July 13th, 2004

bear by san

Your ideology must be examined before you can be permitted to leave the country, comrade professor.

(via twistedchick)

The administration has demanded that the World Health Organization, which is affiliated with the United Nations, first clear all U.S. government scientists with the Department of Health and Human Services before they can be appointed as delegates to the organization's meetings or serve on its panels. FWIW. It's Capitol Hill Blue, mind you, and can hardly be said to be agendaless, but they do have the advantage of hating everybody over there.

The Union of Concerned Scientists isn't happy either.

In more cheerfully apocalyptic news, gentlemen, start your compasses. (registration required, blah blah) Source of a few doomsday scenarios, but my suspicion is it'll be somewhat more exciting than Y2K and somewhat less than global climate change. If the cosmic (*g*) rays make me swell up and turn orange and rocky, well, you'll be able to say "I told you so."

***

In actual content, I'm thinking about impostor syndrome. Still got it, nine--or ten, depending on how All the Windwracked Stars and The Stratford Man shake out in terms of chopping things up--completed novels and three sold ones in to my career. The latest incarnation--which was kicking my butt with regard to Worldwired--is the "How can I possibly write a hard science fiction novel when I can't even pass a precalculus course?"

I was gonna be a geologist. Then I discovered you need math for that, too.

Funny thing is, I was perfectly comfortable with the level of science in Hammered and Scardown, confident I understood the neurology and climatology and linguistics and quantum mechanics and so forth laced through the novelses underpinnings (for layman's values of 'understood')... when I was thinking of them as sociological/political/military SF. But now that people I respect have been calling it "hard SF," I found myself completely panicky about the science--especially the xenobiology--backing Worldwired.

I keep finding myself going "but I'm just making it all up! This isn't plausible! It's not even possible!

Oddly enough, I'm not panicky about the computer science, because I know it's utter hogwash. And my international political system bears about the same resemblance to the real UN as a Perry Mason episode bears to a real court proceeding, but enh, the real system is boooring.

And somewhere in the back of my mind, I have to keep reminding myself. Dude. Giant spiders spinning webs between the Earth and moon. Dude. A social science that lets you predict the future. Time travellers coming back with testy unicorns. Psychic, mutated hyperspace navigators. Dude.

Plausibility is not an issue.

Making it cool enough so that people will suspend disbelief, just to get to the story.... now, that's an issue.
  • Current Music
    There's no music, just the babble of idiot gods. Er, anchors
bear by san

Bucky!

Bucky Stamp! Bucky Stamp!

I must buy a gross, nay, a bushel of grosses, that I may have them forever, and be cheered by their stern little bulldog faces when they return to me on the outsides of rejection letters.

(via yhlee)

You know, he had a plan to drop apartment towers from airplanes? The man was a nut. I love him so.
  • Current Music
    Marianne Faithfull - For Wanting You
bear by san

It never fails.

Sometimes it feels like the big project clogs up my brain, jams it up, and when I finally get it wiggled loose--plop!--all the little projects that were jammed up behind it come out on a rush and scatter all over the place, pearls from a broken strand.

The novel's done, and a short story I've been stuck on since May just plunked itself down in my head, a good 3/4ths complete. It's my artist's challenge piece for my Lioness necklace, elisem's The Follow Me Light, which is a relief, because I have been stuckity stuck stuck stuck.

The necklace has ten major Labradorite beads, and I'm contemplating doing the story in ten sections, to reflect that. Hmm. I may decide that's precious, though. I have very little tolerance for formalism or stunt writing for it's own sake. It can very easily get twee.

But I didn't do any actual writing, unless scribbling longhand notes in my notebook counts. And it excites me, because not only do I have most of the story forming a lovely shape in my head, but I keep getting scatters and bits of dialogue and fragments of refrain. It's flowing, in other words, and I'm just going to sit on it and incubate until it's clawing to get out.

I'm very pleased with the concept, although it will be another Las Vegas story, because everybody needs more Las Vegas stories. Maybe I'm exorcising the damned city through literature.

It'd be funny if I got a rep for writing stories about the Mojave, given how thoroughly I loathe this place.
  • Current Music
    The Red Hot Chili Peppers - Under the Bridge