Venn Diagrams

I don't look forward to the day physicists figure out what dark energy is. Right now it's this "We know it's there, but we don't know what it is" thing, so writers can make it whatever they want and only "You can't do that with science" assholes will get upset. This must be like how it was when they had measurements proving microwaves existed but had no way to detect microwaves. Work progressed and we became able to measure them, but there was that gray area in between. I like playing around with dark energy because it's like a connect-the-dots drawing without any instructions telling you which dots connect to which.

I also like Venn diagrams. I can't really explain that one so much. Who doesn't like Venn diagrams? It gets a capital V and two Ns and that's just fun. Plus you can shade the overlapping areas in different ways. Different colors, combined colors, hatching, cross-hatching, who knows! Go crazy!

Then yesterday, looking at the platypus/keytar Venn diagram that pops up on Faceboom every now and again, I started thinking about dark energy. Because those things clearly go together. It's not the first time I've imagined dark energy being the energy of the infinite multiverse, the layers upon layers that are so close together as to appear singular but so far apart as to accommodate all the influential choices that a person might make. This time, I started imagining it visually rather than mathematically. If the universe is flat (which it is) and we looked at it as a horizontal plane and then zoomed WAY in so that all these levels of dark energy multiverses could be visible as parallel lines to our universe rather than a singular line, you would be able to see the gray haze of energy that connects them all.

The space between universes is effectively a Venn diagram, a mingled space of energy that can be colored or shaded or cross-hatched or whatever you want. And now imagine if things occasionally passed through that Venn diagram, slipping from one universe where it belonged to one universe where it didn't. It's a common thread in sci-fi (SyFy?) TV shows where you have an agency or secret organization that deals with the fantastical that doesn't belong.

But imagine if science had successfully measured and quantified the different universes (or at least some of them) and you had specialists dedicated to the oddities of each one. The government/secret organization has a building and each floor of that building is dedicated to a different universe. The secret isn't just keeping the truth from the public (X-files style), but keeping the truth from yourselves. The 6th floor doesn't fraternize with the 7th floor because the one deals with ghosts and the other deals with aliens. What happens when you go on a blind date only to discover the person you're with works on a different floor? What happens when you discover an outbreak from two floors at once? What happens when you discover a new universe that warrants a new floor?

This is as far as I got in the ruminating department, but it feels like it could be fun. I will explore it more in the future.

I Dreamed a Dream

I've been watching a lot of old episodes of A Show with Ze Frank on YouTube. As part of the show, an artist animates dreams submitted by viewers. Their experiences are SO different than how I dream. I dream stories like I'm watching a movie or sometimes living as one of the characters but always as part of a narrative arc.

Yesterday's dream involved a homicide detective investigating a series of infant deaths. Rather than a serial killer, it turns out to be part of a human trafficking ring. Apparently the adults had fled but those sending the abducted babies did not know, so they kept shipping them to the location. A young child lived there and she feed the babies the way she feed her stuffed dinosaur, with small candies that went down a hole in its mouth. The infants weren't murdered. They were starving to death.

Then my wife woke me up.

First Paragraph for One of the Good Days

I've been bumbling around a concept for a few weeks and while I was watching "Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries" (which you should totally watch, because it's awesome), a few lines popped into my head and I figured I should write them down before I go to bed. So here they are:

Victoria wasn't always like this. Once upon a time, she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. That's one of the problems with living so long, things don't last. They age. They whither. They get dirty. And the pricks at city hall throw you a rag and tell you to clean things up, but the rag they gave you is just as dirty. Victoria was the love of my life, but this city's gone to shit, and I don't think I can love her like I used to.

A Notion while Watching "Little Women"

Louisa Walker named her daughter Beth after Beth March of Little Women. Louisa May Alcott was her namesake and Beth the character that inspired her to play the piano, so it seemed only fitting that she should name her eldest after the character that meant so much to her. If only she knew the influence of names as much as she did the influence of books. Beth Walker proved much the same as her namesake, Beth March, both in musical talent and in health.

Click, Click, Snap!

So at any given time, I have a number of stories forming in my brain and existing at different stages of doneness. The most immediate story is the one I'm querying at the moment. After that is the one I'm actively writing. Third comes the one in the "hopper," the one that shows the most potential to be written and completed after my current story is finished. The story in my hopper right now is titled SAVASANA (CORPSE POSE). I really like the idea of it, but I struggle at how it will differentiate itself from my other stories. And then, today, while I was at Old Sturbridge Village, I realized a mistake I had been making. Changing that mistake caused a number of other pieces to fall into place, and while I'm standing outside the Townes' house, the first paragraph pops into my head.

I was told that the smell of old books was pleasing. Tanned leather mixed with iron gall to offer an olfactory testament to the passage of time. Due to the unfortunate circumstances of my birth, I had no sense of smell. Even so, the books of the Sofia athenaeum were something to behold. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, laden with vellum, parchment, and leather-bound tomes. Tables stretched the length of the room to sit twenty. Desks filled alcoves, large enough only for one. Boys lurked in the shadows, jumping at a raised hand to appear with fresh pens or a cross-referenced volume. Girls floated on cotton slippers, armed with rags and feather dusters. Wherever we men of learning abandoned a room, they came to erase the memory of our passing.

I love that moment when things just fall into place. I have a much greater sense of the setting and how the characters are going to interact within it. This'll be an interesting one when the time comes.

John Leguizamo's Ghetto Klown

I just finished watching John Leguizamo's HBO special, Ghetto Klown. It's pretty awesome, especially if you like auto-biographies. What I liked most was his characterization of his father. Well, I liked a lot of it, but what I found most inspiration from a creative sense was his characterization of his grandfather. A Colombian communist who continues to prepare for the revolution through his elderly years. He's not actually being a communist revolutionary. He's just living in Queens, but that's always his agenda. He has to get ready.

And I LOVED it! I want that character in a story. I want a character who is wholly committed to a revolution that is never going to come, but is harmless enough that everyone lets him continue to be what he is. I want the old man who doesn't have time for the main character's shenanigans. He has to get ready for the revolution!

And then, five books in when the series is about to come to an end, everything that's been built up and won and accomplished by all the characters you've come to love will get wiped off the map when the revolution comes and the old guy was right the entire time. Because I'm an asshole like that. ;)

Wind Sprint: Serenity

I tell Liz Poole all the time that I'm never going to write Urban Fantasy. But an opening line while I was driving from physical therapy gave me an idea for a character that turned an espionage thriller plot I had been ruminating on into a genuine urban fantasy.

The original espionage was inspired by a crazy lady I passed in the subway one day. She stood near a street musician, one whose music I really enjoy. He's a junky that plays a mean harmonica with a bean can shaker. He makes some great blues music. She was screaming, "SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Except she wasn't screaming at the musician. She had her back to him and was shouting at the escalator. I wanted to know what she was seeing. And wouldn't it be interesting if something was actually there?

Combine with that a separate experience where a less talented musician was there not actually playing at the time I passed. Someone threw money in her hat and she handed the person a folded piece of paper. Now, most likely, the paper was folded around drugs. But what if it wasn't? What if the musician was a CIA operative passing information to another operative? How cool would that be?

Mix those two together. What if the CIA isn't just your normal espionage spooks? What if it's a supernatural agency? Who can infiltrate better than a changling that can change his/her features? (Reminds me a little of Gail Carriger's work and some other urban fantasy I've touched on but can't remember at the moment. Lurker, ring a bell with you?) A small government program attempting to track the tidal wave of immigrants moving to America at the end of the 19th century (tracking Irish and similar "blights" on the country), discover supernatural beings living among us. The Cenosapian Identification Agency is formed to identify how pervasive the infestation is and to determine whether they're a biproduct of the Irish or something else entirely.

Fast forward a few decades when the government begins to fight the red menace and all of a sudden supernaturals are necessary to fight back communism. Stalin and Hitler both had their own cenosapian programs and if we give the reds the advantage, it'll spell the end of democracy for the world! Fast forward a few decades more and now the wall has fallen and post-War colonialism is winding to a close. Espionage isn't that useful with only one remaining super power. [Avoid all your overdone plots and think of something cool to go here.]

Now all you need is a main character. And that's today's idea, Serenity.

"My parents didn't name me Serenity because they were Buddhists or existentialists or anything like that. They were nerds. Big, cosplaying nerds, and they named me after a spaceship. Thanks mom. Thanks dad. Why couldn't you be hippies? Make love not war. Smoke weed. Wear hemp. If we had spent my childhood getting high and eating brownies rather than rolling for initiative, maybe I wouldn't be in this mess.

I rolled a three, by the way. Maybe that's the problem too."


(That last part might riff too close to GEEKOMANCY, but the point of a wind sprint isn't to show off a new idea, but to fastball pitch an idea against the wall and see what kind of Rorschach shapes come out of it.)

I'll puzzle around with this more after I'm done with my next draft of FAMILY JEWELS.

Sooper Groops!

Supers fiction is perhaps the smallest niche of sf/f. Supers can be fun or it can be incredibly cliche (if you grew up reading comics--which if you're interested in supers fiction is a good bet). I tend to think of supers creatively as graphic novels for that same background of comics reading. I can't think of a supers novel I've read, but I still collect Atomic Robo regularly through Comixology.

This morning I was riding the subway on my way into work. I like to see how people read on the train. Person to the left of me was using a tablet-type e-reader (backlit screen). I was using an e-ink eReader. And the guy to my right was reading a paper book. He was reading Arabian Nights, a book that's good in snippets but I found boring when trying to read all the way through at once.

The thing is, when I was young, I always wanted to have a super hero or a team of super heroes called the Arabian Knights. And that got me going this morning. A United Nations style organization that fields super teams from all over the world.

Canada - Heroes, eh? (via Nate Wilson)
Germany - Die Übermenschen (via Nate Wilson)
Greece - The Furies
India - The Arms of Shiva (via Nate Wilson)
Russia - Politburo
UAE - Arabian Knights
UK - Her Majesty's Royal Champions (via Nate Wilson)
USA - Damage, Inc.


What groups would you create?

Musings and Other Thoughts

My wife and I have resumed our Christmas tradition (after a year off due to the economy) of spending a few days up in the White Mountains at a bed and breakfast. Nearby is one of New Hampshire's historical covered bridges. They're historical because these things are over two hundred years old. And I drive my car over them. Yup, that's right, Henry Clay and I have traveled over the same covered bridge (and shame on you if you're an American and don't know who Henry Clay is; history->repeating and all that ;)).

There are covered bridges in other states, but they don't interest me as much. There's something about the aged Appalachians, not so high as the Rockies but higher still than your normal hills and over a minor gorge is a covered bridge, wood cut and laid down centuries before, still viable today. And why is that? Because it's covered. I swear to god, that's the actual reason. It's not some marvel of engineering (well it is, but it's not like the guy was a time traveler or something). They covered the bridge and the planks were protected from the environment and thus have endured. That is awesome.

That is so awesome that I want to write a portal story where a covered bridge is a gateway to the past. I know portal stories are cliche, but I don't care. I love covered bridges.

While on this vacation, my wife read a book that's being turned into what looks like a cheesy movie. She insists I'll like it, but what she describes to me, it sounds kind of cliche. High schoolers acting like high schoolers, evil casters acting like evil casters, Southerners acting like Southerners. Nothing really challenges role expectations. Still, she insists I'll like it. I'll put it at the bottom of my to read pile so I can forget about it.

She did say something that piqued my imagination. She mentions how the Southern bitties don't like the Daughters of the Revolution.

Light bulb!

You always get stories about popular groups with global Machiavellian schemes. Masons, templars, illuminati, etc. What if all those organizations warred and defeated each other and now least organizations battle each other. Daughters of the Revolution versus the Sons of the Confederacy. Knights of Columbus versus the Elks versus the Rotary. What kind of plots would these organizations advance and who would be the unlucky bastard to get stuck between them?

Hell, Flip it on its Ear

I'm reading Tad Williams' DIRTY STREETS OF HEAVEN. Not only is this the latest novel from one of my favorite authors, it is officially the first novel I've ever paid more than $9.99 for, without some kind of asterisk attached¹.

Williams does a wonderful job building out a recognizable Judeo-Christian angelic hierarchy without necessarily committing to Judeo-Christion affirmation². Watching the bureaucracy and power games played out by Heaven and Hell not only against each other but also against their own foot soldiers adds a lot of layers to the book. I wonder how much research Williams did ahead of time and how much is just pure imagination woven together by an expert author.

There is one thing that's nagging at me, though. For all the questions put forth of how this works or that works, what do they do and why do they do it, one underpinning facet of our real life mythology is the understanding of God and the fall of Lucifer and those cast out of heaven that populated hell. That's a very Christian bit of religious mythology and one that isn't questioned in the book at all.

In fact, anyone writing angel stories (and they've exploded the last few years--so much so that I've abandoned my own fledgling idea for an angel story) seems to keep this one line consistent. God created the angels, Lucifer rebelled, there was a war among the angels, and the rebels lost. They were cast down into perdition to burn for all eternity.

But here is this book with all these wheels within wheels and political maneuvering and propaganda. Wouldn't it be interesting if Lucifer hadn't rebelled at all? If the Christian mythos of the fallen angels was all propaganda by the true victors?

There were five archangels: Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, Uriel, and Lucifer. Lucifer was the proudest of the lot and thought himself equal to God³, so he rose up. But what if that's not true. What if he was the only one faithful. What if the archangels conspired against their creator and Lucifer was the scapegoat. The angels rose up, God was cast out of heaven and imprisoned in a shadowy/fiery pit (depending on your leaning toward the Judeo or the -Christian). The four archangels then spun their propaganda to the various choirs and armies and angels and the story spread. You might have the whole hierarchy of heaven operating on the perverted instructions of a long-absent deity.

And you might have that scapegoat spending the rest of his immortality dealing with the repercussions of everyone thinking him a monster and a traitor all the while he remains faithful and trying to free God from his prison.

I don't know what dealings he would have on earth to accomplish this goal, but that's where the story would likely take place, at least in part. And his name would be Luc. If I ever come up with the larger details of this plot, I will make it into a story.



¹ I paid more for A DANCE WITH DRAGONS, but I split the cost with my wife, so really it only cost me $7. I paid more for THE MAGICIANS AND MRS. QUENT, but I used a gift card so really it only cost me $2. And I paid more for HitRecord.org's TINY BOOK OF TINY STORIES, VOL. 2, but that's an enhanced eBook and if a book comes with videos, I'm cool with breaking my ten-dollar limit.

² The main character at one point makes the astute observation that perhaps their understanding of heaven is only framed in a context that they understand from their experiences as mortals⁴ and that if they had been Hindu in life, they wouldn't have been given such Judeo-Christian terminology. That was interesting. I'd like to see that explored further.

³ A number of stories change his motivations to him feeling sorry for the lot humans were given or some other reason for breaking his fidelity to the highest, but originally it was just a matter of pride. One of the seven deadly sins.

⁴ I know the author gets to make the rules, but given the various shootings lately and the frequent use of the word angel, the pedant in me feels obligated to point out that angels are separate beings from humans all together and no one alive, according to current religious mythology can ascend to become an angel. That's like a dog aspiring to become a cat after it dies. Sainthood is the highest reaches for a human. Angels are something different. That's why Alan Rickman doesn't have a dick in "Dogma".

The Invisible Friend

This might work better as a short story than a novel, but it's an intriguing idea I want to write down before I forget. I was watching a record on Hit Record (or perhaps it was this one) and started to think about Peter Pan's shadow. It's not often you see a shadow articulated away from its person unless it's actually a shade, an apparition or some kind of specter. You never see a shadow as a shadow with nothing about its nature more sinister than a person whose very nature is bound to the person who casts it.

This got me thinking on various scenarios. The one I found most intriguing was one where a boy is lonely, and he creates an imaginary friend. But he's too old for imaginary friends. He needs something more tangible but there is nothing. Nothing but his shadow. He can play ball with his shadow (assuming he throws the ball against the wall), he can put on plays with his shadow, tell stories at night, and never be alone.

In fact, his shadow is so real that he discovers it is real. There is a person inside his shadow, one just as lonely, one just as desperate to leave his world behind. And so he does. He takes the boy's body and gives him his.

In the end, when the two are righted, the boy hasn't gained some newfound appreciation. For what he had. He's heartbroken, because in the end, his only friend in the world abandoned him as well. He really is all alone.

(Sorry for any typos. I wrote this on an iPad two-handed, and the autocorrect can get a little aggressive.)

Magic Through Tragedy

My wife and I watched the movie From Time to Time last night. The blurb sounded interesting enough, a boy returning to his ancestral English manor finds he slips back and forth between his current time and the past, deciphering the secrets of the ghosts that still live there. I didn't realize until it started that it was set during World War II. The opening scene sees the young main character sitting on a bench at a train station, waiting to be picked up. This struck me as powerfully similar to THE LION, THE WITCH, AND THE WARDROBE as well as other English WWII-set stories like Bedknobs and Broomsticks and what have you.

Magic feels right when set in this period. It was a time of loss and upheaval, trial and depredation. It was a time when imagination was the only thing that could alleviate the tragedy. And that got me thinking.

What if magic is real but it's not limited by the normal tropes like technology or the loss of youthful innocence. What if magic is dependent on tragedy? Wherever you find pain and suffering, magic may manifest itself and the worse the suffering the more powerful the magic. An abusive father terrorizing his family? The mouse in the wall can talk. A deranged warlord causing a world war? The wardrobe leads to another plane of reality.

So we see these old tales of Euro-centric magic and think it folklore of years gone by. But what if the modernization and general improvement of life there means magic disappears? What if you'll find your new magical stories in Sudan or Afghanistan or Myanmar?

Making Your Candle

I was reading the sample of Melinda Lo's ASH and she wrote something that struck me as odd. The main character's mom is dead and her father lights a candle that burns for three days. Now candles aren't made to last that long, and that got me thinking. What if creating one's own funeral candle was a culture's death ritual.

What you use for wax and wick have meaning. What you include to melt in (or out of) the wax has symbolism, etc. Each life millstone and personal accomplishment add to the candle, thus a person's life can be measured by their candle.