Showing posts with label novel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label novel. Show all posts

Monday, November 18, 2013

The Children of Tok-Cenb

Here's Luke Bellmason, sharing the first chapter of his NaNoWriMo novel:


It was easy to tell the first wavers from the second wavers; as the shuttle approached the surface of the planet, the second wavers were all standing at the panoramic forward windows of the upper deck, while the first wavers, like Victor Warbur, remained in their seats.
Warbur had seen Vonbek many times before, and was more interested in watching the passengers. Taylan was the focus of his attention at this moment, and when he glanced around at his fellow passengers he could see that she was the focus of theirs too. It was perfectly understandable.
Firstly, she was young. About twenty-eight years of age and full of health and energy. Secondly she was enthusiastic, a trait that many of the first wavers had long since lost in the decade that they’d all been here, and thirdly she was single.
There was very little chance that she’d be interested in the slightest in any of the boring old men who’d found themselves assigned to this particular excursion down to the planet, but that didn’t seem to bother them Warbur observed. It was more of a case of fixating their playful fantasies on someone who was completely unavailable and yet real, rather than whatever dream woman they had created for themselves over the years to maintain their sanity out here.
Most of them had families of course, but they were either back home in the Earth system, or were living here and so were part of the everyday mundanity that had become the dull background to their existence.
Taylan’s attention was not on them. She was standing next to the man who was only a little older than her, but who was already in one of the most senior positions within the Corporation.
Between the three of them, Warbur, Taylan and ‘corporation boy’, they represented the three main factions of the Earth Expiditionary Force, which was the whole point of having them attend the presentation on the planet. It was yet another official engagement that some senior executives at the top of the chain of command had decided would make good press for the propoganda machine which even now, almost ten years after they’d arrived at Vonbek, was still trying to persuade the alien population that this was a great, bold new era for them.
Since the ‘couple’ had arrived on the shuttle, at the station in orbit, the girl and the corporation representitive had been inseparable. They hadn’t said more than three words to anyone else, yet had talked constantly to each other all the way down. Corporation boy was quite knowledgeable about every aspect of the alien economy, politics and social make-up as any high-climber in the corp would have to be, but Warbur knew he’d studied it all from books and reports. There was a huge difference between knowing something and experiencing it, as Warbur had. Many of the early reports had been proved wrong and assumptions made about the alien society and the way it functioned had been shown to be far too simplistic.
There were many facets to the society they had encountered. contact with one group or local authority did not guarantee that another would want to have anything to do with them. There was no central leadership as such, everything was local. That was what was so brilliant about the ‘children’. It had been a very useful ploy, to get at least one small group of aliens on their side, though at the time it had been nothing more than a solution to the language barrier. As Warbur listened, he heard the corporation’s representative recite the standard version of the events to his companion.
“You see, they had this problem with communicating with the Aliens when they first arrived,” he began. “It seemed like an intractable problem. How do you understand a language that you have no basic understanding of? It’s totally alien, in an alien culture where you can’t even figure out context. What you do is you find a bunch of children and you teach them English.”
“Why English?” Said Taylan, showing her true colours as the ‘independant observer’.
“It had to be something, I guess they could have picked Spanish or Chinese. In a way, it didn’t matter. Once we’d taught them one Earth language, we could translate it into any other. English is universal enough that most of the who countries who contributed to the Expedition would agree to it being the lingua-franca.”
Taylan extended her left arm and tapped something out on her wrist, notes to be reviewed later. Then she looked back out at the approaching planet. It was close enough now that Warbur could see the greenish tint of the sky starting to illuminate the upper part of the troposphere.
“So they picked a group of children on the planet and taught them English,” prompted Taylan, who knew the story anyway.
“Yes, but they didn’t bargain on how successful they would be. I mean, all they did was leave a few tablet computers lying around in a village where they knew they’d be found and load them up with language apps. You know what happens when you give technology to children. The adults largely ignored it, I mean they knew where it had come from, but the children, oh they figured it out.”
At this point in the story, Warbur decided to make his introduction. He could not bear to hear this story, his story, being told by someone else.
“After one week they’d mastered the alphabet,” he said from his seat, “after two they could match words with images. After three weeks they knew most of the rules of pronunciation, syntax and grammar. By the end of the first month, they could read, write and speak fluent English.” Warbur stood up and walked to the window, next to Taylan and the Corporation Representitive.
“And after two months they had hacked into the Earth Government communications network,” Corporation Boy said, no doubt trying to embarrass Warbur. It had the opposite effect.
“The alien children who were selected were nothing special, but there are gifted children in every group. Once we began to educate them, we discovered that their minds were easily as advanced as our own.
“But you can’t educate someone to a higher level than yourself,” said Taylan, “they might be even smarter than us given the proper training.”
“Ah well, that would be the Corporation’s department,” said Warbur, “I believe their AI programme is going to do all this and more.” He said this knowing full well that the Corporation’s AI programme had been five years away from fruition for the last twenty years, and was an intense source of embarrassment to them.
It suddenly occurred to Taylan to introduce her friend to the Government Offial and she turned to Warbur and said, “this is John LeVant of Corporation Operations,” they shook hands.
“Victor Warbur of the Earth Government,” said Warbur, keeping things deliberately vague. “And you must be ELIJA,” Warbur chuckled at the girl, noting the insignia on her suit.
“Yes, Selina Taylan of Earth League Interplanetary Joint Alliance,” she shook Warbur’s hand. “So, you’ve actually met these children?” She asked. Warbur smiled, wryly.
“I helped to create them. I set up the project after initial contact with the aliens, that was over ten years ago. They’re all grown up now. The boy your friend mentioned, the one who hacked into the comms network, he’s the one we’re going to meet.”
The shuttle set down on an open grassy plain about a kilometre from the town of Tok-Cenb. There were fewer people than Warbur had anticipated, but then aside from its importance to the Expeditionary Fleet, Tok-cenb wasn’t that remarkable. In reality it was little more than a mining village, with one ‘mayor’, one ‘elder’ and a few ‘councillors’. These titles were approximations of course, but the translation between English and the native tongue had always been tricky.
The Children had made this small town famous around the entire planet, but this didn’t seem to have had much of an economic impact on it, in the ten years Warbur had been coming here, he’d observed very few changes aside from the rapid maturation of its citizens. Vonbekians aged about at about twice the rate of humans and seldom lived beyond the age of thirty-five solar years. Still, it was disappointing to see such a poor turn-out, especially with the visitors here.
They all waited for the ramp to descend at the back of the shuttle and walked down into the damp, barely breathable air. There was no fanfare and no applause, since both of these practises would have been totally unknown to the locals, but one alien did approach them and extend an appendage in a very human-like way. This was the ‘boy’. Now a full grown adult and a long time acquaintance of Warbur’s.

“Mr. LeVant, Miss Taylan, this is Dita.”
Warbur knew the Second wavers would have studied the aliens during their trip, but now as he watched for their reaction, he knew they were realising the great gap between the idea of a thing and the reality of having it stand in front of you. The aliens were squat creatures, about four feet high, and were an odd shape. Three legged, three-eyed, three armed and arranged somewhat like a three-pointed star when seen from above. The arrangement extended right down to their toes and fingers, three on each arm and leg.
Both LeVant and Taylan were not merely speechless, but breathless, hyperventilating. Warbur waved a hand and a crewman from the shuttle rushed forward with a portable oxygen container.

“You’ll have to excuse my friends, they’ve never met an extra-terrestrial before,” said Warbur.

“It’s ok, I remember the first time I met a human. It was stressful for me too,” said Dita, in perfect English.
They followed the alien, LeVant and Taylan gripping on to their masks as they walked, to the stand. It was nothing grand, but a simple stage built onto rocks and packed down straw. There was seating for the humans along the front, while the Vonbekians required only a clear space to rest, folding their rear two legs together to form a kind of seat.
Warbur had studied the schedule for the day’s presentation and knew that, like most Vonbekian events, it would take up many hours and be intersected by multiple stops for refreshments and informal chats. They never did anything in a hurry.
LeVant offered the seat next to Warbur up to miss Taylan, then took the seat on the end. Some of the other officals who had come down on the shuttle with them took up the seats in front and behind them and Dita sat at the back of the group.
The Mayor took to the stage and began speaking in the local dialect, which was immediately translated into whichever language was necessary by the computers in each human’s headpiece. The speech was standard, non-threatening and bland. Designed, it seemed, to offend no one and to welcome the new visitors to their humble planet. The effect of hearing second hand and spoken in the same flat automated voice that they listened to all day every day did little to counteract the soporific effect this had on each individual. This and the stifling air they were breathing between puffs on the oxygen cylinders had most of the human audience teetering on the verge of sleep within a minute of the Mayor’s address.
They were all suddenly brought out of it by a large explosion, which eminated from just behind the stage and expanded out into the audience. It took out the stage so completely that those who had been standing on or near it were instantly vapourised. The front four rows of people were killed either by the blast or the lethal shards of rock which were thrown outwards. Anyone behind that was in with a chance of surviving, though random luck seemed to determine the severity of the injuries suffered.
Warbur been forced back on top of Taylan, but LeVant who had been on the end had been hit. He was still alive, but barely. One by one each survivor rose from the ground to see which of those around them had not made it. Dita came forward from the rear and went straight for Warbur, picking him up and shaking him to his senses. Warbur could see Dita talking at him but could hear no sound at all, his ears were filled only with a single tone, like the feedback from a faulty microphone. Taylan stood and then saw LeVant and rushed to his side.
The Vonbekian response was slow and disorganised. The crew and security from the shuttle were on the scene long before any of the local emergency services had arrived. The injured humans, including LeVant, were bundled onto the shuttle and flown back up to the fleet’s medical ship. Taylan went with them, though she was able to walk to the shuttle herself. Warbur elected to stay behind and assist the security services in making sure any vital evidence was not lost and the scene was left as undisturbed as possible.
“What happened?” Dita asked Warbur, once the worst of the ghastly situation seemed over. Warbur had to consider his response.
“It was an attack I believe,” he said.
“An attack?” Dita repeated. “I don’t understand, what kind of attack.” Warbur didn’t quite understand it himself, but could think of no other explanation.
“Nothing like this has ever happened on your planet before?” He asked. Dita shook his head.
“There have been wars, fights in the past, but this, I don’t see how it fits with what you are saying. Where are the attackers?” He looked about him, seemingly puzzled by the concept.
“It’s called terrorism. It’s something we used to be very good at on Earth in one period of our history. And it looks like now we’ve brought it to with us to your world.”
-2,357

Sunday, November 17, 2013

Catching a Glimpse of a Wild WriMo

Today and tomorrow, I'd like to share some NaNo-related entries from Luke Bellmason's blog. I'm a little late with them, but I think you'll enjoy them just as much.

In a few days I am going to be taking part in NaNoWriMo. For those that don’t know, this stands for National Novel Writing Month (though actually it’s International).
The idea is that during the month of November you have try to write a 50,000 word novel. This might sound difficult but 50,000 words in 30 days works out to about 1,666 words per day, and there is no stipulation in the rules which says the novel has to be any good.
NaNoWriMo is all about getting people writing, and the emphasis is on volume rather than quality. For writers who do lots of planning (but very little writing) this is an opportunity to change things up. Instead of editing and stressing over minor details of plot and character you just write. It’s a bit like jumping on a motorcycle, pointing it towards the sunset and heading off into the unknown.
One of the best things about it is that you’re doing it with thousands of other people and there’s a lot of support given to participants, with writing events across the whole month both online and off. The groups are also divided into regions so you can find out who’s participating in your area and maybe even go along to a write-in and meet some of them.
Everyone wants to know what you’re writing and how far along you are, and yes there’s a healthy sense of competition involved. Dare I say you even get a buzz out of beating someone who was ahead of you in word count the week before. As writers crash out and fall by the wayside, you’re determined that ‘this won’t happen to me’ and it pushes you on.
You aren’t allowed to start writing until midnight on the first of November, but you are allowed to plan your story out before this. I’ve been working on my idea for this year’s NaNo for quite some time and I’m actually really looking forward to starting work on it.
The story revolves around the first Earth expedition to an alien planet. The first wave has already been established, first contact has been made and a small colony of humans are living on the alien world.
N13
All of the main characters are based on my favourite characters from various spy shows and books.
The theme is going to be a kind of mash-up of science fiction and spy thriller. Think John LeCarre meets Philip K Dick, or Isaac Asimov meets Ian Fleming.
The hard problems of preventing bacterial contamination and translating the alien language have already been solved by the first wave of the expedition. As the novel starts the second wave have arrived from Earth and one of the three main characters has spent the last seven or eight years travelling aboard and interstellar ship to reach the alien world.
There are three main factions on the Earth side; The Earth government who are the official representatives of all of the planets in the solar system who funded the expedition. The Corporation who provided almost all of the technology used to reach the alien system. And then there’s the UN type organisation called ELIJA, which stands for Earth League Interplanetary Joint Alliance.
Obviously there are multiple tensions between these three groups. The Corporation has been granted licences to sell various Earth technologies to the aliens, whose technological level is equal to that of Earth in about the year 1950. This means the Corp can look forward to many years of profitable technological advancement at a slow and steady pace as they drip feed everything from washing machines and refrigerators all the way through to iPods and jet packs over decades and decades. Meanwhile the Earth force is trying to establish a more permanent colony on another planet in the alien solar system which is a sort of Mars like planet that requires extensive terraforming before it can be made habitable. Then on top of all this ELIJA is ensuring that all the rules governing ethical behaviour and law is observed and neither faction exploits the Aliens.
The aliens themselves are also split into different groups. One is what you might call the pro visitors, who represent the younger generation who have grown up in the shadow of Alien visitors and to find them exciting and interesting, while on the other side are the Separatists who want the aliens to go home and leave their planet as it was.
My idea is to use all the tropes of spy fiction but in a totally new setting which is a blank canvas of my own creation allowing me to play around with hi-tech spies and the like without Earth history getting in the way of things. Which is another way of saying that I’m too lazy to do any real research on the last 200 years of global politics and making up your own global politics is more fun anyway.
I’ll be posting each day’s chapter (assuming there is one) on my blog the following day so you can all read along and see how the story develops in real time, plus you can add your own comments and ideas as we go along and I might even incorporate some of them into the story!
I did try NaNoWriMo in 2011 (with a story called vampires versus zombies) but only got as far as Day 15. So this time I’m hoping to get at least a little further if not finish the whole thing.
Please check back for more updates and watch this space on and around the 1st of November to read the first opening chapter!

Sunday, February 24, 2013

Writing: When It's Right to Do It Wrong

Ever since I can remember, I've had a knack for creating characters. (Actually, I think most three-year-olds do, and I was just lucky enough not to lose it.) By the time I was about nine I could write dialogue pretty well, and for the next ten years or so, I worked on the more difficult skills of description and narrative.

Photo: nsf.gov
So that was all I needed, I thought. I'd just throw together some characters that didn't fit together (so they'd create enough conflict to produce a plot) and see where they took me. I'd write it all down, and the result would be a novel called The Birch Tree's Daughter.

It failed, of course, but I still think the premise was good. Maybe someday I'll write it again, only differently.

My failure to have any plot in mind - or to even understand the difference between a plot and a premise - was not the only reason it failed. I had read every piece of writing advice I could get my hands on, and almost every one had steered me wrong.

It wasn't really the fault of the people giving the advice - at least, not entirely. They made the mistake of assuming all inexperienced writers are alike, and I made the mistake of assuming their advice was meant for everyone, at all times and in all situations.

The advice was to write less - not to spend less time writing, or to write fewer books or anything like that, but to condense my writing. The message should be given to the reader in as few words as possible, they said. Any passages that don't propel your characters directly toward the end of the book should be cut out. Avoid all unnecessary scenes or descriptions.

The Birch Tree's Daughter turned out to be about 15,000 words, if I remember right, and contained none of the feeling I had tried to convey. Feeling, after all, would have required more words, would have required scenes and descriptions that didn't drive everybody directly to the end of the book, and that, the experts told me, was both unprofessional and unpublishable.
Photo: ehow.com
Of course, it was very good advice for the majority of writers. I know now that bloated ramblings are the norm, and most writers have to work very hard to contain the flood of words and produce a polished, concise manuscript. I just happen to have the opposite problem. If I didn't make the effort to 'write more,' this post would probably look something like this:
"I can write novels now because I learned from some bad writing advice in the past, and because I always plot out my books and don't write them sequentially."
Interesting, huh?

Those are the other things The Birch Tree's Daughter taught me: I need to have an outline, and I need to write the ending early. A novel, in my opinion, should end with fireworks, and Birch Tree ended when it finally ran out of the conflict that had brought it to life. I suppose the birch tree and its daughter lived happily ever after, but the story would have been a whole lot more interesting if you could have read it backwards.
Photo: artistsezine.com
And now I'm in the second draft of An Analysis of the Cardassian Language. The beginning is done, the final chapter is done, and I'm working on the homestretch. When that's done, I'll write the middle.

Next Sunday, I'll talk about preventing burnout as a writer. Yup, it's another rule I happily break.



Thursday, February 14, 2013

Space-Valentines for Nerds

I don't get romance novels. When I was seventeen I read a big stack of them to see if I could figure out why they're so popular. Nope, no clue. The whole plot is based on a fleeting emotion and the outcome is locked in from the beginning. The couple will end up together (they have to, or it's not a romance novel), probably after the hero has lost all his interesting qualities.

Photo: jezebel.com
Which is precisely why I want to master the art of romance writing: I don't consider 'I don't get it' to be an acceptable excuse.

Sure, there are lots of things I don't get, and most of them don't bother me at all. I don't get pop music or obsessive materialism or pro wrestling or American football. But if I were a sportscaster I'd consider it my professional responsibility to watch games and study playbooks until I did get football. I'd go to sleep with my head full of those little X's and O's until I had it mastered.

But it's not so bad. Little by little I think I'm starting to get it. Maybe I'll never write the traditional kind of romance, and that's okay, because there are lots of options with subgenres and crossovers.

And as hard as it is to swallow my 'I'm-above-all-that-mushy-stuff' pride and admit this, there's plenty of romance coming up in the science-fiction novel I'm writing.

Thanks to Paramount
It gets worse. I have a dirty little secret. In spite of all the times people accuse me of belonging to the emotion-suppressing Vulcan race because of my logical approach to problem-solving, in spite of the fact that I consider television kissing scenes to be opportunities to leave the room without missing anything, in spite of the fact that the latest Hollywood hottie usually doesn't even register on my attraction meter at all, I have a thing for Cardassian men.

That's right, I go all bat-the-eyelashes over some guys who 1. don't exist, 2. have scales on their faces, and 3. with rare exceptions would make terrible partners. (It's the strong necks, great posture, impeccable manners, intelligence and courage.)

I'll never get the chance to act on this myself, of course, but fortunately I'm a writer. I just have to create an avatar (ahem, character) and have my raging Cardassian love affair vicariously. It's a little less risky that way, too.

Okay, that isn't what the book's about. It's a science fiction novel, a tribute to Gene Roddenberry, a space adventure complete with battles and political intrigue. But with its human female protagonist surrounded by Cardassian men, it's also the perfect excuse to have a little fun indulging my weakness - I mean, furthering my professional education.

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Status Update

Years ago when blogging was new and I first heard of it, I imagined that a 'web log' was the online equivalent of those fascinating logs kept by the travelers on the American frontier. In case you haven't had the pleasure, here's an entry from James and Nancy Coon's log of their 1847 Oregon Trail journey:
Photo: jacksonholejournal.net
Mon Jun 14th

Buried Turner's son, three years old. Left south fork of the Platt at 12 o'clock. Camped on the prairie eight miles from the river. Here we used buffalo chips for fire for the first time.

Cold. Seventeen miles.
Daily reports of exciting adventures sounded like a wonderful thing to read, and was it true that I could actually just go on the internet and read them for free, once I'd learned the secret of which characters to type into that little space at the top of the screen?

The first several times I actually saw a blog, I didn't know what I was looking at. I thought I had been directed to a blog, but what I found didn't look like a daily log of anything, much less of an exciting adventure. I figured I just didn't know what I was doing, and hoped I would learn eventually.

Then one day I stumbled across an article about art blogs in Spanish and finally got the point of what a blog was. Now I have my own blog, and guess what? I make daily entries. I guess that's the only thing I have in common with James and Nancy Coon. I don't even mention the weather, usually, or how far I've traveled. But if you're curious, Cold rane. Zero miles.

I'm guessing the Coons didn't do guest posts, either. I did a guest post on South Wales Shorts about someone dying of exposure in a desert. Thanks to Damian (@shortstoryblog on Twitter) for having me. The Third Sunday Blog Carnival (@thirdsundaybc) ran my story "Euthanasia" in December, and has accepted another story for their February 17 issue. This one's about genetically engineered humans.

I have some more stories I'd like to post here, especially "The Suitcase Man" which inspired Bronwyn Cair (@bronwyncair) to come up with the plot for next year's NaNoWriMo project Sixteen Thousand Nights. Unfortunately, my hard drive crashed, the backup is on CD's, I can't seem to find my external optical drive, and both computers with integrated optical drives are broken. Sometimes I wonder why I bother with fiction; real life is strange enough.

I'm editing Resist the Devil again in preparation for a relaunch in April.

I guess I'm about a quarter of the way through the second draft of my novel An Analysis of the Cardassian Language, and really enjoying it. I've posted what I've done so far; see the links above. I may finish this draft around August. Then I'll need to do a third draft to refine the details of Cardassian architecture, mannerisms, social life, etc. After that will come copyediting and proofreading. This book is not a quick one to write by any means because it requires intensive research (but I love doing research). More on that tomorrow.

Photo: northlandchurch.net
Sixteen Thousand Nights is still a twinkle in its mothers' eyes. It won't officially get started until November, but we've already got a basic outline for it. Sometimes it's wonderful to have the luxury to let ideas mull, to let our subconscious minds get a whack at them, and that's what we're lucky to have with Sixteen.  It's going to be a suspense novel about waking up on the wrong side of the American criminal justice system.

The Suckers Guild for indie writers is building up steam. We still have a few more preparations to do before we can start accepting members. Thanks to M Joseph Murphy (@windswarlock) for all your hard work on this, and for being so easy to work with. Every group needs a difficult member, though, and since you don't seem to be any good at that, I'm going to try hard to be as difficult as possible. Sorry if I've been slacking in that department.

Tuesday, February 5, 2013

Why I'm Writing a Star Trek Book

Last October I was having a little trouble deciding which book to write for NaNoWriMo. I'd narrowed the options down to two:

Photo: ehow.com
16,ooo Nights. Suspense. When Gretchen locks her keys in her car and can't afford a locksmith, a stranger offers her $5,000 to deliver a locked suitcase.

An Analysis of the Cardassian Language. Science fiction. Faine is drugged, kidnapped and left on an enemy military base.

Cardassian Language was the one in my head clawing to get out, and I wondered if I was even going to be able to write Nights before I'd gotten Cardassian Language out of my system. But could I seriously entertain the thought of writing Cardassian Language? I had trouble imagining that I could actually look people in the eye and say, "I'm writing a Star Trek novel." I may as well go around saying, "Hello, I'm writing unpublishable junk."

I asked my writing buddy Bronwyn Cair which one she would pick. "Definitely the Cardassian one," she said. "It will help us build connections for pitching our Star Trek screenplay to Paramount."

"But it's fanfiction," I objected.

"So?"

Photo: startrek.com
"So, fanfiction isn't quality fiction. It's not a real novel."

"Yours is." she countered. "So what if other people write junk? Show them how it's really done."

Now that I'm well into toiling through the second draft, I'm very glad I took her advice. I'm still not used to admitting I'm writing a Star Trek book, but most of the responses I get are actually very positive. And I'm pleased with how it's turning out.

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Fiction Writer Spotlight: Michael Lane

I'm delighted to say that Michael Lane, indie author of the thriller Behind the Ruins, has consented to an interview:


Jae: Why do you write fiction? What got you started and what do you think influenced you to take up fiction writing?

Michael: I wish I could remember who said this originally, but the gist was that writers write fiction to tell the truth and write nonfiction to lie. Which sounds mean and horrible but I think the underlying concept is that “great truths” – emotional, philosophic or cultural – are best tackled in fiction, where you can set up your morality play to best illustrate your point. In a weird way working as a journalist returned my interest to writing fiction, since I can examine concepts in fiction that can’t be touched in print or broadcast media. I got to do that in Behind the Ruins and really enjoyed it.

Jae: What are some of your favorite books?

Michael: Mervyn Peake’s Gormenghast novels, Glen Cook’s Black Company books, anything by Gene Wolfe, Leviathan by Paul Auster, Survivor by Chuck Palahniuk, McCarthy’s Blood Meridian, the first Gunslinger volume by Stephen King.

Jae: What's your career background, and do any of your work experiences show up in your writing?

Michael: I am a print journalist by training and work experience, which affects my grammar and word choice while writing. I tend to stay as lean and minimalistic as I can, avoid adverbs and minimize extraneous description or dialogue. Shorter is better.

Jae: Is Behind the Ruins your first novel?

Michael: It’s the first I finished. I can’t count the false starts, but that’s the norm for writers I’ve talked to. Making the mental commitment to finish is the tricky part. Writing is cake in comparison.

Jae: What's Behind the Ruins about?

Michael: It’s about a man trying to recover some sense of his humanity in an extremely violent post-apocalyptic world. I wanted to explore how violence as a tool can ensure your survival while emotionally and psychologically killing you. That the learning process is also a violent one hopefully makes people ask some more involved questions.

Jae: What setting did you choose for the story, and why?

Michael: It’s post-apocalyptic only because the desperate struggle for survival is integral to who the main character had become. It could have been set in the old west or the Crusades, I suppose, but that brings in some cultural, historical and genre baggage I wanted to avoid.

Jae: Do you think in concepts, pictures or words? If words, are they spoken or written?

Michael: When writing I think in both pictures and words. I tend to read (and write) in a spoken meter and try to “hear” the language. My early thinking on a story is almost pure imagery and visualization.

Jae: Tell me about your writing process.

Michael: I usually make a set of rough notes that are largely limited to character names and notes, a few brief notes on major locations and environments and that’s it. Then I write. I find that if I do a detailed outline I’ve told myself the story and won’t want to do it again in the initial draft. It sucks a lot of the life out for me. Behind the Ruins had a one-page character listing and a second sheet of location and technology notes. Those grew a bit over the course of writing the novel. When I’m writing, I religiously do 3,000 words a day.

Jae: How is the fiction process different from journalism?

Michael: It’s less deadline oriented, but it’s certainly similar in many ways. You have to get work done, get it done on a schedule, and it has to be clean, so speed and accuracy are both shared goals. The difference is the freedom to make your own story and tell the truth as you see it, rather than as four cited authorities see it.

Jae: What were your worst moments writing Behind the Ruins?

Michael: The first draft edit, which is the hairy one with major revisions, lots of language alteration and hair-pulling.

Jae: What were your best moments?

Michael: Finishing the first draft edit and realizing there was a good book in there despite all I’d done to it.

Jae: What important lessons have you learned as a writer that you'd like to pass on to others?

Michael: Set a daily word-count and meet it, even if you’re writing absolute garbage that day. If you do that, you’ll finish, and once it’s done there’s no passage so bad you can’t go back and fix it. Keep moving forward.

Jae: What's next for you? Is there another novel in the works?

Michael: There are. I have two started. One is a fantasy novel in its earliest stages, and likely the first of two or three in a series, while the other is a stand-alone thriller that’s about eighty pages in at the moment. I do want to revisit the world of Behind the Ruins, as well.


Sunday, January 20, 2013

Jibril

An excerpt from my novel Resist the Devil:


Photo: harrycutting.blogspot.com



I am of the mujihadeen.

My father was a traitor and now he abides in the fire where he belongs. I will not be like him.

I am of the faithful ones and my day will come. The unbelievers will be surprised, and I will secure my place in the Garden.






Photo: zawaj.com

My mother is a fool.

She listens to the lies of the unbelievers. 


But I am of the faithful ones and my day will come.

I will secure my place in the Garden, and my mother’s eyes will be opened and she will be saved from the fire.






I am Jibril: Mighty One of God.

My day has not yet come, but it will come.

Perhaps my preparation will take longer than I had thought, but it will come.

I will be diligent and study, and I will secure my place in the Garden, and save my mother from the fire. 


Photo: flickriver.com



My training has taken longer than I ever imagined.


I have studied, I have researched, I have developed discipline,
endurance, strength and skill.


My day draws near.

I am of the mujihadeen.




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Friday, January 18, 2013

Why I Write

Sometimes people ask me why I write. I'd make more money in an office job, they say. Or I could train to be a nurse or something.

"Jews are not served here"
Photo: blog.kvadrati.com
I try not to laugh because I know they mean well. I bet some of Shakespeare's friends tried to help the poor guy out with a lead for a blacksmith job.

But it's more than that. I write because a lot of my fellow-humans are regularly being harassed, oppressed, killed and even tortured. I write because it's us ordinary English-speaking Westerners who can stop these atrocities - but only if enough of us choose to do so. I write fiction because most English-speaking Westerners would rather be entertained than educate themselves.

Photo: imdb.com
One of my biggest heroes is Harriett Beecher Stowe.

In 2013, we quite rightly see 19th-century slavery as a terrible and very obvious evil that no decent person would tolerate. But in Stowe's world, 'decent' people ate slave-produced molasses and wore slave-produced cotton. And besides, she was just one ordinary woman, so what could she do?

What she did, of course, was write a novel, and her Uncle Tom's Cabin helped America see slavery for the evil it was "...in a way that political speeches, tracts and newspapers accounts could not." (HarriettBeecherStoweCenter.org)

Our issues are different now, but no less real. A quick look at the headlines makes me think that maybe I've got the most important job in the world. I know I wouldn't trade it for anything.



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Wednesday, January 16, 2013

The Cardassian Language

Fantasy writer B E L Forsythe recently posted this question on her Facebook page:


Thanks to Paramount
There seems to be a debate going on about whether creating a language for your stories is a waste of time...Do you agree...? Do you think making up a new language will hold you back from writing more books? (January 5, 2013)

My answer is a resounding "No." I think a good novel immerses the reader in the richness of its context, and language has to be part of that. You could write about a culture with no music, or a culture with no furniture, but try to write a whole novel with no language at all and you'll run into serious trouble. Even if the characters never speak, how do you describe their thoughts and emotions? Maybe they don't think in words, but your readers do, so it's your job to figure out how the characters think and translate those thoughts as faithfully as possible into English (or Chinese or Amharic, if you prefer). 

I was never comfortable with the idea of saying, "Oh yes, my aliens have never had any contact with Earth so of course they're speaking some other language, but I'm not going to worry about it." Studies show that even here where we all share a planet, language is a huge factor in shaping how we think. Lera Boroditsky, assistant professor of psychology, neuroscience and symbolic systems at Stanford University, gives this example:


Photo: australiangeographic.com.au
Follow me to Pormpuraaw, a small Aboriginal community on the western edge of Cape York, in northern Australia. I came here because of the way the locals, the Kuuk Thaayorre, talk about space. Instead of words like "right," "left," "forward," and "back," which, as commonly used in English, define space relative to an observer, the Kuuk Thaayorre, like many other Aboriginal groups, use cardinal-direction terms — north, south, east, and west — to define space. This is done at all scales, which means you have to say things like "There's an ant on your southeast leg" or "Move the cup to the north northwest a little bit." One obvious consequence of speaking such a language is that you have to stay oriented at all times, or else you cannot speak properly. The normal greeting in Kuuk Thaayorre is "Where are you going?" and the answer should be something like " Southsoutheast, in the middle distance." If you don't know which way you're facing, you can't even get past "Hello."
The result is a profound difference in navigational ability and spatial knowledge between speakers of languages that rely primarily on absolute reference frames (like Kuuk Thaayorre) and languages that rely on relative reference frames (like English). Simply put, speakers of languages like Kuuk Thaayorre are much better than English speakers at staying oriented and keeping track of where they are, even in unfamiliar landscapes or inside unfamiliar buildings. What enables them — in fact, forces them — to do this is their language. Having their attention trained in this way equips them to perform navigational feats once thought beyond human capabilities. Because space is such a fundamental domain of thought, differences in how people think about space don't end there. People rely on their spatial knowledge to build other, more complex, more abstract representations. Representations of such things as time, number, musical pitch, kinship relations, morality, and emotions have been shown to depend on how we think about space. So if the Kuuk Thaayorre think differently about space, do they also think differently about other things, like time? This is what my collaborator Alice Gaby and I came to Pormpuraaw to find out.
Photo: petdirectory.com.au
To test this idea, we gave people sets of pictures that showed some kind of temporal progression (e.g., pictures of a man aging, or a crocodile growing, or a banana being eaten). Their job was to arrange the shuffled photos on the ground to show the correct temporal order. We tested each person in two separate sittings, each time facing in a different cardinal direction. If you ask English speakers to do this, they'll arrange the cards so that time proceeds from left to right. Hebrew speakers will tend to lay out the cards from right to left, showing that writing direction in a language plays a role. So what about folks like the Kuuk Thaayorre, who don't use words like "left" and "right"? What will they do?
The Kuuk Thaayorre did not arrange the cards more often from left to right than from right to left, nor more toward or away from the body. But their arrangements were not random: there was a pattern, just a different one from that of English speakers. Instead of arranging time from left to right, they arranged it from east to west. That is, when they were seated facing south, the cards went left to right. When they faced north, the cards went from right to left. When they faced east, the cards came toward the body and so on. This was true even though we never told any of our subjects which direction they faced. The Kuuk Thaayorre not only knew that already (usually much better than I did), but they also spontaneously used this spatial orientation to construct their representations of time. 
("How Does Our Language Shape the Way We Think?" at Edge.org)

When I read B E L Forsythe's question, I couldn't help but think how much thinner and cheaper Star Trek would feel without its Klingon and Cardassian languages. Of course I would: my main character's a linguist who copes with being thrown into a hostile alien society by analyzing their language, which happens to be Cardassian.
Photo: trekbbs.com

When I started doing the research for this book I was surprised how much work has been done already to develop the Cardassian language. And don't make the mistake of thinking it's silly or arbitrary just because it's fictional. Like Klingon, Cardassian is an ideal expression of its culture, set on solid linguistic ground.

Sure, studying Cardassian and working it into my novel means it's taking about five times as long to write, but it's more than worth it. I don't think there's any other way to really see Cardassian culture, and more importantly, to see our own culture through its lens.




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Tuesday, January 15, 2013

Book Review: Kisses of an Enemy

I think an author's website should be a one-stop shop where readers can access all the relevant material out there that's by or about the author. I'm not nearly there yet, but here's one more piece: my 2011 review of Kisses of an Enemy by Ray Flynt:


Dave O'Brien's career was already going great when a rainstorm out west put a big promotion within his grasp--or at least he thought so until he learned that his intern was being held hostage and one wrong move could cost her life.
Kisses of an Enemy has a clear, engaging writing style, believable characters I can relate to, and plot and pacing that kept me turning the page (and holding my breath). If you like Tom Clancy, you should read Ray Flynt.


Friday, December 7, 2012

An Analysis of the Cardassian Language

If you've been following me a while, you know I'm writing a novel called An Analysis of the Cardassian Language. It was born last month during NaNoWriMo, and I'm posting chapters above as they become intelligible. (At least I think so. If you find unintelligible chapters up there, please let me know.)

So you're walking down the street one day and the next thing you know, you're lying on the floor someplace where you don't belong and you're not welcome, but you're not allowed to leave. Turns out it's a military installation, and it's not even our military. They slap a pair of handcuffs on you and ask what you're doing there, but of course that's exactly what you'd like to know.

That's what happens to Faine Channing in Cardassian Language. She's in Chicago about to go home to her kids, and then she wakes up on a space station. Fans of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine will be interested to know that the station is Terok Nor, or Deep Space Nine when it was still being run by the Cardassians. Of course, we're at war with the Cardassians, which doesn't make life any easier for Faine.

NaNoWriMo is pretty intense, and like many wrimos I took a week off from writing after it ended on November 30th. Meanwhile I gave Faine her own Facebook page and started having a little fun with pictures. Today I plan to jump back into the text. Be on the lookout for more tabs above.



Saturday, December 1, 2012

Noveling November

Now that NaNoWriMo is over, it's time to confess: I had two books going in November. Yup, it was a crazy month of writing full-tilt on both of them. One was my NaNoWriMo novel An Analysis of the Cardassian Language, and the other was real life.



Maybe it's Murphy's Law or something, but I don't know why the universe had to pick November to throw all these insane situations at me. Still, November is much better than some time in the winter. And it was a warm November, too, and it didn't even snow to speak of. I can't tell you much about it because while I'm pretty open about my own life, I don't blog about the lives of my family and friends. But if I were to write down everything that happened, just in November, with enough backstory to let it make any sense, it would be a book. And it would be a page-turner, too.

Writing my NaNoWriMo novel was a lot of fun, when I could get to it. I did manage to win (write 50,000 words in 30 days) but came far short of the 75,000 words of well-organized plot and well-written prose that I had hoped for. Still, considering how active King Murphy was, I feel good about it. What I do have, at 51,000 words, is a good start.

You can read a few chapters by clicking the links at the top of this page.

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

Audio Fiction

I had the privilege to be a guest today on a Christian women's organization's podcast.

Yesterday I got a message on Facebook from the founder of Maryland Women of Worship. I wrote a couple of short articles for them in 2008, and we've been in touch ever since. Tomorrow's guest on their podcast The Ellie Show had to reschedule, she said, and would I like to fill the slot? Of course I said yes, I'd be honored. And it turned out that I got to be on the very first episode of The Ellie Show.

Ellie gave me a very nice introduction, both in the podcast and on MWOW's blog, and I read portions of my novel Resist the Devil.

Listen to the Episode.


While The Ellie Show is brand new, Ellie herself is not new to online broadcasting. She also hosts The Gospel Music News & Video Showcase.