also good for them. Maybe they also feel entitled to being able to do these things, but that's where I fail to understand.

Baby boomers are notoriously selfish. Self-absorbed. I know, because you could call me self-absorbed. I have no children, a good income, and lots of time to do whatever I want. Of course I'm going to be "me first" about most things. There's no one else to consider. But these days I'm very careful about spending money. I might have been rather careless and carefree, before, but almost losing my job has alerted me to the rather tenuous nature of most of the things we've been taking for granted. Nothing is guaranteed. You are not entitled to anything. Work hard, save your money, and with luck you'll be all right. But you have to know that it might not all work out the way you think. Since one cannot simply crawl in a hole and hide, some risks will have to be taken, but there is a difference between a calculated, considered risk, and a foolish one.

I believe spending a portion of my income now on leisure activities that I may or may not be able to afford, later, would be an incredibly irresponsible thing to do. Even if I did nothing more than put the money in the bank, it would still not be prudent to spend any more money on vacation timeshares. And that's because spending discretionary funds today on timeshare points converts these funds from discretionary to non-discretionary. In fact I would be purchasing a "mortgage" with fixed monthly obligations to pay the damn thing.

If my situation were to improve, then I wouldn't miss the money, likely. But I don't know that and can't guarantee I will maintain my employment at the required level. It seems almost as likely that I'll need these discretionary funds because they might go away in the future. I can feel like I deserve two vacations a year all I want, but that feeling can dry up in a heartbeat. The salesman's argument that "you'll spend the money anyway, so why not spend it on points" falls down hugely, because I would only spend the money if I had it. An elective vacation is not a sunk cost until I spend money on it. Timeshare points, in case you haven't figured it out, are a sunk cost whether you can afford to go on vacation, or not.

I suppose what dismayed me the most was that his pitch was developed and tuned to the intended audience--me. My demographic, and the general population of middle-income folks who really do feel like they are entitled to something. Not just for their labors, but by their very existence. Some folks think government-sponsored healthcare would be a socialist disaster, but don't you take away their Medicare! In principle we are against spending money on others, but we have no problem spending money on ourselves. There really should be no question why, because of course we're all entitled.

Short story mania!

2010-06-25T16:40:00.001-04:00

Though it does not presage a change in my approach to my ongoing novel-length work, A Far Sun, lately I've been looking at and working on a few short stories. I have one put to bed, and though it has its flaws, it's pretty good. The title is Life Cycle, and when I get back from vacation I plan to submit it to as many Sci-Fi magazines (both online and print) as I can find willing to accept submissions. By then Escape Pod should be accepting submissions, so I will post it there, as well.

So yeah, I'm about to head out on vacation, back to the same place we've gone the past few years: Orlando, FL. Hey, we have a timeshare there (and we didn't plan far enough in advance to ensure we could get accommodations somewhere else).

What's Life Cycle about? Well, it involves humans landing on an alien planet and the strange events that transpire after one of the crew dies, and is buried on the planet. But methinks I've perhaps given too much away, already.

My second story, which I'm about halfway through, is entitled Baby Madeline. This is a dark little tale about what might happen if they started offering women trendy, "artificial pregnancies" the way some women get boob jobs. I got the idea when I saw a commercial for a truly creepy, life-like (it even breathes!) doll called Baby Ashley. When I saw the ad I asked "what's next?" and let my imagination go.

My third story is just too much fun. It's called Moe Kauble - "The Alien in the Drum Kit" and any similarity to the SNL skit "More Cowbell" is entirely non-coincidental. This is a YA story about two plucky homeless kids, Jenny and Jeremy, who find old Mr. Kauble's garage and start coming there to watch and listen to the practices of a truly awful rock band, then discover there is more to drumming than meets the eye. Moe is the alien, of course. Think "My Favorite Martian meets Rock Band" Yeah, you got it. I just got this idea yesterday, so of course it's subject to change.

I've never tried to do much in the way of short fiction, and I think now that that's been a mistake. There are many valuable and useful things to be learned from short fiction. Ultimately I think it makes all our writing better, so wish me luck on my latest endeavors.

I'm in fairly good shape with A Far Sun. I pushed the word count for book 3 past 36,000. While I'm on vacation I do plan to add to that number. When I get back I'll post the results. I may even finish Baby Madeline, which should be exciting. I don't think I will be posting any of these stories here, but that doesn't mean I don't love all zero of you! I do.

So, in the meantime, keep cool, and as always, stay tuned.

Some interesting parallels

2010-06-18T16:20:00.000-04:00

I came across this article on the blog Science-Based Medicine, "Certainty versus knowledge in medicine" written by Dr. David Gorski. In it he discusses the phenomenon whereby people actively discount the results of science when it conflicts with their personally-held beliefs. It's very interesting, but what struck me as most were the parallels that can be made between people's dismissing of science and their dismissing of religious skepticism, i.e., atheism and it's weaker cousin, agnosticism. Indeed, he even begins his article with this very simile:

If there’s a trait among humans that seems universal, it appears to be an unquenchable thirst for certainty. It is likely to be a major force that drives people into the arms of religion, even radical religions that have clearly irrational views, such as the idea that flying planes into large buildings and killing thousands of people is a one-way ticket to heaven.

And it's all science's fault. As Dr. Gorski points out: "[O]ne of the hardest things for many people to accept about science-based medicine is that the conclusions of science are always subject to change based on new evidence ..." Science is by its nature a moving target. Truth may be out there (paraphrasing some others), but we're never sure we've found it. Yes, the state of uncertainty is an awful place to be. I've heard it said that the certainty of misery is preferable to the misery of uncertainty.

He discusses some examples of how stubbornly even "sciencey" people hold onto outdated beliefs. The so-called "conventional wisdom" of the profession. Then he moves on to a discussion of what he calls "scientific impotence discounting." In other words: science is unable to explain things with certainty. It is impotent in some respects because of its provisionality. And given that it's always waffling about "the truth" there is the tendency to disregard the things that it does uncover. Sort of: Hey, if what we thought last year was true now turns out to be wrong, then what's to say what we think is true today won't be debunked in another year? But that's an over-generalization and not at all fair to science.

What we thought last year hasn't been completely thrown out. It's been refined--altered--to better fit new evidence we've uncovered. Of course, we could be wrong this time, too, but are we getting progressively more wrong, or less wrong? I still believe we are gradually getting less and less wrong. Much closer to the truth. But now, here is where things get really interesting:

Another common strategy I’ve seen for scientific impotence discounting is to dismiss science as “just another religion,” just as valid as whatever woo science is refuting, or to label science as “just another belief system,” as valid as any other. In other words, postmodernism!

Yes, this postmodernist thought is very disturbing, because not all hypotheses are created equal, and it seeks to treat every idea as equally likely. If there's a "faith" element to science, then it's in the belief that there's a huge mountain of scientific evidence behind our current theories, and that what we "believe" today to be the truth aren't some brand-new untried and untested ideas, but the result of years--eons--of testing and refinement. It's the natural selection of scientific ideas at work, in the most thorough, ruthless way we know. There's no room for fluff in the marketplace of ideas.

I've seen these postmodernist thought arguments made in an attempt to discount atheism, as well. Replace the word "science" with "atheism" in the above passage and see if it doesn't sound familiar. In fact, I heard these very statements last night from a person who openly categorizes herself as "mostly atheist." Wow! (I may have more to say about my experiences with this person, but not in this post.)

Almost everyone comes to non-belief via the route of critical analysis of the world around us and the obvious lack of any evidence of the supernatural. We do become somewhat ingrained in our non-beliefs, because to think otherwise appears delusional. And we'd like not to delude ourselves. But, is science and belief in science a "religion"? Is atheism nothing more than a funky kind of negative religion where we all wear funny hats and sit around making fun of others who wear different kinds of funny hats? It does make sense that the same forces that cause otherwise rational people to discard good science in favor of more comfortable (albeit false) beliefs would also play into why religious people seem quite happy to tell non-believers that their ideas are no more valid than anyone's. Never mind one perspective is based on the world around us, and the other on what we feel in "our hearts." I'm not saying to ignore your heart, just wait a little while and see if it doesn't change. The natural world is not so ephemeral.

Dr. Gorski goes on to say:

Skepticism and science are hard in that they tend to go against some of the most deeply ingrained human traits there are, in particular the need for certainty and an intolerance of ambiguity. Also in play is our tendency to cling to our beliefs, no matter what, as though having to change our beliefs somehow devalues or dishonors us. Skepticism, critical thinking, and science can help us overcome these tendencies, but it’s difficult.

I see the relationship between religious belief and scientific "belief." They may both be beliefs, but where one (religion) seems to be adherence to a certain set of "facts," scientific belief is based on the process of determining the facts, not in the facts themselves. It's easy to see how someone would confuse these things, but they're really not at all alike. As Dr. Gorski concludes, belief in science dooms one to a life of uncertainty, but it's something that one learns to live with. So, I suppose, if you cannot deal with uncertainty, then go find a nice religion.

How time flies

2010-06-18T14:15:00.001-04:00

It's been more than two years since I last posted to this blog. With limited time and with altogether too many blogs to manage (entirely my fault), this blog went unwatched. It's not going to be unwatched and neglected any longer. For now.

Here is some history: Time passes, and Blogger decides to eliminate their FTP publishing option. Of course this happens during a time when I have no time to execute a conversion. I am also someone loath to change things, so ... I have let my options expire on my primary blog, Prepare to be Assimilated. I will eventually get some kind of blogging engine hooked up to my primary domain, RLAEnterprises.net, probably WordPress, but until then I'm going to vent my pent-up blogging desires here.

When I last posted on this blog, I was still slogging through book 1 of my story A Far Sun. That book is "complete" and in second draft form at about 120,000 words. Book 2 is also complete (at 98,000 words), but it's still in first-plus draft form. It hasn't been independently read by anyone, though my oldest stepdaughter has the printed draft. She read and commented on the first volume, and her comments were hugely helpful. Author's myopia, you know.

These days I'm slogging through book 3, which has just bumped the 34,000 word count. Progress isn't quite as rapid as I had hoped, but it still may be possible to finish the story by year end. FYI, book 2 got finished at the end of 2009. It's hard to say when book 1 was "finished," because I was up to 145,000 words before I decided to break the story into pieces.

My biggest "worry" of late is whether I can really finish the story by the end of this book. It is still the same basic plot I started with, though in the course of writing I've rather significantly fleshed out certain aspects of my story world. There is a larger, more epic struggle taking place, but it's being told at the level of the individuals involved. I have conspicuously tried not to "boil the ocean," but there is a lot to tell. I am working on making my stories shorter, in general.

I find it humorous that once upon a time I worried whether my antagonist was going to be "bad enough." By now ... well, he's more than bad enough--he's certifiably insane and represents a huge obstacle to my protagonists. Actually, early on I was worried about exactly how he would exert control over others. Now it's very apparent the operative word is "fear." Everyone is afraid of him, and for good reason. He'll do anything and everything to get his way. They could single him out and eliminate him, but he is still very powerful and he does have "friends" who are helping him. I suppose it's predictable that my "heroes" will overcome the bad guy and win the day, but I'm still hoping the way they do it will be somewhat of a surprise.

I have, at various times, speculated on further stories in this "new" world. I made up a language that my natives speak, and they have a history and a culture (of course every made-up story world has these things), and wouldn't you know it--there is more that could be told. On the other hand, my younger stepdaughter thought my "new" story idea too trite and predictable. She may be right, but then again, I haven't written it yet. Most story ideas have been done before. Most are very cliche and trite, as well. It's only in the telling that a story gains some measure of originality, most of the time. I'm not really worried that I may have nothing of value to add.

On a (slightly) different topic: I also have another story I have worked on, from time to time. It's nothing at all like A Far Sun, and the preliminary reviews of the portion I've written (22,000 words, more or less) are very good. The working title is Rider on the Storm, but it's almost a certainty that this title will change. Unfortunately my second choice for a title: Persistence of Memory has been used in a novel, so that name seems even less likely.

This other story is all about time travel, and plays fast and loose with characters moving in and out (and between) different timelines; perhaps even different universes. Some parts of this story are not terribly original, at all (at least for some people), but when has that ever stopped anyone? Yes, one man's tired trope is another man's discovery. If you've read a bunch of time travel stories (or seen your share of time travel movies), then you might find some of the ideas rather well-known. But even then you might find something interesting in what I've got going.

I have also written a short story but I know I need to revise it before it's ready for consumption. I have ideas for a couple other short stories, but those ideas still need to be developed a little more. Short stories are good exercise. They help you develop your plotting and characterization muscles, but in a medium you can much more easily grasp in its entirety. One could say short stories are harder to write because you have to very carefully choose your words. In truth I find careful wordology to be important even in longer works. Particularly when you want your story to be more easily read by younger readers, which I do.

Some last comments on what I think will happen to A Far Sun. It seems very unlikely it will be published either as a graphic novel or as a podcast. As much as I might like to podcast it, it's very long and I am not as good a reader as (I think) is required. (I tend to talk too fast, my voice is a bit too nasal and high-pitched, and I am terrible doing female voices that don't all somehow have Southern accents.) With respect to a graphic novel, my artist stepdaughter has expressed no further interest in illustrating it. What's most likely is that I will shop it out for more "conventional" publishing, but that won't be until I've completed it. All three books.

So, we'll just keep on keepin' on, and see where it leads us.

Making progress again

2008-02-03T14:44:00.000-05:00

Since I last wrote about 10 days ago, several things have been accomplished. First off, I worked through the block I was experiencing in the story. We brainstormed the second half of the story, and came up with an ending. Woohoo!

Then I bought a domain name for the work: A Far Sun. I also put up a temporary home page, but it's pretty ugly. Even though the orange color is relevant, it's too much. I do like the logo I came up with, though.

Thirdly, I repositioned the start of Act II. Now it falls exactly where it should, based on the point I reached--that point being the halfway point of the story. I had about 250 pages, or so, and Act II is now starting about page 112. So, if Act II is to be about 220 pages long, I am just about the midpoint.

I am now busy writing the second half of the story, about page 273 or so. If you're keeping track, that's about 67,000 words. The plot is definitely thickening, though we've only just heard about the real bad guys in the story. My biggest challenge will be to make them big enough and bad enough to warrant the label.

We'll see.

Writer's difficulties

2008-01-21T11:18:00.000-05:00

I am now past 55,000 words in the story "A Far Sun". I'm not entirely sure what I should call the work, since it's more than just an outline or a synopsis. Perhaps it's more appropriate as a first draft for a novel, since the length I'm envisioning seems to put it at about novel length. I do still plan to publish it as an online graphic novel. A web comic. But I'm being encouraged to make it into a more conventional work.

I am up to the part in the story where Adam and Jane (and some others) leave the sun-skin village (oh right! I haven't even mentioned the sun-skins, have I?) on a journey to find the old library. There they hope to discover what the disease is, so they might have a chance to develop a cure. Vain hope, maybe, but perhaps not so vain. (Sun-skins? Disease? Village?)

The difficulties I'm having are the result of having to write a particularly difficult passage in the story. First a newborn baby dies from the disease (a major element of conflict in the story, since Adam almost dies from it). Then there are complications from another birth, where another mother-to-be dies from placenta previa, but Jane is there to perform an emergency C-section and save the baby. She has difficulties believing she didn't actually murder the poor woman.

In order to write passages involving strong emotions of my characters, I have to be willing to "get down to their level" and actually feel some of the same emotions. I'm not an actor, but I'm pretty sure this is what many of the best actors do. It lends an air of credibility to the work, because the emotions are genuine. This process greatly sensitizes me to my feelings--sort of puts my heart on my sleeve. As a consequence, I notice everything and everyone around me much more acutely.

I have also observed that once I have good, strong characters, writing about them almost becomes a matter of simply recording their reactions to the situations they find themselves in. It's strange, but that's how it feels to me. Dialog and action seem to write themselves, so the task becomes simply editing the writing so it flows and that I don't leave out anything important. Also that I don't include anything unneeded.

So now I'm suffering a post-emotional letdown. It's like being depressed, or maybe simply being drained. Yes, it takes the air out of things, so to speak. Maybe if I had a strong idea for the next scene I could write my way out of, but so far nothing has jumped out at me. Sure, I know where the story is going and what's going to happen, I just haven't planned the next few events.

Actually that's not true. I have everything planned. There are some bad guys who will be making their appearance in the story, and they will provide a different sort of conflict for my heroes to take on. This may be about the midpoint, or perhaps just past it. The spring celebration event just concluded actually feels like a beginning, of sorts. Of course it was immediately followed by two deaths, so the story is not really trending upward. Yeah, the spring thing signaled a couple of important changes. Both Adam and Jane found and/or cemented relationships with their "significant others", and then they decided they needed to make a journey away from the village to get more answers. This would be the second time they have come to realize that you can't go forward if you stay in one place.

Well, let's see if I can get back to work ...

A Far Sun: Synopsis/Treatment, part 10

2008-01-19T14:23:00.000-05:00

This is the last post, here. It brings us to the end of Act I, and on advice from my chief editorial collaborator (my wife), I will not be continuing to blog this story. But fingers have not been idle, and I am past 45,000 words (149 pages) so the story is anything but dead. The end of this post was on page 39, just to put it into perspective.

Click for part 9

Sometime later we come upon Adam and Jane picking their way through the rubble-strewn interior of what is most obviously the university library. Arrayed around them in semi-ordered rows are stacks, most only halfway filled with moldy, musty books. The roof of the library, about three stories overhead, is mostly intact, but in places there are holes letting in shafts of midday light. The holes have also let in the weather, which has deposited ubiquitous piles of damp, rotting leafy matter in every corner and on top nearly every study carrel and library desk.

Jane comments, "Ugh. It smells like mildew in here."

"It's all these rotting books." He sweeps his hand up, showing her the holes in the roof. "These holes let in the wind and the rain. Enough moisture and you get a gooey, moldy mess." He sniffs, but doesn't like what he smells, either. "I had hoped for better than this."

Click for moreJane asks, "What are we looking for, anyway?" She has walked some meters away to investigate what looks like a thoroughly rusted and demolished computer terminal. "Computer terminal, here." She walks around it. "Used to be, anyway."

"Yeah," he says. "Not very promising, to say the least."

Jane walks on, veering to go around a couple of three meter high book stacks. Adam, meanwhile, is trying to get a look at the contents of the head librarian's desk drawer. It's locked, maybe, but he pulls the drawer front off with a moldy 'snap'. The drawer is empty.

"Uh, Adam," says Jane from just out of sight, "I think you better see this."

As Adam approaches, Jane is standing at the edge of what would best be described as the remains of a campsite. There are old chairs arranged in a rough circle, and books have been piled between the chairs to make apparent seats. In the center of the circle is a large, ash-filled and scorched area. The ashes are most apparent in the center of the circle. Remnants of the things burned suggest it was mostly books they burned. And by 'they' we mean the former owners of the two rotted skeletons we find lying next to each other in front of Adam and Jane.

Jane is first to speak. "These are human skeletons."

Adam gingerly walks around the long-dead pair to view them from the opposite side. "Yeah. See their clothing?" He walks back around to where Jane is crouching, inspecting the remains. "They both had red hair, too."

Jane carefully inspects the closest skeleton. She picks at an ulna bone, then what must be a femur, under it. "This one was female." Since Jane is a trained biologist, this is her area of expertise. Certainly she knows more about anatomy than Adam, the physicist.

He doesn't even ask how she knows. She knows. But he does ask, "Can you tell how long they've been dead?"

"By the look of the clothing--see, it's almost gone--and the state of decomposition--nearly total--I'd say a really long time."

"Would you say it's been three hundred years?"

"Hard to say, but yeah, could be."

Adam steps around the bodies to the fire pit. "What would you say about this?" he says, pointing to the blackened, ash-filled "pit" in the center of the encampment.

"I dunno," she stands. "It doesn't look like it's been sitting there abandoned for three hundred years, does it?"

"No, it doesn't." He points. "See these ashes? If this fire pit was old, these ashes would be all mashed down and compressed. Like these others, here." He points to ashes around the edges. "The rain would have soaked them and all but obliterated things."

"So, you think this place has been visited, recently."

"I do."

Jane walks around the circle in the opposite direction Adam has gone. "Ah, here we are."

"What?"

"Bones. Animal bones."

"So?"

She sounds rather triumphant. "I was looking for evidence this place has been used by humans."

"And?"

"These bones are recent." Jane stoops to point out the small pile of tiny bones. "This was no animal that picked over these remains. These bones are recent, and I would say these animals were cooked, too." She turns over a small skeleton. "They were. See? These leg bones are blackened on the ends. No question about it."

Adam supplies the obvious answer to her unstated question. "There are humans here."

Jane stands, and the air seems charged with discovery. "Seems that way. Is this the answer you were looking for?"

"Not quite," he says, turning away from the campfire, "But it does tell me we're not alone." He glances at Jane, then flips his head in a 'follow me' gesture. "C'mon girl. Let's go find these people."

Jane's face: hopeful and determined, provides all the answer he needs.

A Far Sun: Synopsis/Treatment, part 9

2008-01-10T16:39:00.000-05:00

Click for part 8

Adam and Jane walk around to the front of the clock tower building, and we see them standing facing the tall, brick face. Adam's face turns upward to assess the conditions that lie ahead. In front of them are the broken remains of the twin wooden doors, halfway off their hinges.

"Shall we go, then?" Jane asks.

Still bemused by the stark differences he remembers as though it was just yesterday, Adam starts forward after Jane. "Sure, why not."

They pick their way through the broken doors. The interior of the lobby is very dim, but since most of the windows are broken out, they can see well enough. The lobby itself is about 10 meters wide, and a good two stories tall. In front of them, at the back of the lobby, are the twin curving stairways that lead to a mezzanine on the second level. A rotted, broken information desk occupies the space in the center of the lobby. Piles of rotting leaves have blown against the desk and decorate the corners of the room.

Click for moreAdam walks to the foot of one stairway. It appears to be made of wood, and it also appears as rotten and crumbling as the desk behind him.

"I don't know if this stair will hold us," he says, turning around to see if Jane has followed.

She comes alongside. "I think you're right." She looks around. "Wait. There's a set of metal stairs back here, I believe."

"Oh, right," says Adam, and he walks off right behind Jane to where they both know there's a better set of stairs.

Sure enough, they go through a rusty metal door--it creaks as it's opened--and stand in the dim light of another industrial steel stairwell. The stairs are dirty, littered with twigs and leaves, but when Adam takes a tentative step up, nothing surprising happens. He picks his way up to the first landing.

"Seems OK to me," he says. "Come on."

In a few minutes they have ascended all the way to the fourth floor, the top floor of the main part of the building. The stairs end here, and they are forced to leave the stairwell and go in search of another set of stairs up to the clock tower.

The bulk of the building seems intact. The fourth floor is dark and dingy, but the weather hasn't seemed to have penetrated this part, so when Adam and Jane walk toward the front of the building, they have grown in confidence that things will be safe. Adam has his flashlight turned on as they both start searching beyond the various doors that line both sides of this central corridor. At the far end of the corridor, some 15 meters away, is a lone metal door, with a square of light coming from its single small window. Still, both Adam and Jane search every door and doorway as they make their way toward the door.

At the door, finally, Adam pulls on it. It won't open. It's locked. Not only that, since the door is steel, it looks as though no one will be opening this door anytime soon.

"Door's locked," Adam informs Jane, who is standing and watching him tug on the door.

"I see that," she says. She then notices Adam's rifle, slung next to his pack. "Can't you shoot the lock off?"

"Shoot it off?"

"Sure. Just like in the movies."

"Uh," he says, "I could try. But I really doubt it's quite as easy as they make it look."

"Well, if you don't wanna do it, then I guess that's it."

Adam doesn't like what she is insinuating. Irritated, he explains, "It has nothing to do with whether I want to do it, or not. This is a high powered rifle. Discharging it in this confined space is dangerous. Especially if I'm shooting at a goddamn steel door."

Jane simply says, "Oh."

He looks around. "OK. You go take cover in one of those recessed doorways back there." She moves to comply. "I'm going to hide in this one, and I will try to shoot out the lock." He turns and holds out the light. "Here, you take the flashlight and aim it on the door so I can see to shoot."

Jane does as he asks.

There is a tense few moments while Adam loads the rifle, positions himself, and raises the rifle to take aim. Jane is shaking, and the light on the door jiggles. "Hold the light still," Adam says, and Jane takes the light in both hands to steady it.

But then she asks, breaking Adam's concentration, "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"Helluva time to be asking that, Jane."

"Well?" She sounds worried.

Adam sighs. "Just so you know, I was in ROTC as an undergraduate. We learned how to carry guns, and we also learned how to shoot them, too. I wouldn't worry, too much."

"OK," she says. "Be careful, OK?"

He smiles. "I will." Then the quiet of the corridor is shattered by the incredibly loud report from the rifle. Adam hasn't missed, though, and the door, shot straight through the lock, bangs open. He stands, then, and puts his fingertip in his ear. "Wow. That sucker was loud." Jane timidly edges toward him, flashlight in Adam's face blinding him. "Don't shine that in my face," he orders.

"Sorry." She flips the light to the now open door. There is a stairwell beyond the door, and it obviously goes upward. "You OK?"

"Of course I'm OK," he grins. "Did you see that shot? Clean through, right in the center of the lock."

Jane is smirking, but since her back is to Adam as she enters the stairwell, he cannot see it. She turns back, carefully hiding her expression, but pleased nonetheless. "That was very manly. Now come on."

"Manly, indeed," he replies. He doesn't see her proud smile.

**

Once at the top of the clock tower, we see that the roof is almost gone, as it had looked from ground level. The clock itself, having four faces, one in each of the tower walls, has broken and two of the faces have fallen. One clock face balances in the corner of the tower, the other face, once Adam walks over to look down, is lying in the bushes and trees at the base of the building. On two sides of the tower, then, there is very good visibility out onto the landscape.

They see the skyline of the city in the hazy distance. The buildings there, all much taller than the one where they are, all look decrepit and deserted. They can see the glint of the sun off windows, but almost as noticeable are all the missing windows. Off the other side they see nothing but the tops of the trees. Nothing but trees for as far as they can see. It is not very encouraging.

"There's nothing here," Adam says, finally breaking the silence.

"The city looks completely deserted," agrees Jane. She walks over to where Adam is standing.

"What do you think happened here?" He asks, holding his hand up to shade his eyes from the bright sun.

"Damn, Adam," she says, her head shaking in utter disbelief, "I have no idea."

"Then," Adam says, "We really must be three hundred years in the future. There must have been a war and everyone was killed, all the cities destroyed, and we have awakened from ..." he has to stop and swallow, his throat now dry, "... something, to find all this."

"I can't believe it."

He turns to her. "Damn it Jane, you're a scientist. We are taught to analyze the facts and form hypotheses based on the facts. What would you say has happened that doesn't put us somewhere in the future?"

She does not have an answer, only stands and looks at him, eyes large. Her expression says she fully believes Adam's explanation, and having had that terrible realization finally sink in has reduced her to speechlessness. A very unique state.

Adam sees that she sees, finally. "I'm sorry." He swallows. "It really is just us, then."

"This is horrible," she finally croaks.

"No shit."

"I keep thinking we're going to just suddenly run into someone, and that there'll just be some really good, logical explanation for all this." She sniffs, now holding back tears, "But there isn't anyone here, is there?"

"I don't think so." He looks out toward the city skyline. "At least, not right here."

She coughs, clears her throat, also bone dry. "So, what do you think we should do?"

He turns back to face her. "We won't learn anything new if we stay here." He pauses, apparently waiting for a response from Jane. She is silent, so he continues, "I say we should head out. Away from here. Try to find someone. Try to find out what's happened."

Jane considers his idea. "What about food and shelter?"

"All we got is about a dozen cans of ancient meat and vegetables. We won't last long on that nasty stuff, so just hiding away down in the facility won't cut it. We have plenty of guns, ammo, clothing, and camping supplies." He nods, as if confirming his plan, "I say we gear up with all our food and stuff, and head out."

"Away from here? Where would we go?"

"Toward the city, maybe. I don't know. Where are we most likely to find people? If there are any."

"The city, I guess."

"You don't sound too sure."

"Cripes, Adam," Jane says, sounding very weak and very female, "This is hard to assimilate. I think I really need some time to adjust to the situation."

"OK," he says, "We're in no hurry, I guess. Come on, let's go back down. There's one place I want to investigate before we go too much further."

"Where's that?"

"I want to see the library."

Continued in part 10

A Far Sun: Synopsis/Treatment, part 8

2008-01-09T22:39:00.000-05:00

Very soon now we will be leaving for a week's vacation, and I will be "off line" until we get back in town on January 19th. So, I will post a few more entries now, so I won't feel so guilty (not that anyone is reading these, yet) about leaving things unattended for a week. Expect another post or two tomorrow.

As far as the writing is going, I am about ten pages into Act II, and have reached the first major ordeal. Actually it's not that major, but it's not over yet, either.

Click for part 7

We catch up to Adam and Jane a short while later. They have had to walk down almost to the elevator car to find a platform that goes all the way around the interior of the circular "hole". As Jane speculated, there are two more stairwells, and lacking a better plan, they choose the nearest one and begin to climb, again. But it doesn't take long until they realize that this stairwell will probably lead to a way out. There's a slight wind blowing past them, and as they climb it begins to get lighter. And their moods begin to improve correspondingly.

Jane, who has been thinking about things, speaks up for the first time in several minutes. "Hey, thanks for back there."

"Thanks for what?"

"For reassuring me like you did. I was starting to get all weak and 'girly' on you, and you helped pull me back."

He smiles. "No problem." They continue to walk upward, step after step. "I guess if I have to be stranded in a world with just one other person, you're not too bad to be with." We notice that the steps are starting to become littered with vegetable matter--leaves, twigs, and the occasional dry branch.

Jane laughs with irony, "Gee, thanks. You're not too bad, either."

"Don't worry, Jane. We're going to find other people, you know."

"Why wouldn't we? I mean, surely the world hasn't been destroyed, or anything." Her boots crunch loudly in the leafy matter, which is growing thicker.

"Right." He takes a small device out of his chest pocket, consults it in the dim light. "Well, there's no radiation, anyway."

"You were checking?"

Click for more"Damn right, I was. I didn't want us to prematurely end such a great relationship together, by dying. You know?"

But Jane is only looking over to Adam, her face showing an expression between curious humor and mild distrust. "Men are so interesting, sometimes."

"Why is that?"

"Brian's gone not more than a few hours, and already you're thinking you got me all to yourself."

But she'd gotten it all wrong. "That's not what I meant."

"No?"

"I was making a joke, that's all. We don't even know what's going on, yet. I think it's a bit early to be making any assumptions about ... things."

Jane nods, "I agree."

But they don't get to continue their conversation, because it's just about that moment that they come to the top of the stairs. The concrete room protecting the stairwell, if ever there was such a room, is nothing more than piles of rubble in a rough square, ten meters by ten meters. The stairwell is completely open to the sky, but trees, tall trees, surround it on all sides. Adam and Jane seem to be standing in a depression, with low hills all around. But the sky is blue with puffy clouds, the trees are leafy and green, and in the branches our heroes can hear the happy, carefree twitter of birds.

Adam checks the radiation detector again. All clean.

They climb over the remains of the concrete wall and Adam helps Jane scale the nearest hill. From that vantage they can see fairly well all around them.

But Jane only gasps, "Oh my God."

**

Where once was a university, with carefully mown quad and buildings ordered all around, now stands a small forest. What they can see of the buildings are only burned-out husks, blackened, rusted, and crumbling brick and stone. But it is the university, because we can see the clock tower (an image from the opening scene [ed: left out accidentally]). The broken remains of the physics building is behind them.

Adam only looks, turning to take in everything. Jane scrambles down the low hill and comes to stand on what once was a concrete sidewalk. It's all broken into pieces, the ground under it is uneven and trees have encroached in places. She walks left, toward the clock tower whose spire still towers over the area.

"Can we get up there?" she calls up to Adam. She is pointing up to the tower.

Adam turns to look where she is pointing. "I don't know," he yells, but she can't quite hear him.

"Come on," she yells back anyway, and beckons him to follow.

"Oh, all right," he mutters, and carefully picks his way down to the crumbled sidewalk. He trudges toward her.

"I want to see if we can get up in the clock tower," Jane announces as Adam approaches.

"What for?"

"To see." Jane turns to walk away. "We need a better vantage point."

Adam has little choice but to follow her. "I dunno if we can get up there, or not." He warily looks toward the hulking, broken structure. The pointed roof of the clock tower, once a very recognizable landmark of the area, is mostly gone. On the side Adam can see, the clock face itself is missing.

But Jane is undeterred by Adam's pessimism. "We can at least try, can't we?"

Continued in part 9

A Far Sun: Synopsis/Treatment, part 7

2008-01-09T13:02:00.000-05:00

Click for part 6

Soon Jane reaches the platform, and follows Adam's light down a tunnel and into the dark of a stairway landing. Yes, there is a stairwell here, and when she comes alongside Adam, who is pointing the flashlight up the stairwell, she sees the stairs do go up a rather long way.

"How far did you say we were below the surface?" she asks, looking up along the seemingly endless ranks of stairs.

"Not that far," Adam says, also looking up. "Ten stories, or so."

"Why can't I see the top?"

He smirks, "It's dark."

Click for more"No, dummy. It looks farther."

"I dunno. Let's climb up there and see." He already has his pack on his back, and the rifle is still slung securely (he checks both). "Don't you have a flashlight?" he asks, noting that Jane carries nothing but herself.

"You got an extra in your pack, maybe?"

"So I do." He turns his back to her. "Get it out."

So, in a few moments they start up the stairs. Their flashlight beams crisscross in the dark, throwing flickering shadows off the stair railings and against the walls. They don't talk, much, but after about ten landings they stop to rest.

"I think we're about halfway to the top," Adam says, looking both upward and downward. The downward stairwell is impossibly deep. A fall from here wouldn't hit bottom for a long, long time.

"Shall we continue, then?" Jane asks.

"You put on this pack, and see how well you do."

"All right, then. I can wait." She stops as she was about to begin yet another climb up yet another flight of stairs.

"That's OK," he grunts, "let's go."

**

Eventually they come to the top of the stairs, ending in a ten by ten meter square concrete room with a six meter high ceiling. It's very dark in the room, but it's fairly apparent there has been some damage to the ceiling and to the solid concrete walls. Neither one is sure where the door should be, so they begin to walk the room's perimeter looking for signs of a doorway. It doesn't take long to see where the door was. Parts of the ceiling have fallen in and all but completely block the room's one exit.

Adam, reaching a dire conclusion, announces, "I think we're screwed."

Jane looks around, flashing her light into the corners, up and down the walls. "Are you sure? There has to be another way out."

"I don't know." Adam looks around. "Where would it be?"

"This can't be the only stairwell, can it?"

Adam stops. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, why would you build such a large, important facility, and only provide one way out?"

"OK," Adam seems to agree. "If there's another way out of here, then where is it?"

Jane sits on the pile of concrete rubble and leans back, stretching her tired, rubbery legs. "I remember my father saying they had a dug pretty large hole down to the facility so they could get the reactor and all the other really large, heavy equipment down. That was ten years ago before they built the physics building, of course, but if his description was correct, we might be standing at the edge of a 50 meter diameter hole in the ground."

"And?"

"And, I'd think there'd be at least two or three stairwells. Put the elevator shaft down the middle and build a building overtop the whole thing. It'd make the perfect disguise."

"I get it," Adam nods in the darkness, "the chance that the other stairwells are blocked is pretty small."

Jane smiles, "I wouldn't say small, exactly, but maybe there's another way out, somewhere around here." She claps her hand on her knees, stands up. "Wanna give it a try?"

Adam looks around in the darkness. "Sure." Then he thinks, "Doesn't this blocked doorway bother you, at all?"

"How do you mean?"

"The implications of this much destruction? That it might explain why we've been all alone down in the facility?"

In the darkness, with her flashlight beam aimed at his chest, she asks, "How do you feel about apparently finding yourself three hundred years in the future?"

But Adam has an answer, "Under the circumstances, not so good."

"Why 'not so good'? You don't like being stuck here, with me?"

Adam doesn't know why Jane would ask such a thing. They have always been friends. Good friends. "No, Janie, you're fine. It's all those other people that we're not running into that have me worried."

"Do you really think we're alone, here?"

But instead of answering, he asks: "Didn't you once tell me that your first name was really Eva? Eva Jane Marsden?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Well Eva, my name is Adam, and this is our Eden."

Continued in part 8

A Far Sun: Synopsis/Treatment, part 6

2008-01-07T17:01:00.000-05:00

This upcoming segment where Adam and Jane are working to get out of the facility should probably be more uncertain and dangerous. Of course, if this were a movie (and it would also be true of the illustrated version) we could heighten the suspense and show more fear. This is really a major threshold crossing event. In story terms, the heroes are crossing from the "ordinary world" (their old familiar one) into the "special world"--the world of story. Soon they will realize what they must do, and choose to make the hero's journey.

I probably shouldn't be breaking down my story this way, since it does tend to take some of the anticipation out of it, but I did want you to know that I'm thinking of these things.

Click for part 5

We watch as the elevator crawls slowly upward, but then after a few moments it resumes its regular speed.

"What was that slowdown back there?" asks Jane.

"Dunno," replies Adam, "maybe it hit a spot in the shaft that's been knocked slightly out of alignment."

"Out of alignment?"

Adam sounds irritated: "I said I don't know. Could be anything." Adam presses a few keys on the control pad. "We'll have to get back down below to the computer to find out, I think."

"That's OK, guy," Jane says, sounding as though she's trying to pacify him.

Adam calms his voice, slightly. "Sorry. We should be nearing the top pretty soon." But just then the buzzer sounds again, and the elevator immediately slows and comes to a complete stop. Jane says nothing, just looks to Adam. Adam checks the elevator's controls. "Hmm. We're about a hundred-fifty meters below the surface."

"We stopped," says Jane.

"We stopped--yes. Something is blocking the shaft, or maybe a track is broken."

"We can get out, can't we?" There is a hint of panic in her voice.

"Let's hope so," says Adam, but when Jane turns large, owl's eyes on him, he smiles. "Don't worry. Every dozen or so meters is a landing, with ladders between. Every five landings is a door that leads to the main stairway. It may be a pain to climb out, but I don't think we're in any danger."

Jane seems to accept his explanation. "So, Dr. Lesky," (Lesky is Adam's last name) "how do we open the elevator door?"

"We don't. We open that hatch," he points to a trapdoor in the ceiling of the car, "and climb out on top."

Jane looks carefully at the trap door, some two meters over her head and about a meter square. "Ugh. How do we reach it?"

Click for moreAdam looks around the car, but no magic ladder has appeared to help them. "I'll boost you up, since you weigh less than I do. You open the door, I'll help you climb through, and then you help me up with the rope."

She nods, agreeing it's the same solution she would have proposed, and then positions herself under the trapdoor. She picks her foot up, expecting Adam to take hold.

He does, and braces himself against her weight. "Hang on. Hold onto me, and be careful. I don't want to lose my balance."

"No problem," she says, and once Adam has his fingers laced under her boot, she bounces a little hop and stands straight up, balanced on his interlocked hands. She can barely reach the trapdoor, but it's enough for her to open it.

It bangs open above them.

The air streaming through the open door is cool, but it gives no hint that there might be anything wrong. There should have been lights along the sides of the shaft--they were seeing these lights go by as they ascended, but above the elevator car is only darkness. It's impossible to see why the car might have stopped, except that without guide lights, it is essentially blind. It doesn't go if it can't see.

"Ready?" Adam asks, staggering a little below Jane's boot soles.

"Give me another boost up and I might be able to grab the sides of the trapdoor."

"Right. Let me know when you're ready."

Jane says, "OK," and Adam gives her a lift upward. It's enough for her to get a good hold on the open trapdoor frame, and then with his continued help she pulls herself up through the opening.

Adam calls after her when her feet disappear through the opening, "What do you see?"

She comes to stand over the opening, looking down. "It's pretty dark up here, guy. I can see lights below us, though."

"Do you see a platform?" he calls up.

She disappears for a few moments. Reappears. "No, but I do see a metal ladder. It's along the side of the shaft."

"I think there's another one that runs up the back."

"Do we need that one?" she asks, then disappears again.

"How should I know? That's the only one I know about. I don't know where that other ladder goes."

Jane reappears, again. "Where else could it go? It goes up and down."

He has no comment to her smart-ass remark. "OK. Now, lower a rope for me."

"That would be a good idea, except I don't have a rope."

"Geez," says Adam, "hang on." He retrieves a coil of rope from his pack, and with a fling, tosses it through the trapdoor. Jane has to move back to avoid getting hit, but she catches it.

In moments the rope is lowered through the open doorway.

"Did you tie off the other end?" he asks.

"I'm not stupid, you know," she says. "I already did that."

"OK." He ties the pack to the end of the rope. "Pull the pack up." This Jane does without comment. Once untied, she lowers the rope, again. The rifle follows after Adam has made sure it is unloaded, and then the rope lowers a third time. "All right," he says, "let's see if I can climb the rope." But, he can't. He's a physicist and a book researcher, and he isn't quite strong enough to hoist himself up to the open trapdoor. He struggles for some moments, but it's clear he can't get out.

"Hang on," says Jane, though, who has had an idea.

"What?"

"Let go of the rope a minute," she barks, and when he does, she pulls it up.

Adam is curious, "What are you doing?" But after about thirty seconds the rope reappears. Or rather, a loop reappears and comes down to about Adam's chest.

"Put your foot in the loop, and pull yourself up. You should be able to reach the top from there."

"Hah." But Adam does as she has instructed. "So I am." Moments later they are both standing in the dark on top the elevator car.

We follow them as Adam surveys the situation. He takes out a flashlight and shines it around the elevator shaft. Above them about fifty meters the shaft seems to be partially blocked. The ladder Jane found appears to go up about four or five meters to a platform, so after untying and stowing the rope, putting on the pack, and slinging the rifle on his back, Adam proceeds to climb up the ladder to the platform above. Jane waits below, cautiously. He tries not to think how far he would fall if he accidentally let go of the ladder.

We watch as light flicks off the shaft walls while Adam looks around the platform above.

Jane is impatient, though. "Well?" she calls from the roof of the elevator car.

Adam appears at the edge of the platform (there are no railings of any kind) and shines the light down on Jane. "Come on up," he says, "but be very careful on the ladder."

"What's up there?" she asks, but has started for the ladder anyway.

"Stairs," she hears, but indistinctly because Adam has turned away. "Lots and lots of stairs."

Continued in part 7

A Far Sun: Synopsis/Treatment, part 5

2008-01-06T20:03:00.000-05:00

It's Sunday, so we have two installments! Yay! This entry puts us just past halfway into Act 1. Yes, there is more to come. Much more, so stay tuned.

Click here for part 4

Later Adam and Jane meet again in the computer room. Adam has been researching things, mainly in the computer, but has also done some looking around and has inventoried what he has found.

"Have you found any food?" he asks as she comes to sit in her chair behind him. He is busy typing commands into the computer, but is not happy with the responses he's getting.

"If you call three hundred plus year-old cans of old military meats and vegetables food, then yes."

"That's all you found?"

"Not quite, but the stuff in the refrigerator and freezer all thawed and dried up long ago. Years ago, by the look. Can't really be called food, anymore."

"How much canned food is there?"

She shrugs, "If we stick to a really strict diet," she pauses, mentally calculating, "there's maybe two weeks, three weeks of food."

"And that's it?"

In answer all she says is, "Sorry."

"Not your fault."

Jane turns away from Adam. "That's not what I meant."

"I know," he says, and puts his hand on her shoulder, briefly.

She notices, and seems to appreciate it. "Did you find anything?" she asks.

"Yes." He smiles, ironically. "I found a store room chock full of military gear. You know, camouflage uniforms, coats, jackets, backpacks, tents, rope. That kind of stuff. Guns, too."

She furrows her brow, "What's that stuff doing here?"

"I dunno. Maybe they were expecting a war, or something."

"Huh." She looks around at the stillness. "Got one, if you ask me."

"Could be, but we don't know that, yet."

"Well, what say we go find out?"

"Fine," Adam replies, "but let's eat, first."

Click for more**

Later, we find Adam and Jane standing in front of the main elevator to the surface. The elevator is very large, about 5 meters by 5 meters square, and its wide doors are standing open. Both have changed from their shirt and tie (or shirt and skirt) and lab coats, into camouflage military uniforms complete with shiny, heavy military boots, web military belts, and in Adam's case, he has a backpack containing a tent, sleeping bag, and two canteens filled with water. Adam has also selected a rifle, an antiquated military carbine that looked serviceable.

Jane has not put on a backpack, and is instead commenting on Adam's choice of gear. "I can't see how we're going to need a tent and all that other stuff. You should take just the bare minimum. We don't know what we'll run into."

Adam disagrees, "That's right, we don't know. I think I'd rather be prepared, than not."

"So do I. But how are you going to carry all that stuff if we have to climb stairs to the surface?"

He grins, but not with any humor. "With difficulty, I think."

She looks toward the elevator door opening, then upwards toward the surface, 1500 meters overhead. "Have you checked the elevator to see if it's even working?"

"Of course," he grabs the backpack and rifle and starts toward the elevator. "The computer says it's functional almost all the way to the top." (The elevator was designed not to use a cable, but rather it "crawls" along a pair of rails with its own motors.) "As long as the tracks aren't broken," he says, referring to the elevator's mechanism, "we should be fine."

"But we don't know if the shaft is open to the surface."

"No, we don't."

"So we could get stuck, somewhere."

But Adam is getting a little irritated with Jane's attitude. "We could. But would you rather just sit down here and rot and not even try to get out?"

"Of course not." She begins to follow into the elevator. "I'm just being cautious, that's all."

"Well, so am I. I've programmed the elevator to proceed slowly. It's already programmed to notice small variations in the distances between and direction of the two tracks. If it thinks things are getting 'rough' it will stop, so nothing bad should happen."

"I didn't know that," she admits, impressed. "So you think we'll be able to get out and take the stairs if the elevator shaft is damaged."

They are both in the elevator, now. Adam is finishing pressing buttons to activate the car to ascend. "I think so, yes."

But something in his tone of voice alerts Jane. "But you're not sure?"

"Look," he says, "we woke up down here in the dark with no one around. There's dust on everything that tells me no one's been here in forever, and the computer is saying that it's been essentially sitting here for three hundred seventeen years just waiting for us to wake up." He snorts, "I'm not sure of anything."

"Point taken," Jane agrees.

Adam turns, finger poised on a button, "So, are you ready, or what?"

"Hit it."

**

A few moments later, after the elevator door has closed and the car has started upward, Jane asks, "Don't you wonder how the computer is still running, even with the power failure, and everything?"

"No."

"No?"

Adam explains, "The power was never really 'off'. This facility has its own nuclear reactor that supplies electricity, heat, cooling, light, etc. The reactor powers the computer."

"But the lights were off in the chamber. The equipment was dead. The door wouldn't even open."

"Yeah, I don't know what caused all that."

"You don't know?" Jane seems incredulous.

"Yes, Jane," Adam says, condescendingly, "I don't know everything."

She grins. "And I thought you were the perfect man."

There is a moment while we watch the elevator ascend. There are panels along the sides that have lights that periodically move from the top to the bottom of the elevator car (cinematic indications that the elevator is rising).

Then Adam smiles, "I am."

Jane shakes her head, "Just because you're the only man, maybe."

But Adam doesn't find that remark very funny. He simply stands and looks at Jane, expression closed. A few moments pass in uncomfortable silence.

Then Jane speaks, changing the subject: "It hasn't quite sunk in, yet, for me."

"What? The part where we've been 'transported' over three hundred years in the future, and now find ourselves alone with no earthly idea what's happened or what's going on? Or the part where we realize that if the computer is correct, then everyone we ever knew, all our friends and family, are all long dead and now we're all alone, together? Just us, for the rest of our lives?"

She simply looks at him, blank expression on her face, not saying anything.

But Adam presses her. "Look Jane, I'm sorry. But Brian is dead. Your father is dead."

She reacts loudly, "You don't know that! The computer--"

"--Right. The computer could be wrong. But I really don't think it is." He shakes his head. "It was never off-line. Its clock is very, very accurate. You know that. It has to be to control the stupid equipment. The reactor was designed to be self-contained and self-operating." He pauses. "It was designed to operate for at least a thousand years without anyone ever having to touch it." Jane simply looks at him as if she doesn't comprehend what he's saying. Adam continues, "Do you know why the facility has such a power plant? Do you know why it has such a computer? Do you know why they dug almost a mile down into the rock and earth to build this thing in the first place?"

"They wanted it kept secret. They wanted it to be away from people, where accidents couldn't harm anyone."

"All that. Yes."

She goes on, though, "They knew they were messing with things. Dangerous things. Dangerous forces with potentially dangerous consequences."

"And don't you think that what we're experiencing right now could be part of those consequences?"

She considers it. "Anything is possible."

He agrees, "Damn right. Your father knew all this. He kept it to himself, mostly, but he shared with me the real reason why we were all buried a mile in the ground with a goddamn forever reactor and the world's most powerful computer."

Jane is very, very curious, but angry. "And what is the reason?"

"Jane, he was experimenting with time travel. We were engaged in a time travel experiment"

She doesn't agree. "Bull. We didn't travel in time."

"All evidence to the contrary. We did. Something like three hundred and seventeen years." He points at Jane. "You said yourself it didn't feel like we'd laid on that catwalk grating for three hundred years. We didn't."

"Double bull! What about all the dust and stuff on everything?"

"That. Right. I have no idea. Could be the whole facility somehow got locked into another dimension, or something. I have no explanation for why the facility and the computer seem to have made the trip the 'old fashioned way'--one day at a time--while we seem to have made the trip in a few moments." Adam shrugs. "No explanation at all. But here we are."

Jane mutters 'bull' in response, but all conviction has drained from her. Then there is another rather long, awkward silence as she thinks about what Adam has said. Meanwhile, the lights are still moving, top to bottom, showing that the elevator is still rising.

Presently, however, there is a buzz, an alarm, and the lights begin to slow, and rapidly. "Uh-oh. Trouble ahead," says Adam. "There's something wrong in the elevator shaft."

"What?" Jane is alarmed. "Where are we? How close are we to the surface?"

Adam looks at the elevator's control panel, which he has just opened. "It says we're about twelve hundred meters up. Three hundred meters from the surface."

"That's a long way to go. Can we keep going?"

"Until the tracks stop, probably."

They both stand and watch the lights, still falling, but much more slowly than before. The elevator is continuing to move upward, but very slowly. Almost cautiously.

Jane asks, "How will we know if the shaft is blocked, or if the tracks are broken?"

"When the elevator stops."

"We won't crash, or anything?"

All Adam says is, "I hope not."

Continued in part 6

A Far Sun: Synopsis/Treatment, part 4

2008-01-06T10:34:00.000-05:00

Click here for part 3

We have a silent cut scene of the two of them walking quickly down corridors and looking in various rooms. They find no one else in the facility, and no sign that there has been anyone around for a very long time. There is dust on all the horizontal surfaces everywhere they go. Very obviously undisturbed.

Finally, we watch as Jane goes to check her father's office. Adam is right behind her, and keeps a respectable distance. Jane was close to her father. Jane notices that everything looks exactly as it was when she was last in his office. There is even a coffee cup on the desk, emblazoned with 'World's Best Dad', a cup Jane had given to her father. The coffee it once contained is long dried up to a hard brown stain in the bottom of the cup. Jane picks it up in remembrance. There's dust on top the dried coffee. She puts the cup down and we notice the "hole" in the dust of the desk surface where the cup used to sit.

"There hasn't been anyone here in a very long time," she says to no one in particular, wiping her dusty fingers on her lab coat.

"No, it's pretty much this way everywhere."

"What could have happened?" Jane turns to Adam, her face really worried, now.

"I have no idea." Adam turns, "We need to check the computer."

"I know, but I wanted to see for myself."

"Jane," says Adam, gently, "there's no one here. There hasn't been anyone here for over three hundred years."

Click for moreHe sees tears creep into the corners of her eyes, but only momentarily. She wipes them away with a great show of irritation. "I'm sorry," he says.

Jane clears her throat, acknowledging Adam but not commenting on her realization that her father must really be dead. "But, I don't understand. Why are we here?"

"That's a damn good question." Adam goes to the open doorway. "Come on, let's find out."

In a few moments Adam and Jane are in another part of the facility, the 'computer room'. This room is lined with various 1970's styles of computer peripherals, printers, cardpunches, etc. There are three terminals in this room, and Adam is parked in front of a terminal very similar to the terminal in the control room. Jane is sitting behind him, looking over his shoulder while he types on the clunky, clacky keyboard. He types: 'STATUS' The computer prints:

STATUS
POWER INTERRUPTION. DURATION 317 YR 5 MTH 12 DY 21 HRS 17 MIN 32.776 SEC.
CURRENT DATE. 05 APR 2297 07:32:05.
** READY _

Then he types: 'STATUS LEVELS'

ERR5002: UNKNOWN COMMAND: 'LEVELS'
** READY _

"What's the command for help?" Adam asks her.

Jane offers, "I think it's 'HELP'."

"That'd be too simple."

"Hey. It's your computer."

"It was Brian's computer."

Ignoring Adam's remark about Brian, whereabouts unknown but presumed dead, Jane orders: "Just type 'HELP', OK?"

Adam types: 'HELP'

HELP. HELP SUBJECTS ARE:
COMMAND
LEVEL
SHUTDOWN
STARTUP
STATIONS
STATUS
...
** READY _

"Ah, I wanted 'LEVEL', not 'LEVELS'." Adam types: 'HELP LEVEL'

HELP LEVEL.
The LEVEL command reports power levels in the reactor. ...
** READY _

Adam types: 'LEVEL'

LEVEL. POWER LEVEL 95.227%. NOMINAL. ALL SYSTEMS ONLINE.
** READY _

"Type 'STATUS'," says Jane, poking Adam in the shoulder with a finger.

"All right." Adam types: 'STATUS'

STATUS.
COMMAND. COMMAND MODE ENABLED.
LEVEL. POWER LEVEL 95.227%.
LAST START. 17 JUN 1976 17:47:05.
POWER INTERRUPTION. 23 OCT 1979 09:37:12.
POWER RESUMED. 05 APR 2297 06:54:45.
CURRENT DATE. 05 APR 2297 07:32:21.
SENSORS.
MAIN LEVEL. OK.
CHAMBER. OK.
ELEVATOR 1. OK.
ELEVATOR 2. OK.
ELEVATOR 3. OK.
ELEVATOR 4. ERR3140: OFF LINE. SENSOR NOT RESPONDING.
SURFACE. ERR3140: OFF LINE. SENSOR NOT RESPONDING.
** READY _

"Wow," says Adam.

Jane shakes her head, "I still don't believe we could have been lying there all that time. Three hundred years?"

Adam corrects her, "Three hundred seventeen years, to be exact." He looks at her, quizzically, "Why not?"

"Well," she says, parroting him sarcastically, "Three hundred and seventeen years, to be exact is a really, really long time, that's why."

"But you see what it says, right?"

"I see, but I still don't believe."

Adam asks, changing the subject, "Did you happen to find any food in all your running around and checking things?"

"Why?" she asks. "Are you hungry?"

"I already said I was." He pauses. "But it's not only that."

"What is it, then?"

"If we don't find any food, then we won't be able to stay down here very long." He pushes away from the computer terminal. Stands. "We may have water, but without food we won't survive here underground. Not for very long."

"Oh."

"You get what I'm saying, right?"

"I do. If we don't have food, then we will have to go topside." She stands, too. "And if it's really been over three hundred years and no one's been down here in all that time--"

"--Then there's no guarantee what we'll find when we get up there." He points skyward.

"If we can get up there, you mean."

"Damn right. This could be a really unpleasant time, for us." He turns and walks away. Jane follows, reluctantly. Adam continues, "We might end up wishing we had died from radiation poisoning. It'd be much quicker, that way."

But Jane is ahead of him. She passes Adam at the doorway, and heads off into the corridor. "I'm going to look for food." She pauses, "You see if we can get up in the elevator. We're going to need it, I think."

"It's either that or the emergency stairs."

From a distance, as she is walking off down the corridor, she says, sounding like Adam, "Right. Meet you back here in an hour. OK?" But she doesn't wait for his reply.

Continued in part 5

A Far Sun: Forsooth and Alas

2008-01-05T15:00:00.000-05:00

In reviewing my first couple posts I realized I left out the important opening scene between Adam and Jane. I did manage to set up the situation, but in my zeal to get past this part (I had written the opening scene back in October, but not much else) I completely left it out.

So therefore, I present it here. I have also updated the first post, but you don't have to go back to it to catch up with things. Here is the missing scene, from the beginning.

Click for moreOur world, 1979. Nuclear tensions are mounting worldwide. Story begins in a laboratory located in secret fifteen-hundred meters below the quad of a large Midwestern university. A high speed elevator whisks researchers down to the self-contained laboratory from the basement of the physics building. The facility is powered via nuclear power plant and also houses one of the most powerful computers on the planet. Of course, everything is top secret.

Adam and Jane are two post-doctorate researchers working in the facility for Dr. Hamden Marsden (Jane's father). They are good friends, almost best friends who have worked together for a couple of years, from the time Jane joined her father's project. Adam's best friend Brian, who originally brought Adam onto the project, is Jane's fiancé, though this detail only of minor relevance to the plot.

The project involves a kind of "suspended animation" achieved via interactions between subatomic particles while in the presence of certain strong fields. (This is obviously "rubber science" strictly for the purposes of setting up the story.) So far, all trials have succeeded, but they have not tested the "SA" chamber at full power. The full-power test is scheduled for the next day.

We open on Adam and Jane, walking briskly down the center of the university's "quad" (large oval central park crisscrossed by concrete paths leading to and from various campus buildings). It is mid-afternoon in late October, and the weather has turned cool and windy, with leaves blowing about as they walk. Adam and Jane are arguing about the upcoming experiment. As they pass a small group of students, we overhear the radio they are all huddled around: 'The President, in an emergency news conference just an hour ago, said that the Soviet Premier has issued an ultimatum ...' We do not hear the rest, as Adam speaks:

"I'm worried about the situation in Europe."

Jane turns to Adam, but doesn't slow her walking, "I'm worried they're going to cancel the experiment."

"Yeah," says Adam, barking a humorless laugh, "war will do that."

"That's not funny, Adam," says Jane, scowling.

"And I didn't mean it to be," he replies. We then follow them from behind as they quickly reach the end of the quad. They turn and walk up the steps to a large, gray limestone building, and we see the name: 'Wilbur Physics Laboratory' as they pass through the glass front doors.

Their pace doesn't slow as we follow them down a corridor to their right. About midway they come to a heavy steel door, where they stop. So far, there haven't been any words exchanged since the quad. There is a ten-key keypad next to the door.

Jane hesitates. "What's the damn code?" She swears to herself. "I can never quite remember it."

"Dyslexics untie," says Adam, making a joke, and he taps in the correct six-digit code. Jane merely scowls, but she watches the numbers as he types.

There is a loud clunk, and the heavy steel door opens a crack. Jane hauls on the door to pull it open, and without further commentary, goes in. Adam follows, and they march right up to a small foyer-looking area. A set of wide elevator doors are in front of them. We hear the door seal closed behind them with a hollow clanking sound. It sounds very permanent.

"Well," Adam says, "are you gonna press the button, or should I?"

"Just press the damn button, all right?" Jane sounds clearly irritated.

Adam complies, doesn't quite understand why Jane should be upset. "What's wrong, Janie dear?"

"Nothing," she says. "And don't call me that."

"What? Janie, or dear?"

"Either one, thank you." The elevator doors slide open to reveal the comparatively cavernous size of the elevator. "Just be glad I don't make you call me Ms. Marsden, like I do the others."

Adam laughs, "They only call you that because they're afraid of you."

"Hah. Did you ever think there might be a good reason?"

Adam grins. "You're really quite harmless, despite the teeth."

Jane rolls her eyes, "Very funny."

Both enter the elevator. The elevator doors whisk closed and the elevator starts down. Lights on the elevator side walls whip from floor to ceiling, indicating the elevator is rapidly descending. The number of lights and their increasing speed indicate the elevator is going down a very long way, and accelerating. Neither seems to notice the elevator's speed nor the fact they become momentarily weightless--in free fall.

"Did my father tell you we're changing the protocol?" says Jane, smugly, turning toward Adam who stands a respectable distance away.

"Yes," replies Adam. "It was me who originally suggested it."

"He didn't tell me that," she says.

"Do you know why we're changing it?"

"I would assume it's because of things with the Soviets."

"Exactly. We don't want to be stuck in the middle of a three-week cycle, with all the costs involved, if things are uncertain."

"So that's why we're going to a twelve-hour cycle."

"Right," says Adam.

"OK," says Jane, and she turns to watch the lights streaming upward. We get the sense that she, once again, has been caught not quite being completely 'in the know'. She doesn't like it.

Day of the trial ...

A Far Sun: Synopsis/Treatment, part 3

2008-01-05T13:04:00.000-05:00

OK, now we're beginning to realize that something very wrong has happened. What is it?

Click here for part 2

Jane comes up to the control room to see what Adam is talking about. She sees the power interruption message on the screen, but she is certain it must be wrong. Adam likewise doesn't want to believe it could possibly be correct, since neither he nor Jane seem to be feeling any negative or ill effects. As far as either of them know, they just blacked out for a short while, then came to. There's no way they could have been unconscious for over 317 years!

Adam asks about the animals, but Jane hasn't yet taken them out of the chamber. He asks if they're all right, and Jane replies that as far as she can tell, they are fine. Adam suggests that they should shut down the equipment and secure the chamber so they can check further into their apparent situation. Jane agrees, and she leaves the control room to go back down to the chamber. It's only a few moments, then, before Adam hears a surprised, anguished yell. He rushes down to where Jane is frantically trying to climb up into the SA chamber.

Click for more"What's going on?" he asks.

"They're dead!" Jane is crouching in the circular chamber doorway, undoing the dog's collar where it was held in place in the chamber. "They're both dead!"

Adam strains to see up into the chamber, where he sees that it does appear that both animals are laying, limply, on the platform where they were previously sitting. "How is this possible?" he asks.

"I have no idea," Jane replies. "Here, help me with the dog." She finishes undoing the collar and picks the dead animal up, turns and hands it down to Adam.

Adam takes the dog's body and lays it on the catwalk grate behind him. It doesn't look quite right. Hair is falling out in clumps.

"Bonnie is a lot heavier," Jane says, grunting as she tries to manoeuver the body of the bonobo through the tight circular door opening.

Adam takes the body of the small chimpanzee and lays it next to the dog. It is also losing hair and bleeding around the mouth, nose, and eyes.

Jane climbs down from the chamber doorway to kneel next to the dead bonobo, Bonnie. "What could have killed them?"

"Can't say for sure, but they both look like they have radiation burns."

"There isn't supposed to be any radiation in the chamber." She looks up at Adam, worry creasing her face.

Adam shrugs, "I know."

"They were fine just a few minutes ago--noisy and hungry, maybe--but fine." She shakes her head. "I swear, Adam. They were perfectly OK just five minutes ago." She stands. They are now both standing and looking down at the dead bodies of the two animals.

"I believe you. I heard them making noise, too." Adam puts his arm around Jane's shoulders.

Jane just looks at Adam, a combination of confusion, worry, and a not a small bit of fear plainly evident on her face. "What's going on, here?"

Adam asks, "Do you feel OK?"

"I feel fine. You?"

"I'm hungry," he replies.

She pushes away. "That's not what I mean."

"I know what you mean." Adam rubs his chin, absently. "If we really were 'asleep' three hundred and seventeen years, like it says, then these two," he points to the animals, "could have just as likely died from natural causes."

"They would have died years ago, if that was the case."

"So should we." Adam looks Jane over, carefully. "That's odd. You don't look a day older."

Jane is perturbed, "This is not funny, Adam."

"I'm not being funny, Jane," says Adam.

"So, what do we do?" she asks.

"Put them back in their cages, I guess. Lock down the chamber, and shut down all this equipment."

She nods absently, considering. "Then what?"

"Then," he says, "We go figure out what's really happened to the computer."

Continued in part 4

A Far Sun: Synopsis/Treatment, part 2

2008-01-04T19:36:00.000-05:00

This series of posts constitute more than a simple synopsis. They're more like a treatment. Parts will be at varying levels of detail--I need enough to convey what's happening and where the story is going. Of necessity there will be spoilers, so if you are one of those who can wait until Christmas Day for your presents, please don't read ahead.

Go here for part 1

From the end of part 1:

"And that caused us to black out?"

He shrugs, "Apparently. I need to look at the logs to be sure."

"Weird," is all Jane says.

Curious, they both go to check conditions inside the SA chamber. Both subjects, one a dog and the other a bonobo, are both apparently alive and once they see Adam and Jane, begin to make excited noises. Jane, in particular, is their keeper.

"Let them out," Jane orders.

"OK," Adam agrees, "but we need to get the power on, first."

Jane looks around. "Oh, right." She starts to ask 'how do we do that?' then remembers that she knows how. Following protocol, Jane moves to the nearest intercom station and keys the 'To Control Room' button. "Control room?" She waits. "Control Room? Are you there?" Jane looks up toward the thick glass windows between the control room and the chamber room.

Adam is at her shoulder, looking between Jane and the control room windows.

"No one's answering," she says.

"I know. I already tried it."

"I guess we'll have to get the power on ourselves," Jane says.

Click for more"Right. Watch the animals," says Adam, and he heads toward the metal stairs leading up to the chamber room door. It's about two stories up, near the top of the large (20 meters diameter) room.

"See if you can get the lights on, too," Jane calls up to Adam as he reaches the top of the stairs.

"Right," he calls down, not looking. "Power equals lights." But the heavy steel door to the chamber won't open. It's operated by electricity. After pressing the 'OPEN' button and trying the door handle a few times unsuccessfully, Adam turns and calls down to Jane, "The door won't open."

"Isn't there a manual door release? I can't believe we would be trapped in here if the power failed."

"Hah," says Adam, perplexed and frustrated, "You can not believe it all you want. The damn door won't open."

"Criminy," says Jane, characteristically, and she starts toward the stairs. Adam only watches while she climbs up to stand next to him.

"Have at it," Adam says. "Trust me, it won't open."

Jane reaches forward to press the 'OPEN' button, but before she can press it there is a vibration and a hum, and all the lights suddenly come on. Smirking to Adam, Jane then presses the 'OPEN' button in triumph, and the door swings open. "I guess it just needed a woman's touch."

"Right, sure," Adam says, and walks through the open doorway.

"You check the control room," Jane calls to Adam, "I'll check on the animals."

"Right. Already there."

The chamber door opens onto a corridor, and Adam enters the control room through another door off the corridor. The control room is about 4 meters deep by 8 meters wide, and has thick glass windows that look out into the chamber room. A long console of control equipment lines the wall below the windows. There are four empty swivel chairs along the console. Adam looks around. All the equipment seems to be functional, and turned on, but where before there were people seated at the chairs and another two or three standing and watching, now there is no one.

Adam sits in the first chair. On the console in front of him is a large, thick, heavy keyboard, and above the keyboard is a smallish (50 x 50 centimeters) CRT screen. On the screen are green letters:

** READY _

He types: 'STATUS' and presses ENTER. On the screen appears the following message:

POWER INTERRUPTION. DURATION 317 YR 5 MTH 12 DY 21 HRS 17 MIN 32.776 SEC.
CURRENT DATE. 05 APR 2297 06:57:14.
** READY _

"What the hell?" Adam says to himself. Aloud. He keys the intercom 'To Chamber' button. "Jane. Get up here."

In several seconds Jane replies over the intercom, "What?"

Adam is not looking through the windows down at her. He is riveted on the flickering CRT screen. He keys the button, again. "You need to see this."

"What is it?" she asks.

All Adam says is, "Something's wrong."

Continued in part 3

Starting a new project: "A Far Sun"

2008-01-02T16:00:00.000-05:00

For the past couple of months I've been working on a new writing project. It's a graphic novel/web comic, my role being the screenwriter (er, web comic writer). I have been posting some of my preliminary work to Live Journal, but I've decided I could perhaps post some of the content to this blog, as well. I dunno. I'm kind of still looking for the right outlet for this stuff.

The project has been tentatively titled "A Far Sun". It's a little bit of science fiction with some fantasy (of a sort) thrown in. The story seems quite suitable for a web comic, but it would have a beginning, a middle, and an end. Thus, it's a graphic novel.

I wrote a synopsis back in October, but since then I've refined the basic story somewhat. I am not quite to the point of starting the screenplay, though I have been slowly working through the scene list. I have a starting scenario, an inciting event, a middle (the main story), a culminating crisis, and at least two endings. Yes, several things can happen, it's just a matter of what turns out to be the best.

Click for more

A Far Sun

Act One

Our world, 1979. Nuclear tensions are mounting worldwide. Story begins in a laboratory located in secret fifteen-hundred meters below the quad of a large Midwestern university. A high speed elevator whisks researchers down to the self-contained laboratory from the basement of the physics building. The facility is powered via nuclear power plant and also houses one of the most powerful computers on the planet. Of course, everything is top secret.

Adam and Jane are two post-doctorate researchers working in the facility for Dr. Hamden Marsden (Jane's father). They are good friends, almost best friends who have worked together for a couple of years, from the time Jane joined her father's project. Adam's best friend Brian, who originally brought Adam onto the project, is Jane's fiance, though this detail only of minor relevance to the plot.

The project involves a kind of "suspended animation" achieved via interactions between subatomic particles while in the presence of certain strong fields. (This is obviously "rubber science" strictly for the purposes of setting up the story.) So far, all trials have succeeded, but they have not tested the "SA" chamber at full power. The full-power test is scheduled for the next day.
Our world, 1979. Nuclear tensions are mounting worldwide. Story begins in a laboratory located in secret fifteen-hundred meters below the quad of a large Midwestern university. A high speed elevator whisks researchers down to the self-contained laboratory from the basement of the physics building. The facility is powered via nuclear power plant and also houses one of the most powerful computers on the planet. Of course, everything is top secret.

We open on Adam and Jane, walking briskly down the center of the university's "quad" (large oval central park crisscrossed by concrete paths leading to and from various campus buildings). It is mid-afternoon in late October, and the weather has turned cool and windy, with leaves blowing about as they walk. Adam and Jane are arguing about the upcoming experiment. As they pass a small group of students, we overhear the radio they are all huddled around: 'The President, in an emergency news conference just an hour ago, said that the Soviet Premier has issued an ultimatum ...' We do not hear the rest, as Adam speaks:

"I'm worried about the situation in Europe."

Jane turns to Adam, but doesn't slow her walking, "I'm worried they're going to cancel the experiment."

"Yeah," says Adam, barking a humorless laugh, "war will do that."

"That's not funny, Adam," says Jane, scowling.

"And I didn't mean it to be," he replies. We then follow them from behind as they quickly reach the end of the quad. They turn and walk up the steps to a large, gray limestone building, and we see the name: 'Wilbur Physics Laboratory' as they pass through the glass front doors.

Their pace doesn't slow as we follow them down a corridor to their right. About midway they come to a heavy steel door, where they stop. So far, there haven't been any words exchanged since the quad. There is a ten-key keypad next to the door.

Jane hesitates. "What's the damn code?" She swears to herself. "I can never quite remember it."

"Dyslexics untie," says Adam, making a joke, and he taps in the correct six-digit code. Jane merely scowls, but she watches the numbers as he types.

There is a loud clunk, and the heavy steel door opens a crack. Jane hauls on the door to pull it open, and without further commentary, goes in. Adam follows, and they march right up to a small foyer-looking area. A set of wide elevator doors are in front of them. We hear the door seal closed behind them with a hollow clanking sound. It sounds very permanent.

"Well," Adam says, "are you gonna press the button, or should I?"

"Just press the damn button, all right?" Jane sounds clearly irritated.

Adam complies, doesn't quite understand why Jane should be upset. "What's wrong, Janie dear?"

"Nothing," she says. "And don't call me that."

"What? Janie, or dear?"

"Either one, thank you." The elevator doors slide open to reveal the comparatively cavernous size of the elevator. "Just be glad I don't make you call me Ms. Marsden, like I do the others."

Adam laughs, "They only call you that because they're afraid of you."

"Hah. Did you ever think there might be a good reason?"

Adam grins. "You're really quite harmless, despite the teeth."

Jane rolls her eyes, "Very funny."

Both enter the elevator. The elevator doors whisk closed and the elevator starts down. Lights on the elevator side walls whip from floor to ceiling, indicating the elevator is rapidly descending. The number of lights and their increasing speed indicate the elevator is going down a very long way, and accelerating. Neither seems to notice the elevator's speed nor the fact they become momentarily weightless--in free fall.

"Did my father tell you we're changing the protocol?" says Jane, smugly, turning toward Adam who stands a respectable distance away.

"Yes," replies Adam. "It was me who originally suggested it."

"He didn't tell me that," she says.

"Do you know why we're changing it?"

"I would assume it's because of things with the Soviets."

"Exactly. We don't want to be stuck in the middle of a three-week cycle, with all the costs involved, if things are uncertain."

"So that's why we're going to a twelve-hour cycle."

"Right," says Adam.

"OK," says Jane, and she turns to watch the lights streaming upward. We get the sense that she, once again, has been caught not quite being completely 'in the know'. She doesn't like it.

**

Day of the trial, everything starts out as expected. The power levels are steady, the field is contained, and the test subjects (some small animals) seem OK. Adam and Jane are working on the catwalk that surrounds the spherical SA chamber (inside the spherical chamber room), while Dr. Marsden, Brian, and others are monitoring the test from the control room (attached to the chamber room).

Suddenly there is a strong "thump" that shakes the entire facility. Being well underground, such outside influences are ... unexpected ... so Adam immediately launches for the kill switch, which is about 5 meters away. Before he can get there, though, there is another thump, even stronger, that knocks both Adam and Jane to their knees, then there is a momentary bright flash and a loud hum, and then the lights go out.

Adam awakes, sometime later. He wasn't even aware that he'd blacked out, but since he just woke up, he must have. He remembers the thumps and the bright flash, but vaguely, indistinctly. It's as if they happened a very long time ago. He also remembers the lights going out, but since he evidently blacked out, did that really happen or did he just black out? Regardless, the lights are not out, now.

Emergency lighting is on, casting the spherical chamber room in an eerie, reddish light. Jane is lying on the catwalk a few feet from Adam, and appears to be out cold. With a chill, Adam realizes she could even be dead. Adam quickly goes to her and checks her for a pulse. Slow and a little weak, but present. He shakes her to revive her. No luck.

Adam looks up to the control room, but though the lighting isn't very good, there doesn't seem to be anyone there. He turns back toward the nearest intercom station and calls the control room. After several attempts, still no answer. It's about this time he notices a change in Jane's condition. She has awakened, and is trying to stand up.

"What happened?" she says, weakly. She stands, but is quite wobbly.

"Don't know," Adam replies. "We must have blacked out for a while, there."

"Huh?" she says, "Why?"

"I just woke up a little while ago, and found you out cold on the floor."

"Yeah, I know," she nods, "Why?"

"Beats me." He looks around. "Maybe a power surge, or something."

"And that caused us to black out?"

"Apparently."

They both go to check conditions inside the SA chamber. Both subjects, one a dog and the other a bonobo, are both apparently alive and once they see Adam and Jane, begin to make excited noises. Jane, in particular, has been their keeper.

"Let them out," Jane orders.

"OK," Adam agrees, "but we need to get the power on, first."

"Oh, right."

Continued in part 2

Not Dead Yet

2007-09-24T11:27:00.000-04:00

I wish I'd continued working on the Reagan Wilcox story. I guess I got sick with the flu and it derailed me enough that I never started back up.

Writing may not be hard, but writing well is very difficult.

So what have I been doing the past 3 years? And does anyone care? I switched hobbies (so to speak) and spent most of the time designing houses. Here is a link to my website where I have about 50 house designs. It's been fun and worthwhile, but have I put houses down for a while and returned to writing. My novel, "My Soul Up There" still needs finishing, so I've been reading it in an attempt to catch up to where I was back in February 2004.

I also got married last year. Yay me!

I am reviving this blog to post writings, because I'm a glutton for punishment and (apparently) fearless. Really, not so fearless, but I enjoyed discussing the process of writing and even the dissection that revealed the ... uh, things that were lacking in my own skills.

So here I am, again.

Blogger Knowledge: Blogging Your Novel Part One

2004-10-22T23:29:00.000-04:00

Intriguing idea.

"Some say the hardest part about writing your novel is just getting started, others say sticking with it is what breaks them."

I know how I approach writing, and neither of the above are problems for me. I have a very long story I've been writing since 1992. Why it's still not done is a long story in its own right, but suffice it to say: I haven't abandoned it. In fact, it's getting to be that time again when I pick it back up and write another 200 (or so) pages. I haven't shared it on this blog mostly because it is so long. It's a first novel, and it still has problems I am loath to fix. (Think ankle bone connected to leg bone type of problem.) But I like the characters, even if my readers won't, and there are many aspects to the story that I think are important. I want to finish it (all 600,000+ words), then see. I have told people that it isn't something I think can be published as a first novel.

Whatever. Doing it is the important thing. I've learned a lot about myself, too, which has also been worthwhile.

This sentence no verb.: Writing Advice Articles

2004-10-19T13:24:00.000-04:00

Just gleaned this from This sentence no verb. The article Writing Advice Articles pointed me to a web site containing a series of articles written by Caro Clarke, providing writing advice for all us "novice" writers. (I include myself, of course!) I haven't read all of the articles, yet, but just the first few paragraphs of the first article was enough to convince me to post the link.

This Sentence No Verb

2004-10-14T16:00:00.000-04:00

I have been using some of the useful links provided by the kind soul at This Sentence No Verb. One site that I've joined is Critique Circle. In particular, they have a nifty character worksheet. They seem to want money, too, but then, don't we all?

Once I have recovered physically (from the flu), and can think rationally once more (as if!) I will be posting some revised/rewritten content. Can't happen soon enough for me! (The thinking rationally part, that this.)

Stay tuned, if you dare.

... Reagan Wilcox, post #4

2004-10-09T13:55:00.000-04:00

For those who might want to catch up, read the first 3 posts first by following the links under "Links to Content" on the right.

This is a not-quite-rough draft. That is to say: the 'ink' isn't quite dry on it, yet. I do plan to edit the previous posts to fix things, but I'd rather get something new out (and so therefore infinitely more exciting) before I tend to the editing tasks at hand.

Chapter 3: House of Cards

1

Saturday evening there was a phone call. Leah was in the bedroom getting dressed for their usual weekly 'date', and answered the bedroom extension before Reagan had a chance to pick it up.

It was a woman's voice: "Hi." Leah didn't recognize it. "Is Reagan there?"

Leah was immediately worried, but almost as quickly she scolded herself for being so paranoid. Voice wavering slightly (which dismayed her) she asked: "May I ask who's calling?"

"Yes. Tell him it's Barbara Hutchinson from Grainger Industries." There was a pause, during which Leah tried to connect the dots. "In Cleveland," the woman said after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence.

Oh, that made sense. Leah then felt rather foolish (and relieved) since it was obvious that Grainger was the company where Reagan was consulting. It was where he went every Monday through Friday. She should have known that. Where's my brain? She asked herself. "Oh, OK! Just a moment, I'll get him."

2

Reagan took the call downstairs. When she was sure he was on the line, Leah hung up in the bedroom and tried to go back to getting dressed. But of course she was curious as to why anyone from the company in Cleveland would be calling—here—on a weekend. That she could remember, he'd never been called at home, before.

3

"Hi," said Barbara once Reagan had said 'hello.' She didn't identify herself.

He was surprised, but he knew who it was. "Barb," he said, a half question, and waited for a reply. When one didn't immediately come he filled the void. "What's up?"

"Can you talk?"

It seemed rhetorical. He was talking. "Sure, Barb." He repeated, "What's up?"

She cleared her throat. He heard a TV in the background, and sounds like dishes clinking. It was around dinnertime, so … she must be at home. That made sense, he reasoned, she was married. She had two kids. "I'm calling you," she said, "because I wanted you to have a heads up."

A heads up? "About what?"

She cleared her throat again. "Are you sure you're able to talk?"

"Sure, I'm sure," he said. "What do I need a heads up about?" Now he was worried. This was intrigue, what with all the 'are you sure you can talk' bullshit. And coupled with her calling on a Saturday night … well, he immediately reached the conclusion that it couldn't be good.

"They found out about us," was all she said.

So, it wasn't good. "Who?" was all he said.

"Fisher. And Roberts."

Fisher was the division vice president at Grainger, and Roberts was Fisher's boss. Essentially, they were the two guys who'd hired Reagan. Barbara was the director of the department, and Reagan's closest contact in the company. Very close, as it happened.

"When did they find out?" he asked, since he was mentally doing the math since he'd left their offices on Friday. It had been more than 24 hours. Why now?

She sighed, "I don't know. Friday. I think."

All he could think to ask was: "How?"

4

She laughed. It seemed incongruous.

But Reagan was irritated by her response. "Why are you laughing?"

"Buddy boy, they're going to fire you, and all you can ask is how they found out?" She laughed again.

He found it hard to keep an even demeanor. But she was right; the shit had apparently hit the fan. Things were about to change. Then he corralled his thoughts into a more coherent pattern. "What's going to happen to you?"

She laughed again, but the tone had changed. "How sweet of you to think of someone else, for a change." He didn't think he deserved the shot. He wasn't that selfish. She went on, "I'm fine." She paused, "They're more worried about what I'm going to tell my husband, than anything." She explained, "You see, I know some things about Roberts that you don't know. My job is safe."

Reagan looked around to be sure that Leah wasn't within earshot. "You're not going to tell your husband, are you?"

She sighed, "No." Then her tone changed. Hardened. "Don't worry about Tim, buddy boy. I think you got bigger problems than him."

"So," he asked, "what am I supposed to do?"

"They're still expecting you here on Monday, as usual. I don't know when they plan to talk to you, exactly, or what they're going to tell your company about what's been going on, but I wouldn't necessarily count on being here past Monday." Her tone softened. "I'm sorry, Reagan. Really, I am."

5

After hanging up, Reagan found it difficult to concentrate on the here and now. The here was his home in Atlanta with his wife, and the now was the fact that they were planning to go out for their usual Saturday night thing. Habit. Routine.

Comfortable. Safe.

That seemed about to change.

Reagan didn't know what Grainger was going to say to his own company, but he doubted anything bad would come out of it. He probably wasn't the first consultant to have ever had an affair with a client, and he was doubtless not to be the last. He wasn't considering the effects that company policy might be about to have on his ass.

But that was all something to worry about, some other time. Leah, in particular, could not be allowed to find out what had happened. Losing Grainger—losing Barbara—those were serious considerations, perhaps, but nothing compared to the shit-storm he was sure would erupt if his ditzy, doting wife Leah ever found out he'd been unfaithful to her.

He gave her a lot of credit, apparently, and more than she would have given herself. But, he still didn't trust her, or feel the need to be honest with her. Because being honest with Leah meant he had to first be honest with himself.

No man wants to see himself for what he is.

6

"Who was that on the phone," said Leah once she'd come downstairs. Of course she knew who it had been, but she didn't know who that Barbara Hutchinson person was. Or why she would be calling Reagan at home. On a Saturday.

His first inclination was to say 'no one', and leave it at that, but he sensed that that would not be the answer she would be wanting, and so would not be closing the subject from further enquiry. He was forgetting how incurious Leah seemed most of the time. He was no longer counting on her apparent lack of critical thought or her complete, utter trust in her husband.

He was missing an opportunity to have the whole thing blow away without a trace. Of course, he didn't know how he would explain getting fired from Grainger, but that seemed the easiest lie to tell. A thousand plausible explanations existed, and he had plenty of time to sort through them. Now, about that phone call …

"That was Barb Hutchinson with Grainger."

"I know. She said who she was. What did she want?"

"I dunno," he sniffed, "something to do with the report I wrote last week." He shrugged, smoothly hoping he would convince her that the call was inconsequential.

"And she had to call you at home on a Saturday night?"

He shrugged again. "Yeah. I dunno. Some people don't know when to stop working, I guess."

"I see." Leah smiled, seeming satisfied. "What was that part about her not going to tell her husband?"

7

The question seemed innocent, but he wasn't sure. He almost asked 'you heard that?' but kept it inside at the last instant. He decided to play dumb, instead. "What part?"

"You asked her if she was going to tell her husband." Leah walked to the front closet to get her purse. She always kept it hanging on the doorknob. She slung it over her shoulder, "I'm sorry I was eavesdropping. I just hope it's not a problem, or something."

"No," Reagan said, relieved. He smiled, "Everything is fine." He came forward to take her by the arm, "C'mon babe," (he'd never called her that, that she knew) "let's go."

But she did like the sound of it.

... Reagan Wilcox, post #3

2004-10-08T19:00:00.000-04:00

I've been debating (with myself) over whether to post this "chapter" or write something that might move the plot forward a bit. This part is still mainly character and story development, and though it's short, I'm not sure it necessarily makes the reader want to keep turning pages.

I'm not worried, though; I know what the next chapter will be about. I haven't written it, yet, but it's right here on the tip of my fingers.

If you haven't read posts 1 and 2, yet, read post #1 here. Then read post #2 here. This is post #3, as the title suggests.

Chapter 2: The Thing with the Car

1

"There's was a problem with the car, yesterday," she told him the next morning.

"What kind of problem?" he asked.

"It quit on the way to the grocery store, and I had to have it towed to the dealer."

"Uh-huh. What did the dealer say?"

"I'm not sure what's wrong with it, but they said it would cost $600 to fix."

"You don't know what's wrong with the car, but whatever it is it takes $600 to fix?"

"That's what they said."

"And you paid it?"

"I had to." She sounded plaintive. "I have to have my car. Yours was at the airport, and besides, I can't drive a stick."

"Aren't you the least bit curious what could be wrong with your car that it would cost $600 to repair?"

"Of course I am." Now she was getting defensive. "They told me what it was, I just don't remember. That's all."

"Do you have the repair receipt?"

"Somewhere, I think."

"Can I see it?"

"If I can find it."

2

Her lack of attention to detail had irritated him since the wedding. Not enough to do anything about, just enough send him off that Saturday with a chip on his shoulder at her ditziness over the thing with the car.

But there was grass to cut, as there always was on any given Saturday between April and November, so he took his frustration out on the front lawn. Leah did whatever Leah did while he attended to chores; he didn't know. Worse, he didn't care enough to wonder.

3

When Reagan came in for lunch she met him in the kitchen with the repair bill in hand. He tried to look it over, but she invaded his space and wrapped herself around him, thus preventing his discovery of the car's 'sickness.'

4

Leah felt Reagan's anger when she couldn't recite the exact nature of the car's illness. It was an illness, and not her fault since she kept such good care of the car.

She'd had to keep the car running since Reagan had told her they couldn't afford two new cars at one time. She knew enough about the finances to agree that it was true, but still he shouldn't be so upset with her when there was a problem with her old car.

She'd found the bill—and it really wasn't that hard, it hadn't been that lost—and made sure he saw it as soon as he came in. But when she saw him she had such a sudden, disquieting pang of unworthiness that she pushed aside the receipt to reassure her most privileged position: inside his arms.

He smelled of freshly cut grass and some of gasoline, too. After the familiar scent of his brand of soap, his masculine presence was so strong she felt herself suddenly become wet. She wanted to hike her short skirt up around her hips and have him take her right there in the kitchen. Standing up, if necessary. But she couldn't bring herself to do it.

Reagan's arms went around her, strongly and warmly, and she sighed and relaxed into his embrace. Seconds dragged by, and he seemed to relent, kissing her on the forehead. He pushed her away, but gently. Leah, afraid to express anything like disappointment or (even) anger, decided instead to change the subject:

"You want lunch?"

He looked the repair bill over. Seemed to ignore her question.

"You hungry? I got some soup on the stove, if you want. There's ham for a sandwich…"

He never looked up. "Sure." He frowned then, but though her breath caught in her throat, he said nothing about the car. "What kind of soup?"

And Leah was relieved, for no damn good reason. "Campbell's bean with bacon. Is that OK?"

"Sure," and as Reagan walked to the breakfast nook table, he laid the car's repair bill on the kitchen desk.

It never came up again.

... Reagan Wilcox, post #2

2004-10-07T19:26:00.000-04:00

If you missed part 1 of this, start reading with this post, first.

6

Leah never believed that money was more important than education, despite the fading wails of her mother, but though mama had always wanted a doctor for a daughter, Leah knew that the doctor in the family could never have been her. 'I want to get married and raise a family, mama, like you did,' she'd told her, but only half of that had come true.

They'd tried almost everything medical science could offer, but after fifteen years of marriage and ten years of trying, Leah and Reagan had resigned themselves to the fact that they were not going to have any children. Adoption, as far as Reagan was concerned, was out of the question, so after all the tests, and the surgeries, and the inseminations, and the indignities suffered at the hands of nearly every fertility specialist in the United States, Leah had to satisfy herself only by being able to say: 'Well, at least we tried.'

Maybe the twenty-five pounds came from that. Who knows?

What an ego crusher it was, though. Leah's sister, Ellen, could drop them (babies) like puppies. She'd had seven in only ten years, and when asked whether they'd figured out where babies come from, could only smile sheepishly. They were good Catholics (unlike Leah, apparently—Reagan's family was Methodist) and only counted all their fecundity as a blessing from God. Surely God delivers common sense, too, but not, apparently, to the Ellen and Stanley Krynchik household.

Leah was usually successful at keeping thoughts of her sister Ellen out of her mind. She did her volunteer work, painted her landscapes (and the occasional seascape) and wove her macramé rugs, and tried to think of pleasant, non-baby things.

On Fridays, she thought of her wonderful husband, Reagan, coming home.

7

Reagan walked through the door only a few minutes behind schedule. Actually he came in from the garage, but even that had a door, so he did walk through the door only ten minutes later than he usually did. The lights were dim, only the fluorescent over the kitchen desk being on, as usual, so he set his two-suiter down next to the desk chair, looked briefly at the week's mail laying in a neatly stacked pile, then turned the light off.

No sense in stalling, Leah would be waiting upstairs. Leah was always waiting upstairs Friday nights, and Reagan knew how he'd find her.

She wasn't so bad, really. He felt it was his own singular pleasure to be able to come home to a woman in a sheer black negligée, lying in his bed. The fact that it was always the same sheer black negligée was an annoyance, but a minor one. It's the thought that counts. Maybe I should break with 'tradition' tonight, he thought, and rip the damn thing off her before we have sex. That way she'll have to buy something else for next Friday night. Actually, that seemed like a pretty good idea. A little roughness; a little harmless 'violence'; a little more excitement before plunging in. It couldn't hurt, and would very likely help.

After all, he was still pretty tired, even if she happened to be in the mood for a blowjob, tonight.

8

Reagan arrived at their bedroom door to find Leah in the bed (of course) but not wearing that tired old negligée. She was still in her bra and half-slip, and was propped up with the television on and reading a magazine.

He announced his arrival with the usual 'honey, I'm home' joke, but instead of going right to the bed, went directly to the bathroom. He was taking off his tie when she came in and put her arms around him from behind.

"How was your trip, sweetheart?"

"Same as always."

"You look tired."

"I am."

"Your mother called."

"What did she have to say?"

"She wants you to call her."

"OK."

Like that. It went on for some moments, but later neither would remember what they said to each other.

9

Leah studied herself in the mirror while Reagan relieved himself. Too much around the waist, she thought, too much Leah. She liked what the extra pounds did for her boobs, but only a relatively small portion of that excess ended up there. The rest, what wasn't wound around her waist, padded her behind.

"Do you think I'm fat?" she asked, removing her bra.

"I don't think you're fat," he replied without hesitation or inflection. He had taken off his pants and was hanging them up in the closet. "I've always liked well-padded women."

"I'm well-padded, all right." She held her boobs up with her hands, presumably weighing them.

"If it bothers you, why don't you do something about it?"

"I might." She weighed her boobs some more. "I like what it's done to my boobs, but of course most of it has ended up on my butt."

He smiled, "I like your butt."

"Do you, really?"

10

Reagan always wondered why Leah continually felt the need to 1) point out all the excess weight she was carrying, and 2) ask him if he still liked her that way. As far as he could remember her questions rarely varied, and his responses were always the same. She'd say she was fat; he'd have to tell her he liked her that way.

He threw his shirt in the dry-cleaning pile, she removed her panties, and he followed her back to the bed. Minutes later they consummated, and minutes after that he was asleep.

Only Leah remained awake. As she always did.

Oh, and another thing ...

2004-10-06T23:01:00.000-04:00

In that little blurb about me (look over to the right, no, the other right, yeah, there at the top) I forgot one word.

That word is: "Maybe".

I'm just honing my qualifications, in case I need 'em.

The Midlife Crisis of Reagan Wilcox

2004-10-06T19:35:00.000-04:00

or, "Dreaming Blowjobs in the Park"

Chapter 1: One More Homecoming

1

Reagan Wilcox was normally tired as he boarded the plane to Atlanta at the end of each week. He'd made this same commute many times—always exhausted from having been 'on' all week—but tonight he felt an unusual calm. A quiet, alert peacefulness. So rare. So rare that he noticed it.

His wife, Leah, would be waiting at home for him, as usual. She had been some time getting used to his absence, itself a marked change from the routine of the past few years, but gradually had adapted to his being gone. Thankfully, she had not also grown disinterested in his return each week. Every homecoming felt to him as if she had surely lain awake all night, simmering with breathless anticipation; anxiously awaiting the firm-sure embrace of her man.

At least, he liked to think that way.

2

Reagan pushed back into his seat and positioned the diminutive synthetic fiber pillow in the small of his back. All the other regulars (he swore he could even recognize a couple) were likewise settled in, each snapping their USA Today's open with enthusiastic purpose. Everyone read the damned thing, though Reagan thought it was about as fluffy as his favorite sweat socks. Not worth a second glance. He was preparing to crack his latest book, a paperback about two inches thick—the latest by an astonishingly popular author—and settle into something more substantial than graphs of basketball players 'dunking' basketballs, each a little taller than the last, indicating the rise of professional teams' salaries over the last five years. As if anyone cared about such things, other than just about every other traveler on this 727 out of Cleveland. They were airborne soon enough, however, and Reagan was once again spouting muttered sarcasm as the flight attendent gave her rote, tired spiel:

"… Your seat cushion may be used for flotation. Simply place your arms though the straps on the underside and grasp firmly …" And smell the stink of your own ass, he added to himself.

3

But Leah would be there when he got home.

During the week Reagan rarely thought of her. He told himself it was because he was too busy, but it was nothing more than simple rationalization. Rationalization and the fact that Reagan had something else to keep himself occupied. On the plane, though, he first acknowledged his slightly guilty conscience for not having called her, then dismissed it with a shrug. She didn't seem to mind he didn't call; didn’t seem to mind he had to be gone all the time; seemed as excited as ever when he finally walked through the door.

4

The last two years had marked a gradual change in Leah Wilcox. She wanted to think it was due to age, since she was no longer a 'kid,' and therefore no longer expected to remain so trim and young-looking, but deep down inside she knew it for what it was. That she was patently incapable of admitting it to herself, she didn’t find a problem. But, time was taking its toll, and 125 pounds had become 130 had become 135 to become 145; Leah no longer found weighing herself to be such a joy. I can live with it, she would tell herself. Reagan doesn't seem to mind, so why should I?

Wrinkles, too, and those shockingly gray hairs amid her raven tresses becoming more and more common. Next month I'll get my hair colored, she always promised herself; but she never did. After all, Reagan didn't seem to mind.

5

Leah looked forward to Reagan's coming home on Friday nights. She always did her best to make sure he felt welcome, and besides, she really did look forward to having him home, again. He was her husband, her man, her provider, and he (she still reminded herself) had been practically the only boy to ask her out that year in college. Her sophomore year. She had been so shy, she told herself, and Reagan had been so nice. He hadn't given up on her despite her continued refusals.

She'd eventually said 'yes,' and six months later they were engaged, and then six months after that they were married. Quitting college had really been no hardship for the short, dark-haired, and almost (italics hers) pretty Leah Frankowski. Never mind her parents had sacrificed their life savings to send her there. Never mind she was the first in their family to even get to college, let alone have the chance that she'd had.

Leah never felt like she had short-changed herself on the way to becoming Mrs. Reagan McDowell Wilcox. The Wilcox name meant money, even though Reagan really didn’t have it (yet, she would always add). His mother, a McDowell, and thrifty Scot of the first water, had (literally) saved every penny old Roy Meriweather Wilcox had ever made, and since Reagan—dear, sweet, persistent Reagan—was their only child, Leah knew she had only to keep things status quo, and it would eventually be hers/theirs.

Reagan, then, wouldn’t have to work so hard, and then they could have all their time to spend together.

What do it mean?

2004-10-06T15:15:00.000-04:00

If you read my posts in my "other" blog, you would likely already know what this blog's title means. That is, you would know that it doesn't mean anything in particular.

Which is the point. One man's fish is another man's bicycle.

When I get the chance, I'm going to post some content here. Real soon now. It may not be new, exactly, but it will be new to you.

Welcome to Fish All Intransigence

2004-10-06T14:45:00.000-04:00

I am Robin L. Ashwood. I am a writer, as yet unpublished. This blog is my vehicle to write and get my writing out on the everywhere/nowhere web, where perhaps someone will find it and read it. There's nothing here at the moment, but everyone needs to start somewhere.

Here is what I promise. I will write clearly, and in complete sentences (and even paragraphs!). I will not knowingly permit misspellings or grammatical errors to cloud my writing, because correctness is one way of indicating intelligence (and secondarily, education). Our writing should be an example for others, not an impediment. Others may have better developed vocabularies, but good writing isn't always about using sesquipedalian words.

Let's see how this goes. Talk to me if you feel compelled. I will return the favor and answer (if I feel so compelled).