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1400 or so words today, bringing the second vignette ("The War is Over") to 2300+. Something recalcitrant is happening here and I don't know what it is. I think that the revelation I had a while back -- that I was going to have to get into the proximate causes of the war more, and I was going to have to assign specific villainies to specific groups -- is nibbling at my brain, asking me to lay some groundwork here.
That's all right. I can figure that out. I did something neat with the protagonist that I didn't before, and I'm happy with that. Also I've worked That Building into the chapter in two minor places already so I may not have to do anything clunky. But I think I want the celebratory trip to the top of That Building anyway. I think that there's a lot I can do about it.
James Nicoll (where's that personhead when I want it? is it here? http://www.livejournal.com/users/james_nicoll/ nope, let's try this:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
exampleusername no, let's try this:[Bad username or site: james nicoll @ livejournal.com] okay, let's try this:james_nicoll
) has been rightly taking folks to task for not taking more advantage of the known qualities of real star systems. My problems with that are twofold. One, I am never writing about things that depend on the known qualities of real star systems -- or maybe that's not true, since Esperanza Highway is in some ways all about terraforming, and one way to write about terraforming is to deal with the physics of the star system you're mucking about with. But more importantly, I am haunted by an article I read as a child, in a short-lived periodical called "PS: your Past and Promise" -- the article was called "The Lovely Lost Landscapes of Luna," I think, and it was either written by, or collaborated on by, or contributed to by, Isaac Asimov. And it was all about how the old science fiction writers had written these gloriously imagined worlds in our own solar system and it just wasn;t the same any more now that we knew none of it was like that.
All of science fiction has a little of this problem, this thing where we're actually living in the science fiction future and so therefore some of the stuff that used to be the symptoms of wonder are already here and are so normal nobody cares, and also therefore some of the things that we used to say would become the everyday pieces of our world just aren't. And it makes it harder in some ways to grapple with the heavy work of imagining things. But in other ways it has no effect at all, because the world couyld always be different. I suppose this is one of the lures of alternate history: it sidesteps that old future-goods problem.
It doesn't stop me, though it sometimes worries me about specific questions. It doesn't stop me because of my ace nin the hole: the Law of Uneven Development. Dog knows that it means something different from what I mean by it, but it doesn't matter. What I mean by it is that there's a little bit of ancient in every modern and a little bit of modern in every ancient, that the future is not clearly demarcated by an impenetrable border -- it's as porous as Arizona, and as motley as New York City. Which means that the story, as usual, dictates the setting, the technology, the culture, the mores, the species and the characters and what have I missed?
So, anyway, the Metaregion is on one of those boring unspecified planets with the characteristics I need it to have, instead of one of the fascinating real planets in real star systems that James is exploring. I'm sorry. Maybe next time (probably some time, if I live long enough, now that James had planted the irritating little seed!)
SPeaking of seeds, I'm enjoying The Family Tree by Sherri S. Tepper very much. It's hilarious in spots. Tepper is uneven, sometimes she'll knock my socks off and sometimes I'll think "dang, I'm a feminist, why do I have to read this?" But when she's on, she's on.
Aiee. I have to do something about the job search now.
That's all right. I can figure that out. I did something neat with the protagonist that I didn't before, and I'm happy with that. Also I've worked That Building into the chapter in two minor places already so I may not have to do anything clunky. But I think I want the celebratory trip to the top of That Building anyway. I think that there's a lot I can do about it.
James Nicoll (where's that personhead when I want it? is it here? http://www.livejournal.com/users/james_nicoll/ nope, let's try this:
exampleusername no, let's try this:[Bad username or site: james nicoll @ livejournal.com] okay, let's try this:james_nicoll ) has been rightly taking folks to task for not taking more advantage of the known qualities of real star systems. My problems with that are twofold. One, I am never writing about things that depend on the known qualities of real star systems -- or maybe that's not true, since Esperanza Highway is in some ways all about terraforming, and one way to write about terraforming is to deal with the physics of the star system you're mucking about with. But more importantly, I am haunted by an article I read as a child, in a short-lived periodical called "PS: your Past and Promise" -- the article was called "The Lovely Lost Landscapes of Luna," I think, and it was either written by, or collaborated on by, or contributed to by, Isaac Asimov. And it was all about how the old science fiction writers had written these gloriously imagined worlds in our own solar system and it just wasn;t the same any more now that we knew none of it was like that.
All of science fiction has a little of this problem, this thing where we're actually living in the science fiction future and so therefore some of the stuff that used to be the symptoms of wonder are already here and are so normal nobody cares, and also therefore some of the things that we used to say would become the everyday pieces of our world just aren't. And it makes it harder in some ways to grapple with the heavy work of imagining things. But in other ways it has no effect at all, because the world couyld always be different. I suppose this is one of the lures of alternate history: it sidesteps that old future-goods problem.
It doesn't stop me, though it sometimes worries me about specific questions. It doesn't stop me because of my ace nin the hole: the Law of Uneven Development. Dog knows that it means something different from what I mean by it, but it doesn't matter. What I mean by it is that there's a little bit of ancient in every modern and a little bit of modern in every ancient, that the future is not clearly demarcated by an impenetrable border -- it's as porous as Arizona, and as motley as New York City. Which means that the story, as usual, dictates the setting, the technology, the culture, the mores, the species and the characters and what have I missed?
So, anyway, the Metaregion is on one of those boring unspecified planets with the characteristics I need it to have, instead of one of the fascinating real planets in real star systems that James is exploring. I'm sorry. Maybe next time (probably some time, if I live long enough, now that James had planted the irritating little seed!)
SPeaking of seeds, I'm enjoying The Family Tree by Sherri S. Tepper very much. It's hilarious in spots. Tepper is uneven, sometimes she'll knock my socks off and sometimes I'll think "dang, I'm a feminist, why do I have to read this?" But when she's on, she's on.
Aiee. I have to do something about the job search now.