I know it's been a while since I last used this process for storytelling, so just a reminder, the StoryMaker is a way to create random story ideas using random numbers to determine setting and theme. I first posted about it on this blog here: http://themissingdwarvenphaser.blogspot.com/2014/03/the-storymaker-simple-version.html.
This is another experiment using the StoryMaker. However, this one actually came out of random brainstorming, and I decided to create a real story out of it several days later. In addition, this one ended up being too long a concept to use for one writing exercise. If people are interested, I'll continue the story in later posts. By the way, the StoryMaker roll I used to create this story is listed at the bottom, after the story itself to avoid spoilers.
Avuwav would always remember the day when it all started, not that she ever forgot any other day. November 16th, 2546 by the old calendar. She was in higher education, spending her days in the old facilities and her nights at home, in a dome a good thirty miles from any of the old settlements. The commute wasn't a problem (not via 1,300 mph hypertube, at least,) but few students bothered to even visit the facility. There wasn't any need for it, after all. Any classwork could just be done online in the comfort of home, and besides, the old facility was creepy. Just standing around, studying five-dimensional math or interstellar transportation theory where people once lived and died? Why expose yourself to that emotional paradox?
But Avuwav didn't mind. She was a bit of a traditionalist, who preferred making friends and seeing her professors in person. Besides, she reasoned, what was the point of learning history if you were only going to do it based on theory and holographic projections? If you were going to learn about the past, you should be willing to confront it, get the emotional scale of what it meant, figuratively live in it. Whatever, she thought to herself. At least she wasn't as bad as her history obsessed weirdo friend Qehoxa.
However, on the night of the first incident, all of her justifications vanished away. Night had already fallen when she made her way to the hypertube that would take her home. But she wouldn't get there that night. Just as she made her way into the last hallway out of the ruins of the past, the doors sealed themselves. She stopped, more irritated than worried. A simple malfunction, she assumed, though she couldn't remember the last time she experienced. But then the lights in the hallway started flickering, leaving her in total darkness every few seconds. This shouldn't happen, she realized. More than that, it couldn't. Nothing had been built so haphazardly in centuries.
And then she heard the voice. “Get out,” it whispered, inches away from her, though she could see nothing. A faulty com system? Impossible. That would have resonated all around her from the exact direction of the speakers. But as she stood alone in that dark hallway, surrounded by impossible things, a horrible thought struck her. What if this wasn't some faulty facility equipment? What if the only thing malfunctioning was … her? Only way to be certain. She shut down all external sensor equipment, leaving her in the comforting embrace of pure data. She ran her internal self-diagnostics a dozen times, but every time, she came up clean. A little bad memory here and there, but nobody was perfect. Nothing that would explain such irrational sensory experiences. At any rate, when she returned to the external world, all the strange phenomenon. Even so, rational or not, she didn't hesitate a moment to get the hell out of there.
“What do you think happened, Qehoxa?” Avuwav later asked her friend. As soon as she got out of the hallway, she called her friend. He would be the only one likely to believe her, at least without a mandatory outside full diagnostic. Plus, she figured he would still be at the facility. He practially never leaves. He caught up her with her in the old library, one still containing real books, albeit only reprints of originals sealed in airtight containers who knows where. Qehoxa was flipping through those books now; a mostly pointless endeavor, since he had them all memorized ages ago, but he figured something would catch his optics.
“I have several theories,” he replied. “But most people would call them … well, the humn word was insane.”
Avuwav, who had been wasting countless units of energy by pacing back and forth behind him, was half-convinced that she was already insane, self-diagnostics be damned, but she wasn't about to let him believe that. She waved a hand to demonstrate indifference. “At this point, I'll listen to whatever you have.”
“Well, you know how I took all those Ancient Human Mythology classes?”
“You and about five other students,” she replied, her optics gyrating. “But go ahead.”
“The humans had several myths about this sort of thing. It went by many names: Poltergeist, specter, haunt, wraith, etc. Most commonly, though, it would be called a 'ghost.' Supposedly, a being that dies and paradoxically continues existing, contrary to any law of science. Such beings normally were born out of some sort of emotional trauma, like an unfulfilled goal in life or an especially horrific death.”
“Even if I believed the theory,” Avuwav said, “How would that make sense? Nothing dies. Not anymore, and certainly not here.”
That wasn't 100% true, of course. Simple bacteria and cells sometimes began and end their life cycles in this facility, and the rare insect managed to get inside and die to starvation or accident soon afterwards. But real people didn't die anymore. Avuwav would never get old, never have to contemplate a universe without her. Parts may wear out in time, but they could be easily replaced. Even a particularly catastrophic body failure would just result in her hard memory transferring to a digital storage facility, where it would wait for a day or two until a new body could be made from scratch. She never heard of an android ever truly dying, not in the centuries since the first one had been built.
“Ah, but think back even farther,” Qehoxa offered. “If the death of one person could be so traumatic as to defy physics itself, how much worse would the death of an entire species be? Just imagine what it would be like for your entire kind to go extinct? Sure, most humans just stopped having children when we came along, but some didn't go gently into that good night. There were wars, plagues, biological disasters.”
Avuwav shook her head. “Even if we would be dealing with the ghosts of humanity, why now? Why start … hinting?
“Haunting.”
“Haunting us after hundreds of years?”
Qehoxa shrugged. “Maybe the didn't realize we were something you could haunt. Outside of the last few generations, imagine what we must look like to them. We were thought of as things, once, tools at best. No ghost is going to bother haunting a toaster. But maybe the ghosts finally got wise that we're not just toys spinning their wheels in the ruins of their home. We're they're replacements, and it, to use the human term, pisses them off.”
Avuwav was about to finally order Qehoxa to dismiss this silly idea and get back to real explanations. But then the lights went off, and all the doors in the room, which were still the wooden analog variety, slammed shut.
“Qehoxa,” Avuwav whispered to her friend. “I have good news. I don't entirely think you're crazy anymore.”
“I have good news for you too,” he murmured. “You're definitely not malfunctioning. Not yet, anyway.”
Before they could speak further, the felt something rising up below them. A liquid pooled up and started to flood the room. Avuwav analyzed it and found herself lacking. “What is this?” she asked. “It's not water, too thick. Some sort of polycompound?”
Qehoxa groaned. “Honestly, you skipped Organic Biology as well? It's blood. Part of the human circulatory system, designed to get vital nutrients to tissue and regulated by an organ known as the heart.”
Avuwav started to root through the rising flood. “Well, help me find the heart, then, so we can stop this. What does it look like?”
“I don't think there IS one,” Qehoxa said, suddenly afraid.
“But that makes no sense,” Avuwav said. “You just said that blood is a product of a system that includes the heart. It would logically have to be here.”
“It would. But it isn't.”
The very idea froze Avuwav in fear. If her body had any reason to react to cold weather, it would have shuddered. And if she wasn't terrified already, the spectral disconnected pivot and load system (Qehoxa would later explain to her that it was a “skeleton”) that appeared right in front of her and laughed in her face would have done it.”
Avuwav quietly asked, “What do they WANT from us?”
Qehoxa looked around nervously. “Ghosts are frequently very hostile. They might want to drown us or scare us to death.”
“You want to get out of her before they figure out that's impossible and try something worse?”
“I thought you'd never ask.” Qehoxa charged out of the room, easily shattering the antique door as he went, and the two androids broke into a sprint. Not even bothering with the hypertube system, they simply bolted out of the facility and into the empty wastelands beyond the ancient city.
“What are we going to do?” Qehoxa asked as they fled for home.
“Besides never return to the learning facility again?” Avuwav responded.
“Yes, but in the bigger picture. We could seal all the old ruins, but if the ghosts of a dead civilization have awakened, that wouldn't stop them. And how could we fight them? They defy logic, they violate causality, they make liars out of our sensors. We could never be certain of anything, ever again. Anything could be some plan by the ghosts, and we wouldn't even understand the why of it. This could be the end of us.”
Future + Artificial/Horror-Ghost Story
Showing posts with label science fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label science fiction. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 21, 2015
Friday, March 7, 2014
Dreamleaks 2: Stuck In Transit
Dreamleaks 2: Stuck In Transit
I used to be the hero.
There was that thought again. Captain Marcus Corona shook it out of his head like he always did. Why did he worry about being the hero? He already was A hero, protector of the lives of hundreds of good, decent, caring people. Never mind that none of them are real.
No, he can't think like that. They're as real as he is, after all. Transit worked like any other city; it just happened to exist entirely inside a computer simulation. And also the laws of physics work, at best, about half the time. And people can take off their own heads with only minor consequences. And just the other day, that Jerry kid fell in love with a animate hammer. But BESIDES all that, it was just like normal. And besides, none of them knew any better. The truth was allowed only to those who could be trusted with it, like Marcus. That's why she made him a captain. And now …
I lived in a ship, one of three alone in the ocean. We played and had adventures and imagined the world around us, what could exist beyond the horizon. We never knew any other life, never even guessed that not only was the world beyond the horizon a lie, so was the horizon itself. So was everything more than a hundred feet from the ships.
Marcus shook his head. Stupid dreams. Why did computer programs even need dreams? He asked EMMA about that once, but as always, she dodged the question. No where was he? Right, now he had a job to do. Most Transitians never even imagined a world beyond their city, but he didn't have that luxury. EMMA just warned of motion outside of the city, in the “real” world. It might not be a threat, but he couldn't afford to take that chance. Besides, nothing should be moving out there anymore, threat or otherwise.
On the way to the city's “borders,” Marcus met Alice Falchione. Great, another complication. “What are you doing here?” Marcus demanded.
Alice just shrugged. “What else? Nothing better to do. Like you couldn't use the backup out there.”
Marcus wanted to argue, but he just snarled and moved on. He couldn't do anything to Alice, and he knew it. He didn't even know what she was. She just popped in and out of Transit on a whim. She could be gone for months, only to return with an army, or a cure for some virus running rampant in Transit. Or a Mariachi band. That was an odd day. EMMA must trust her, since she never asked Marcus to stop her. But Marcus didn't, and he didn't see why anyone else would. Reckless people like her just get people hurt, or worse.
I didn't mean to do anything wrong, really! I just wanted to explore, have a little fun, maybe solve a mystery or two. People said that nobody every returned from the hull of the Third Ship, but I never knew anyone who went there in the first place, so what did that mean? And sure, the place was crawling with monsters, but they weren't THAT bad. I fought worse. Well, I didn't, but I fought things almost as bad. So it seemed natural that this would be the next place to go.
“Just don't get in my way,” Marcus warned, but his words had no weight to them, and he knew it. Alice just smirked and followed him to the borders. As he left the simulation, Marcus felt an electric sensation, as he knew his body changed from one of pure data to one of substance, albeit that of pure energy. EMMA described it as a hard-light hologram, but Marcus didn't really understand what that meant or cared. Alice, as far as Marcus knew, didn't change at all, save for a force barrier forming around her.
The reality outside of Transit was supposed to be the real world, but to Marcus' eyes, this one looked like a poor simulation. Everyone looked so … blocky out here, the vibrant colors of his home replaced with simple shapes. Maybe that was a limit to Marcus' digital eyes; he had no way of knowing. Either way, the shapes that caught their attention moved with a purpose, and they were shaped like humans. As Marcus and Alice floated towards them, they scattered with incredible speed, jumping from one place to another in an instant. And while they seemed to be just observing the machinery that made up Transit and the city around it, Marcus and Alice's unwelcome intrusion made them aggressive. Bursts of color bounced off his virtual skin and Alice's barrier. They retaliated with energy blasts of their own, but nothing came close to hitting the invaders. “I expected better than this,” one of their attackers enigmatically taunted as they vanished.
“EMMA, update!” Marcus begged his creator.
“No further activity detected,” EMMA replied. “At least within the city. But I am still sensing their presence nearby. If I may take an estimate, they are biding their time.”
Marcus frowned. As fast as they are, the attackers must not be that powerful if they fled so quickly. But his holographic body couldn't travel outside of the boundaries of the city, and no point in asking Alice to seek them out. “Then what can we do?” he asked.
“I have a potential solution,” EMMA offered. “They seem interested in exploiting our resources, but are unwilling to engage us in a direct conflict. I propose creating a simple crisis within Transit; nothing serious, but enough to make it appear that our defenses are compromised. When the scavengers investigate, we can ambush them, taking them unaware. If they are simply curious, we can get answers. If hostile, we can eliminate them.”
“I don't like it,” Marcus admitted. “What if things go wrong?”
“I assure you, the crisis I envision is nothing that the citizens of Transit can't handle,” EMMA said. “Provided, of course, that the usual residents are up to the task.”
“You mean, if HE's up to it.” Marcus scowled. For all his powers, all his loyalty, Marcus never seemed to be the one to save the day. No, that fell on Jerry's shoulders. A mere child, an irresponsible one at that. For some reason, he always seemed to be around when trouble started (often because he caused it,) and yet for all of Marcus' efforts, Jerry and his friends would be the ones to bumble into the solution, and he got all accolades. He got to be their champion, their hero...
Marcus stopped himself. He didn't like where this train of thought was going. Alice, however, just chuckled. “You know, EMMA, you're exactly the sort of computer we used to be warned about. Glad you're on our side.” Seeing Marcus' sour mood, she floated over to him and whispered. “He's not even one of you, you know. Seriously, Jerry's a gerbil that EMMA threw into the simulation before he could starve. Let him enjoy his moment as hero. You already had your chance.”
“Enough of your contemptible words,” Marcus demanded as he shooed her away, and for once, Alice listened, her body vanishing into nothing. But the damage had been done. She just babbled nonsense, Marcus thought to himself. A gerbil? What was she even talking about? And yet, when she mentioned that Marcus had his chance, he couldn't help but feel his thoughts drift once more …
I didn't expect to find anyone down there. But instead, I found everyone. A crowd cheered me on as I slipped into the darkness of the hull. I was on the top of the world, but it didn't last. I suddenly saw my friends before me, and a voice asked me who would continue on living in this world, and who would … not. I wanted to refuse this demand, but I couldn't. I didn't even know how not to answer.
But I knew a trick when I heard one. I made my choice, picking only casual acquaintances to live on in this world, folks I wouldn't miss. My friends and I would move on, then. If we couldn't live in this world anymore, I bet there would be another, a better one maybe. And if not, who cares? Hell, we ran out of things to explore in the last one anyway.
I used to be the hero.
There was that thought again. Captain Marcus Corona shook it out of his head like he always did. Why did he worry about being the hero? He already was A hero, protector of the lives of hundreds of good, decent, caring people. Never mind that none of them are real.
No, he can't think like that. They're as real as he is, after all. Transit worked like any other city; it just happened to exist entirely inside a computer simulation. And also the laws of physics work, at best, about half the time. And people can take off their own heads with only minor consequences. And just the other day, that Jerry kid fell in love with a animate hammer. But BESIDES all that, it was just like normal. And besides, none of them knew any better. The truth was allowed only to those who could be trusted with it, like Marcus. That's why she made him a captain. And now …
I lived in a ship, one of three alone in the ocean. We played and had adventures and imagined the world around us, what could exist beyond the horizon. We never knew any other life, never even guessed that not only was the world beyond the horizon a lie, so was the horizon itself. So was everything more than a hundred feet from the ships.
Marcus shook his head. Stupid dreams. Why did computer programs even need dreams? He asked EMMA about that once, but as always, she dodged the question. No where was he? Right, now he had a job to do. Most Transitians never even imagined a world beyond their city, but he didn't have that luxury. EMMA just warned of motion outside of the city, in the “real” world. It might not be a threat, but he couldn't afford to take that chance. Besides, nothing should be moving out there anymore, threat or otherwise.
On the way to the city's “borders,” Marcus met Alice Falchione. Great, another complication. “What are you doing here?” Marcus demanded.
Alice just shrugged. “What else? Nothing better to do. Like you couldn't use the backup out there.”
Marcus wanted to argue, but he just snarled and moved on. He couldn't do anything to Alice, and he knew it. He didn't even know what she was. She just popped in and out of Transit on a whim. She could be gone for months, only to return with an army, or a cure for some virus running rampant in Transit. Or a Mariachi band. That was an odd day. EMMA must trust her, since she never asked Marcus to stop her. But Marcus didn't, and he didn't see why anyone else would. Reckless people like her just get people hurt, or worse.
I didn't mean to do anything wrong, really! I just wanted to explore, have a little fun, maybe solve a mystery or two. People said that nobody every returned from the hull of the Third Ship, but I never knew anyone who went there in the first place, so what did that mean? And sure, the place was crawling with monsters, but they weren't THAT bad. I fought worse. Well, I didn't, but I fought things almost as bad. So it seemed natural that this would be the next place to go.
“Just don't get in my way,” Marcus warned, but his words had no weight to them, and he knew it. Alice just smirked and followed him to the borders. As he left the simulation, Marcus felt an electric sensation, as he knew his body changed from one of pure data to one of substance, albeit that of pure energy. EMMA described it as a hard-light hologram, but Marcus didn't really understand what that meant or cared. Alice, as far as Marcus knew, didn't change at all, save for a force barrier forming around her.
The reality outside of Transit was supposed to be the real world, but to Marcus' eyes, this one looked like a poor simulation. Everyone looked so … blocky out here, the vibrant colors of his home replaced with simple shapes. Maybe that was a limit to Marcus' digital eyes; he had no way of knowing. Either way, the shapes that caught their attention moved with a purpose, and they were shaped like humans. As Marcus and Alice floated towards them, they scattered with incredible speed, jumping from one place to another in an instant. And while they seemed to be just observing the machinery that made up Transit and the city around it, Marcus and Alice's unwelcome intrusion made them aggressive. Bursts of color bounced off his virtual skin and Alice's barrier. They retaliated with energy blasts of their own, but nothing came close to hitting the invaders. “I expected better than this,” one of their attackers enigmatically taunted as they vanished.
“EMMA, update!” Marcus begged his creator.
“No further activity detected,” EMMA replied. “At least within the city. But I am still sensing their presence nearby. If I may take an estimate, they are biding their time.”
Marcus frowned. As fast as they are, the attackers must not be that powerful if they fled so quickly. But his holographic body couldn't travel outside of the boundaries of the city, and no point in asking Alice to seek them out. “Then what can we do?” he asked.
“I have a potential solution,” EMMA offered. “They seem interested in exploiting our resources, but are unwilling to engage us in a direct conflict. I propose creating a simple crisis within Transit; nothing serious, but enough to make it appear that our defenses are compromised. When the scavengers investigate, we can ambush them, taking them unaware. If they are simply curious, we can get answers. If hostile, we can eliminate them.”
“I don't like it,” Marcus admitted. “What if things go wrong?”
“I assure you, the crisis I envision is nothing that the citizens of Transit can't handle,” EMMA said. “Provided, of course, that the usual residents are up to the task.”
“You mean, if HE's up to it.” Marcus scowled. For all his powers, all his loyalty, Marcus never seemed to be the one to save the day. No, that fell on Jerry's shoulders. A mere child, an irresponsible one at that. For some reason, he always seemed to be around when trouble started (often because he caused it,) and yet for all of Marcus' efforts, Jerry and his friends would be the ones to bumble into the solution, and he got all accolades. He got to be their champion, their hero...
Marcus stopped himself. He didn't like where this train of thought was going. Alice, however, just chuckled. “You know, EMMA, you're exactly the sort of computer we used to be warned about. Glad you're on our side.” Seeing Marcus' sour mood, she floated over to him and whispered. “He's not even one of you, you know. Seriously, Jerry's a gerbil that EMMA threw into the simulation before he could starve. Let him enjoy his moment as hero. You already had your chance.”
“Enough of your contemptible words,” Marcus demanded as he shooed her away, and for once, Alice listened, her body vanishing into nothing. But the damage had been done. She just babbled nonsense, Marcus thought to himself. A gerbil? What was she even talking about? And yet, when she mentioned that Marcus had his chance, he couldn't help but feel his thoughts drift once more …
I didn't expect to find anyone down there. But instead, I found everyone. A crowd cheered me on as I slipped into the darkness of the hull. I was on the top of the world, but it didn't last. I suddenly saw my friends before me, and a voice asked me who would continue on living in this world, and who would … not. I wanted to refuse this demand, but I couldn't. I didn't even know how not to answer.
But I knew a trick when I heard one. I made my choice, picking only casual acquaintances to live on in this world, folks I wouldn't miss. My friends and I would move on, then. If we couldn't live in this world anymore, I bet there would be another, a better one maybe. And if not, who cares? Hell, we ran out of things to explore in the last one anyway.
Friday, February 21, 2014
Converging with Convergence
Land your rocket on such a station and you may find a mechanical world like a large hotel or office building with endless hallways and side halls wandering off to who knows where in level upon level of circular floors. Life on that distant space station will be much as Karen T. Smith (a contributor to this blog) presents it to us in Convergence, except for the unlikely sentient computer.
In Smith’s Convergence, a family enters the world of the space station after a flight up from earth. The story focuses on Anya, the new teenage girl in school, as she makes friends, including that sentient main computer.
Convergence combines teenage romance with a stunning whodunit mystery packed with what-happens-next suspense. Once you are into it, you’re not likely to put this book down, so settle into this delightful story when you have the time to spare for a lengthy read or you may find yourself losing sleep.
I wish Convergence was available when my kids were young because it paints as accurate a picture of near future science as you’re likely to find in books for young readers.
Saturday, January 11, 2014
Date Is In Past
This is a short story I came up with after one too many customers at work gave me a delivery date for 2013.
Date is in Past
Sandra awakened to the dulcet sounds of someone pounding on her door. Not the best way to start a Saturday, she thought to herself as she struggled into consciousness. She had no idea who could possibly want to bother her this early on the weekend, and her imagination went to all sorts of bad places before a chipper voice behind the door announced, “Package for Ms. Drescoe!”
“A package,” Sandra moaned. “I didn't order anything.” She certain didn't order anything to be delivered on a Saturday, nor would she unless, say, a life was a stake. A life she happened to be fond of. Still, she reasoned, deliveryfolks are paid not to look mortified at a grown woman wearing pajamas and bunny slippers, so she might as well get it over with.
“Tachyon Shipping!” the eager young man, who clearly somehow missed out on the memo that people should be sleeping at this hour, said as she opened the door. “Here you are, ma'am!”
Sandra took the package and peered at it suspiciously. “Tachyon shipping?” she said. “I never heard of you.”
“Nor would you, ma'am,” the deliveryman said. “We haven't been created yet.”
“I'm sorry, what?” Sandra asked. She was tired, but not that tired. “That doesn't make any sense. How could you deliver a package if your company doesn't exist?”
“Doesn't exist YET, ma'am,” he clarified. “We are around when you placed this order. In fact, we were the only company able to place your order on the requested date.” At this, he handed Sandra the order sheet.
After looking it over, Sandra recognized her signature, but the dates seemed odd. “Delivery date: January 11th, 2014. Order placed, January 7, 2015. Huh?”
“That's correct, ma'am. About a year from now, you will place this order to deliver to your past self. Or your present self, as you understand it,” he explained. “Don't worry, a lot of our customers are confused about this, what with them not having placed their orders yet.”
“But why ...” Sandra began, before it dawned on her. Oh, of course. Her future self (she was still way too tired to question that statement,) must have meant to place it for January 11th, 2015. Sandra did this all the time. Every time a new year came along, it would take her at least a month before she remembered to fix that on dates. “Come on, surely you must have thought it was a typo.”
The deliveryman shook his head. “Ma'am, we don't ask questions, we just deliver the orders,” he said.
Sandra gave up on arguing. Reason should never be applied on the weekend before noon, anyway. She opened the package to reveal a copy of a movie. One that wouldn't come out for another ten months.
Now, Sandra's mind got coffeed up. “Do you realize the possibilities I could do with this?” she asked herself. “I could send myself winning lottery numbers, stock tips, anything. Or at least bootleg a copy of this movie before it even comes out.”
The deliveryman took a few cautious steps back. “I wouldn't recommend it, ma'am,” he insisted. “Profit-based time travel is made illegal in 2085, and the time regulators have been given retroactive authority. Besides, most people find it difficult to pay the delivery fees and still come out ahead.”
“What delivery fees?” Sandra asked, but he just held up a bill. One with more zeroes than Sandra had ever seen in life. To be paid upon delivery. Not even seeing her (she assumed) new favorite movie a year in advance would be worth that. She tossed the package back at the deliveryman, slammed the door shut, and immediately made two new years resolutions. First, she would be much more careful when ordering packages from now on. Secondly, she would somehow find a way to punch her future self in the face.
Meanwhile, the deliveryman sighed. Yet another deadbeat. Eh, well. They always paid eventually, or at least their great to the nth power descendents did, though by then, inflation made the bill little more than pocket change. But that would be a problem for the billing department. He had to worry about his next delivery.
“Let's see, deliver to Mr. Chester Jenkins, or his closest previous of kin, January 11th, 15.” 15? Maybe the customer just shortened the date, but as an employee of Tachyon Shipping, he couldn't take that chance. Great. The ancient Romans made for the most demanding customers. And they were really lousy tippers.
Date is in Past
Sandra awakened to the dulcet sounds of someone pounding on her door. Not the best way to start a Saturday, she thought to herself as she struggled into consciousness. She had no idea who could possibly want to bother her this early on the weekend, and her imagination went to all sorts of bad places before a chipper voice behind the door announced, “Package for Ms. Drescoe!”
“A package,” Sandra moaned. “I didn't order anything.” She certain didn't order anything to be delivered on a Saturday, nor would she unless, say, a life was a stake. A life she happened to be fond of. Still, she reasoned, deliveryfolks are paid not to look mortified at a grown woman wearing pajamas and bunny slippers, so she might as well get it over with.
“Tachyon Shipping!” the eager young man, who clearly somehow missed out on the memo that people should be sleeping at this hour, said as she opened the door. “Here you are, ma'am!”
Sandra took the package and peered at it suspiciously. “Tachyon shipping?” she said. “I never heard of you.”
“Nor would you, ma'am,” the deliveryman said. “We haven't been created yet.”
“I'm sorry, what?” Sandra asked. She was tired, but not that tired. “That doesn't make any sense. How could you deliver a package if your company doesn't exist?”
“Doesn't exist YET, ma'am,” he clarified. “We are around when you placed this order. In fact, we were the only company able to place your order on the requested date.” At this, he handed Sandra the order sheet.
After looking it over, Sandra recognized her signature, but the dates seemed odd. “Delivery date: January 11th, 2014. Order placed, January 7, 2015. Huh?”
“That's correct, ma'am. About a year from now, you will place this order to deliver to your past self. Or your present self, as you understand it,” he explained. “Don't worry, a lot of our customers are confused about this, what with them not having placed their orders yet.”
“But why ...” Sandra began, before it dawned on her. Oh, of course. Her future self (she was still way too tired to question that statement,) must have meant to place it for January 11th, 2015. Sandra did this all the time. Every time a new year came along, it would take her at least a month before she remembered to fix that on dates. “Come on, surely you must have thought it was a typo.”
The deliveryman shook his head. “Ma'am, we don't ask questions, we just deliver the orders,” he said.
Sandra gave up on arguing. Reason should never be applied on the weekend before noon, anyway. She opened the package to reveal a copy of a movie. One that wouldn't come out for another ten months.
Now, Sandra's mind got coffeed up. “Do you realize the possibilities I could do with this?” she asked herself. “I could send myself winning lottery numbers, stock tips, anything. Or at least bootleg a copy of this movie before it even comes out.”
The deliveryman took a few cautious steps back. “I wouldn't recommend it, ma'am,” he insisted. “Profit-based time travel is made illegal in 2085, and the time regulators have been given retroactive authority. Besides, most people find it difficult to pay the delivery fees and still come out ahead.”
“What delivery fees?” Sandra asked, but he just held up a bill. One with more zeroes than Sandra had ever seen in life. To be paid upon delivery. Not even seeing her (she assumed) new favorite movie a year in advance would be worth that. She tossed the package back at the deliveryman, slammed the door shut, and immediately made two new years resolutions. First, she would be much more careful when ordering packages from now on. Secondly, she would somehow find a way to punch her future self in the face.
Meanwhile, the deliveryman sighed. Yet another deadbeat. Eh, well. They always paid eventually, or at least their great to the nth power descendents did, though by then, inflation made the bill little more than pocket change. But that would be a problem for the billing department. He had to worry about his next delivery.
“Let's see, deliver to Mr. Chester Jenkins, or his closest previous of kin, January 11th, 15.” 15? Maybe the customer just shortened the date, but as an employee of Tachyon Shipping, he couldn't take that chance. Great. The ancient Romans made for the most demanding customers. And they were really lousy tippers.
Friday, April 27, 2012
Putting it to paper.
There are many ways a person can write a story. There is no proper way or way that it has to be done. Writing just more or less happens.
I've found that the style I use best is the form in which you map it out first, find out where I'm going with the story before writing too much. I started out with the 'write by the seat of your pants' style. I couldn't figure out how I wanted to start my book so I started somewhere in the middle and just kept writing.
It wasn't until I took History of Theater in college that I figured out that I could start my book in the middle of the story. The professor shared that when you watch a play you are witnessing a snippet of the character's whole story. What he meant was that you weren't watching the character's entire life ie: birth, childhood, adolescence, and so forth. So what you are seeing is the portion of the character's life pertinent to story of the play.
Once I learned that, I decided that I would use what I've written as the beginning of my book. From there I realized that I wasn't sure where I wanted the story to go. Some writers are okay with that and it's fine. My writer's blocks tend to deal with me not writing because I don't know what is going to happen in my story.
So my method is the story boarding style. I have several white boards that I map the whole plot line of my book out on. These plot points are not set in stone and I have changed them as I've gotten feedback and found out some plot points are weak or irrelevant to the story or characters. You just can't set it in stone. That will limit you too much, especially if your story takes a turn you hadn't anticipated earlier (which happens quite often).
When I actual go to write, I pick a plot point that I feel like I can tease out into a scene. It might be a large scene that is several pages in length or it could end up being only half a page just so I get the plot element into the story. Once I'm done writing it down and typing it up, I go back to my white board and update the point with a little more elaboration so that when I go back to look at the board later I can remember easier how I expanded it.
I am very visual with my planning. I've drawn maps of the areas my characters have gone so that I can describe them better in the book. When creating a new world it helps to remember where all your landmarks are in relation to each other. Or while writing the second book of my series, I realized that I had a hard time remembering where certain characters were in their own story lines, relative to each other. So I took one of my white boards and drew out a timeline for each character. One time line above the other so that when I plotted the points of the timeline for each character, the points then showed, in more readily available format, where each character was.
I'm not saying this is the best way to write a story, and I'm sure it doesn't work for everyone. This is the way I set it up though and it keeps me on track. That being said, I'm always curious about other writer's methods and ways I can try differently to keep the creativity flowing.
I've found that the style I use best is the form in which you map it out first, find out where I'm going with the story before writing too much. I started out with the 'write by the seat of your pants' style. I couldn't figure out how I wanted to start my book so I started somewhere in the middle and just kept writing.
It wasn't until I took History of Theater in college that I figured out that I could start my book in the middle of the story. The professor shared that when you watch a play you are witnessing a snippet of the character's whole story. What he meant was that you weren't watching the character's entire life ie: birth, childhood, adolescence, and so forth. So what you are seeing is the portion of the character's life pertinent to story of the play.
Once I learned that, I decided that I would use what I've written as the beginning of my book. From there I realized that I wasn't sure where I wanted the story to go. Some writers are okay with that and it's fine. My writer's blocks tend to deal with me not writing because I don't know what is going to happen in my story.
So my method is the story boarding style. I have several white boards that I map the whole plot line of my book out on. These plot points are not set in stone and I have changed them as I've gotten feedback and found out some plot points are weak or irrelevant to the story or characters. You just can't set it in stone. That will limit you too much, especially if your story takes a turn you hadn't anticipated earlier (which happens quite often).
When I actual go to write, I pick a plot point that I feel like I can tease out into a scene. It might be a large scene that is several pages in length or it could end up being only half a page just so I get the plot element into the story. Once I'm done writing it down and typing it up, I go back to my white board and update the point with a little more elaboration so that when I go back to look at the board later I can remember easier how I expanded it.
I am very visual with my planning. I've drawn maps of the areas my characters have gone so that I can describe them better in the book. When creating a new world it helps to remember where all your landmarks are in relation to each other. Or while writing the second book of my series, I realized that I had a hard time remembering where certain characters were in their own story lines, relative to each other. So I took one of my white boards and drew out a timeline for each character. One time line above the other so that when I plotted the points of the timeline for each character, the points then showed, in more readily available format, where each character was.
I'm not saying this is the best way to write a story, and I'm sure it doesn't work for everyone. This is the way I set it up though and it keeps me on track. That being said, I'm always curious about other writer's methods and ways I can try differently to keep the creativity flowing.
Monday, April 2, 2012
The Ending of Mass Effect
(If you haven't finished the game I apologize there are some SPOILERS in this discussion)
There has been this huge discussion about the recently released game Mass Effect 3. It was a huge hit with game critics and an absolute turn down for players. The biggest reason being the ending of the game.
I have played it through once and seen the possible endings of the game afterward from people recording their choices on YouTube. While there are a lot of holes in the endings, particularly pertaining to the scene with the Normandy flying between Mass Relays, there is something that a lot of the people who played the Mass Effect line have left out. The fact that not every story has a completely happy ending.
I felt fine with my choice and the end of the game. With a series so immense as the Mass Effect series is, to accommodate for all the choices a player could have chosen while playing would have been astronomical. But the true fact of the matter is, it is the writers of the story that have planned out what ending it will ultimately be. The fact that the writers left an Easter egg at the end of one of the choices just means that that ending was the one they had planned the whole time. Not to mention the possibility for future games and spin offs.
Yes, I know that the game was made to shape the galaxy into how the player wanted to, like deciding which species gets to live and which doesn't or who you want to befriend or not. But its similar to the saying, "you can't bring money with you". Meaning that you can't take money with you through the grave. So whatever you do in the game will ultimately not matter at the end because the threat you have to face at the end will either destroy you or leave you limping and bleeding afterwards. Yes, limping and bleeding is better than being dead but what I'm saying is even if you've won you still had the crap beat out of you.
As many of the players who really looked into the game, aside from playing it through to romance some alien chick or shoot up space meanies, should know from the Star Trek franchise that there is sometimes a no win situation. So when Shepard dies at the end and strands the massive fleet he brought with him to Earth that is a no win situation. Yeah, the threat to the galaxy is gone but sacrifices had to be made to do so. That's what Admiral Hackett had been saying for the entire game.
You may say you hate the ending of the series but what you're not seeing is that the writers did exactly what writers are supposed to do. Draw out your emotions and feelings so that they can be felt by you and, if they can pull it off, those around you as well. What the players are kicking and screaming about is that they didn't get a 'Hollywood Ending'. Not every story has a 'Hollywood Ending' and that's great. Not having happy endings is something that people remember.
All of this is not to say that writers shouldn't take into consideration what their audience feels. If they didn't, they would get lazy. As we've all seen with absurd amount of remakes and reboots of older movies coming out of Hollywood. If writers didn't take their audiences' views into consideration the literary world would dissolve into too few actually creative books. Much like what is coming out of Hollywood. This point may not be pointed at the writers as much as producers not willing to put out movies that are original either way there has to be new ideas to promote growth. But back to my main point. What I'm saying is that even though a story is the work of a writer, the writer still writes the story so that other people will read it. There has to be a trust for the writers to write something that will move the audience, whether to make them happy or sad or even angry, and an understanding that if something is written with an upsetting ending that it will still be well written and not just a cop out.
There has been this huge discussion about the recently released game Mass Effect 3. It was a huge hit with game critics and an absolute turn down for players. The biggest reason being the ending of the game.
I have played it through once and seen the possible endings of the game afterward from people recording their choices on YouTube. While there are a lot of holes in the endings, particularly pertaining to the scene with the Normandy flying between Mass Relays, there is something that a lot of the people who played the Mass Effect line have left out. The fact that not every story has a completely happy ending.
I felt fine with my choice and the end of the game. With a series so immense as the Mass Effect series is, to accommodate for all the choices a player could have chosen while playing would have been astronomical. But the true fact of the matter is, it is the writers of the story that have planned out what ending it will ultimately be. The fact that the writers left an Easter egg at the end of one of the choices just means that that ending was the one they had planned the whole time. Not to mention the possibility for future games and spin offs.
Yes, I know that the game was made to shape the galaxy into how the player wanted to, like deciding which species gets to live and which doesn't or who you want to befriend or not. But its similar to the saying, "you can't bring money with you". Meaning that you can't take money with you through the grave. So whatever you do in the game will ultimately not matter at the end because the threat you have to face at the end will either destroy you or leave you limping and bleeding afterwards. Yes, limping and bleeding is better than being dead but what I'm saying is even if you've won you still had the crap beat out of you.
As many of the players who really looked into the game, aside from playing it through to romance some alien chick or shoot up space meanies, should know from the Star Trek franchise that there is sometimes a no win situation. So when Shepard dies at the end and strands the massive fleet he brought with him to Earth that is a no win situation. Yeah, the threat to the galaxy is gone but sacrifices had to be made to do so. That's what Admiral Hackett had been saying for the entire game.
You may say you hate the ending of the series but what you're not seeing is that the writers did exactly what writers are supposed to do. Draw out your emotions and feelings so that they can be felt by you and, if they can pull it off, those around you as well. What the players are kicking and screaming about is that they didn't get a 'Hollywood Ending'. Not every story has a 'Hollywood Ending' and that's great. Not having happy endings is something that people remember.
All of this is not to say that writers shouldn't take into consideration what their audience feels. If they didn't, they would get lazy. As we've all seen with absurd amount of remakes and reboots of older movies coming out of Hollywood. If writers didn't take their audiences' views into consideration the literary world would dissolve into too few actually creative books. Much like what is coming out of Hollywood. This point may not be pointed at the writers as much as producers not willing to put out movies that are original either way there has to be new ideas to promote growth. But back to my main point. What I'm saying is that even though a story is the work of a writer, the writer still writes the story so that other people will read it. There has to be a trust for the writers to write something that will move the audience, whether to make them happy or sad or even angry, and an understanding that if something is written with an upsetting ending that it will still be well written and not just a cop out.
Saturday, March 10, 2012
The Multiple Perspective Approach
There are various ways to write a book, and they all have their advantages and disadvantages.
For instance, a first-person perspective book is great for character development but the problem, as I see it, is that that is the only way a writer can show things happening in the story. It seems to me that characters end up hearing things or being present to events almost haphazardly. I know there are writers who do this well and can pull it off amazingly, but that's the case with all writing. Some authors can pull off writing styles amazingly.
The omniscient third person where the narrator can tell the reader everything they need to know about the character the first time the character is introduced. This makes it easier to describe things that happen that are pertinent to the story without forcing, in some manner, the main character to be there. The drawback to this style is that it tends to give too much away to the reader. Some readers like this, of course, because some people like to know what's going to happen or they enjoy the feeling of what I like to refer to as 'Game Show Syndrome'. What I mean by that is, when someone watches a game show and they know the answer but the person on the screen doesn't, they sit there yelling the answer at the person even though they can't hear them. This same thing happens with books and movies. The classic of course being, "Don't open that door!"
There are many other ways to write than the two I listed above but those are two common ones.
The perspective I use and personally love is the multiple perspectives. This approach still is kind of a meshing to some of the others. It allows the writer to still be able to draw the reader in and influence their opinion of the character while allowing the freedom to show things happening in other parts of the story that may still be important to the overall story. If done well, the story will come together and mesh well while still providing some good intrigue. If done poorly, like when I first started writing my story, all the characters just end up seeming like the same person or different character attributes of the same person. To me it seems that using more than one main character allows the writer to toy with the reader's emotions and get them to second guess who the 'bad guy' is in the different character relationships.
Friday, March 2, 2012
About my first book.
I realize in my last post I spoke of my book, He Came Around the Corner, and that was the first mention of it anywhere.
So who cares?
Well the hope for all writers is that people will care when they write a book and I, like most writers, write to influence those around me. The purpose of writing is not always to make someone think about something profound and philosophical, although that is sometimes the case, particularly with some classic novels. Sometimes writers will write just to make the reader feel enjoyment from what they read. This is why I write.
The funny thing about writing fiction is even though books are put into archetypes, they will often fit other archetypes as well. For instance, a mystery novel could have a strong romance element in it. My book is a Young Adult (YA) Fantasy but it still has other elements in it. The next secondary element, after being Fantasy, in it is the romance. The romance of the book actually causes one of the profound questions to appear in the story: What exactly are we capable of?
My book is about two teenagers, Drake and Athena, at the end of their senior year of high school. On the night of a school dance, what they know as the world they live in changes. They find themselves alone in their town, everyone they knew and who lived in the town vanish. The power is gone and only things on batteries and generators will work. On top of all that, the two of them have to fight for their lives because where ever they go in town, there are orcs who want to kill them. The only thing keeping them alive are Drake's new magical ability to summon a sword and their knowledge of the town they grew up in.
So who cares?
Well the hope for all writers is that people will care when they write a book and I, like most writers, write to influence those around me. The purpose of writing is not always to make someone think about something profound and philosophical, although that is sometimes the case, particularly with some classic novels. Sometimes writers will write just to make the reader feel enjoyment from what they read. This is why I write.
The funny thing about writing fiction is even though books are put into archetypes, they will often fit other archetypes as well. For instance, a mystery novel could have a strong romance element in it. My book is a Young Adult (YA) Fantasy but it still has other elements in it. The next secondary element, after being Fantasy, in it is the romance. The romance of the book actually causes one of the profound questions to appear in the story: What exactly are we capable of?
My book is about two teenagers, Drake and Athena, at the end of their senior year of high school. On the night of a school dance, what they know as the world they live in changes. They find themselves alone in their town, everyone they knew and who lived in the town vanish. The power is gone and only things on batteries and generators will work. On top of all that, the two of them have to fight for their lives because where ever they go in town, there are orcs who want to kill them. The only thing keeping them alive are Drake's new magical ability to summon a sword and their knowledge of the town they grew up in.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Movies have them, why can't books?
I've been writing my book for several years now and when I write I listen to music. There are several scenes in my series so far that have been greatly influenced by particular songs. Songs like Jenny Was a Friend of Mine by The Killers and Adele's Set Fire to the Rain. Adele's song actually inspired a scene for the second book in the series. I also listen to soundtracks to movies as well and a group that, much to my laughter, itunes categorized as soundtrack music, Two Steps from Hell.
Which leads me to my topic. There aren't a lot of soundtracks to books out there. I'm not talking about soundtracks to movies that were adapted from books and I have heard that some books do it but it's still a small amount. So I plan on making a list of the songs I listened to while writing my book, He Came Around the Corner. I also figured I could put on the list when the song came into play in the book or even when to listen to the song when someone is reading it.
I feel that if the music made that much of an impact while writing it then it would enhance the scene while reading it. When I had my friends read excerpts to give me feedback, I suggested they listen to the soundtrack to the Lord of Rings movies while they did. They said that some of the scenes were really more pronounced when the music was playing.
I'm sure there's some science behind this, I'm pretty sure it has something to do with stimulating different parts of the brain at the same time. I've also heard a lot of discussions on how music affects people which of course is fascinating. What I'm getting at though is, if the opportunity is there, why not enjoy the music?
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Welcome Aboard
Our Dwarven Phaser may be missing or it may simply be that weird looking flip phone in the back of my desk drawer (I have no idea how it got in there which is what makes me suspicious that it may just be the missing alien light shooter), but we have discovered blogging. We're the Write Time Writer's Group from Geneva, Illinois. Our meet up is about 35 miles west of downtown Chicago.
If all goes according to plan, you'll be reading posts from our members. They'll introduce themselves as they come aboard. I'm Paul R. Lloyd, leader of our little tribe of scribes. I write suspense novels. My reading habits include other people's suspense stories as well as a healthy dose of horror, sci-fi and mystery.
The Missing Dwarven Phaser is about writing and editing. Here you'll find our best thoughts on the craft along with bits of braggadocio, writer's humor and the sharing of tidbits of our work, depending on how each of us chooses to participate.
If all goes according to plan, you'll be reading posts from our members. They'll introduce themselves as they come aboard. I'm Paul R. Lloyd, leader of our little tribe of scribes. I write suspense novels. My reading habits include other people's suspense stories as well as a healthy dose of horror, sci-fi and mystery.
The Missing Dwarven Phaser is about writing and editing. Here you'll find our best thoughts on the craft along with bits of braggadocio, writer's humor and the sharing of tidbits of our work, depending on how each of us chooses to participate.
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