writing updates, 3/31/2011

It never ceases to amaze me how magazine editors always seem to know exactly what I'm thinking.

Seriously, they've got me pegged. It happens every time. I'll wonder aloud in an offhand way "How easy would it be to transition from a fixed-wing aircraft to flying a helicopter?"

And lo and behold, the April issue of AOPA Pilot magazine runs an article (part of their Pilot Challenges series) about a lifelong airplane pilot trying her hand at helicopters for the first time.

Shazam! My question's answered. This isn't the first time the AOPA has done this to me, either. A while back I wondered what it might be like to fly VLJs (very light jets) solo from the left seat, and they up and came out with an article about a fellow who owns his own Cessna Citation Mustang and does just that. And as if that wasn't amazing enough, the man's a published novelist as well!

Or take the April editions of Science Illustrated and Popular Science. I picked 'em up on a whim at Barnes & Noble a few weeks back. One of three scenarios in corporate publishing politics is playing itself out here. Either (a) these competing magazines monitor each other's work like a bug under a microscope, and arrange matters so that articles with extremely similar subject material are published simultaneously, or (b) both publications maintain research teams comprised of assiduous, straight-shooting go-getters whom of their own accord, respectively, come up with timely stories which just happen to cover the same topic; or (c) the editors-in-chief of both publications have a direct line to my brain via crystal ball or magic mirror, see what I'm mulling over in preparation for my next crack at being a science fiction writer, and delegate their writers accordingly:

"Quick, Hawkins! He's wondering about humanity, the future, and the possible mass-migration of civilization to new stars and new worlds aboard massive space-worthy floating arks!"

"Get moving, Jansen, Sadie, Leroy. He needs more info on giant starships, interstellar travel, space station environments, self-contained ecosystems and possible planetary destinations. Like, yesterday. Scram!"

My money's on option (c). 

Who'd a' thunk it? This month both magazines featured front-page articles pertaining to interstellar travel. And I mean real interstellar travel, not glitzy Hollywood Battlestar Galactica interstellar travel. Feasible, like. None of this high-flown hyperspace crap. Just the nitty-gritty: ships powered by black holes. A solar sail miles wide, capable of propelling a spacecraft at a fraction of the speed of light. A cone-shaped vehicle, which gathers and manufactures its own fuel from stardust as it zooms through the void. Star cruisers the size of continents, designed to hold a million human beings, and enough livestock, greenhouses, water recycling plants, air scrubbers, public parks, recreation halls, virtual-reality discotheques and whatnot to keep all of us from going hungry, thirsty, or batshit crazy. Lasers. Antimatter. Nuclear warheads. Hell, one article even talked about how our physical bodies might not even need to make the trip; eventually we might develop the capability to simply send our consciousness across billions of light-years instantaneously, downloading it into another body upon arrival.

Sounds amazing, doesn't it? And disturbingly god-like. Speaking for myself, I think it's a neat idea. But I kind of like to keep my body with me wherever I travel. I might need bits of it once I reach my destination, if you know what I mean. This whole sending-your-mind-into-space idea reminds me of a couple of rather unsettling stories by H.P. Lovecraft ("The Whisperer in Darkness" and "The Shadow Out of Time"; both involve aliens hijacking people's minds and transporting them across the space-time continuum).

(Ahem) Anyway, to cut a long story short, all of this stuff really helped me out with my writing.

I, ladies and gents, have completed my first science fiction novella.

If, going by the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America standard, a novella is indeed between 17,500 and 40,000 words in length (less being a novelette and more a full-bore novel)...

Then I have written a novella.

That story I've been slaving away at, off-and-on, for something like four months—"Aptitude" I think I called it—is finally finished. I've got to edit it and clean it up some, of course, but the draft is complete. Rough tally is 21,300 words.

Ain't that the cat's pajamas?

I mean, yeah, okay, sure. I wrote a novel before this. It's about 51,000 words. A short novel, yes, but a novel. ("Only one, but a lion," as Aesop wrote.) I'd hesitate to call it a novel, though. It sucks canal water. I've been informed by semi-competent authorities that my characters lack depth, the first act is flat and dry and dull, and my description could use stand a lot more pizazz. (Huzzah, I finally get to use the word "pizazz" in a blog post...about dang time!) 

Something just feels right about this story. It has a plot. It's dynamic. It flows. The characters sparkle and sizzle and flash. The dialog is punchy. The setting is described in intimate detail. The conflict is multifarious and mind-bending. All of it just sort of weaves together. "Aptitude" is an amalgamation of coming-of-age story and high-speed mystery thriller (set in outer space). And unlike this damn novel, I like the way this story turned out. It feels whole. Complete. Well-rounded. Unpolished, but fully shaped. It has that "I'm-done-all-you-need-to-do-is-take-off-the-rough-edges-and-BOOM-I'll-be-a-twenty-carat-diamond" feel to it.

So I'm immensely encouraged and excited by the vibe I'm getting off this story, both during and after its creation. I'll keep you posted on how the submission process goes. In the meantime, it's time for me to polish up some other stories I've got waiting on hold, both on paper and in my brain. I'll keep you posted on that, too. I might even get back into editing the novel sometime soon. I'm confident that I'll fix it eventually. If I have enough whiskey on hand, that is.

And as for my stated goal of publishing three nonfiction travel articles by July? Nuh-uh. Not going to happen. I'm going to try, but I might have to push the deadline back a bit. Then again, word's come down from the higher-ups that we might have the entire month of April off from work. With all that downtime something's sure to happen on the writing front. I should hope I could be productive if I'm grounded for four weeks. 

Stay tuned...

P.S. Here's the link to the PopSci feature on how we might depart our planet. (I don't like the tone of this article too much; it accuses the human race of being a "risk to the planet." Nonetheless it's entertaining and mind-blowing enough to hold my interest.) I tried to get a link for the Science Illustrated article, too, but it seems they are rather like yours truly: too old-fashioned and stubborn to put their stuff up online. You can only find it in print. Check your local bookstore. Oh, and if you're curious about the artwork, that's a computer-generated image from the well-known and celebrated sci-fi novel The War of the Worlds by H.G. Wells, obtained from Wallpaperbase.com. It depicts a highly underrated scene that, to my knowledge, has never made it into a cinematic adaptation of the book: the ironclad torpedo ram Thunder Child, under full steam, attacks three Martian tripods to cover the escape of another vessel laden with English refugees, off the mouth of the River Blackwater in Essex. Though heavily damaged by the Martians' Heat-Ray, she successfully rams one tripod and destroys it. The Thunder Child then turns toward a second tripod. Burning from stem to stern and close to sinking, the valiant ship charges the enemy with all flags flying and guns blazing. The second tripod's Heat-Ray obliterates the torpedo ram, detonating her boilers and ammunition magazines, but the flaming wreckage plows onward and crushes the Martian. The civilians aboard the paddle-wheel steamer are able to escape unharmed.

This is the first time in The War of the Worlds that a human artifact is able to compete with the Martians and come anywhere close to victory. Despite the loss of the ship and all hands aboard, the Thunder Child's sacrifice proves a tremendous boost to human morale, which the Martians have nearly stamped out of existence.

Now tell me that ain't good science fiction. Just try.