Short story ideas vs. novel ideas

I was moderator of a panel on how we do short stories at Boskone last weekend, along with fellow workshop members James Patrick Kelly and F. Brett Cox, nearby neighbor Craig Shaw Gardner, and new friend Beth Bernobich. It was quite a fun panel.

Everyone said interesting things, but I most remember the smart thing I said. I don't know how that happened. I'll try to pay more attention next time.

Oh, what I said. One of my questions was how you tell a short story idea from a novel idea. Do have to run some battery of tests on it, or can you pretty much tell from the way it sits in your mind? And what about the idea makes it one or the other? I have to play with the idea for some time before I know which it is.  I compared it to the difference between a tune, and a fugue theme. A fugue theme can be pretty simple, but it can be inverted, stretched, modified, and played against itself in a variety of ways. Even as you add things to make something a novel, the additions in some way reflect that underlying fugue theme.

Not a piece of practical advice, really ("But that's just a metaphor. I still don't know how to tell!") You'll have to ask one of my other panelists for something actually useful to you.

My Boskone schedule

This weekend is our increasingly low-key winter science fiction convention, Boskone. Here is where I'll be and what I will be doing.

Saturday 10:00 - 11:00, Occupy Luna, Carlton ( Westin)

How do we have a lunar society that avoids some of the problems we have today.

Vince Docherty (M), Allen M. Steele, Ian Randal Strock, Alexander Jablokov, Patrick Nielsen Hayden

I presume I will figure out what this means by the time I'm done with the panel.

Saturday 11:00 - 12:00, The Writing of Short Fiction, Carlton ( Westin)

Let's take a close-up view of what to do when you create a horror, science fiction, or fantasy story in one of the shorter lengths. How do you decide that this idea will work best short? How many characters can you fit? What's got to go in? What must you leave out? What short form masters should you steal blind?

Alexander Jablokov  (M), Laird Barron, F. Brett Cox, James Patrick Kelly, Beth Bernobich

Hey, I’m the moderator for this panel! That’s way more work than just making ill-considered observations. I’ll have to figure out some interesting questions to ask.

Saturday 13:00 - 13:30, Reading: Alexander Jablokov, Independence  ( Westin)

I will probably be reading my recent alien sex story, “Comfort of Strangers”.

Saturday 15:00 - 16:00, Environmental Rearguarding: What To Do After It's Too Late, Burroughs ( Westin)

Let's assume, as some scientists now fear, that the tipping point for catastrophic global climate change has already been reached. What can and should we do to 1) lessen its effects and 2) build a sustainable civilization on the world we'll have left?

Alexander Jablokov (M), Jeff Hecht, Tom Easton, Joan Slonczewski, Shira Lipkin

I only just noticed that I’m the moderator for this one too. Better start thinking.

Sunday 11:00 - 12:00, Reading: Flash Fiction from the Cambridge SF Workshop, Lewis (Westin)

Elaine Isaak, F. Brett Cox, Alexander Jablokov, James Patrick Kelly, Steven Popkes, Kenneth Schneyer

This was a fun event last year. I’ve been so busy with my novel that I had no time to write a short piece for this. I’ll probably read a short, relatively self-contained portion of the novel in progress, Timeslip.

Sunday 13:00 - 14:00, Crossover: Mystery & Genre, Burroughs ( Westin)

Which genre do mysteries most resemble: science fiction, fantasy, or horror? What mental muscles do they use similarly, for writer and for reader? If a mystery story is a whodunit, is an SF tale often a howdunit? What works have most successfully crossed the streams?

Toni Weisskopf (M), Dana Cameron, Alexander Jablokov, Leah Cypess, Toni L. P. Kelner

I love SF/mystery crossovers, and have written a few myself.

Dealing with meetings

Most people--most people with jobs, that is--say they hate meetings. The waste of time, the boredom, etc.

They are lying. Almost every employed person secretly likes meetings. Why? Because, bar the odd one where you have to do some tedious presentation or other, you don't have to work at a meeting. And, since you have to be at work all day, an hour or two sitting on a conference room is a chance to relax. All you really need to do is look alert. And make intelligent-seeming comments that have no work consequence for you.

Imagine that. All you need to do is sound smart. It's a great deal. People say they don't like them because if they admit they do, they fear someone will do something about it. Like cancel the meeting. Which just adds another hour of sitting in your cube staring at a screen.

When you're a freelancer, it's different. They pay you for product, but when you aren't working, it's entirely your business. Meeting filler is less valuable, because the alternative is not the grim cube, but the couch, or leaving the house altogether, or working on some other project. I have several regular meetings during the week with my main client, and they are nowhere near entertaining. Not terrible, just not something I would pick if it weren't part of the job. They just move me an hour closer to whatever deadline I have without allowing me to get anything actually done on what I'm supposed to deliver. They are a source of stress.

I do try. The meetings where they make me use a webcam are complete loss, plus I have to put on a nice shirt, adjust the lighting, and not slouch. But even the other ones, where I can put the Mute button on and type or something, I feel obliged to pay attention to what people are saying. It's just distracting. And sometimes they mix real content in with the announcements about events I won't be able to attend, staffing changes of no possible relevance to me, and bonus programs I don't qualify for. It's a cruel trick.

So, you, office worker: stop complaining about your meetings. They are a relatively painless way to abrade your day.

Trying to watch TV: Fringe

When I was young, I watched a lot of TV. Every night after dinner, my younger sister and I would retire to the den to watch a black and white TV pretty much until it was time to go to bed.  For a good while after that I had a TV in my room. I watched it after school while I played with my Cape Canaveral set.  I kept watching a lot of TV until partway through college.  Then I stopped.  I didn't have a TV for a while, and kind of lost the habit.

TV shows really are much better now. If you don't believe me, watch an episode of Gilligan's Island or F Troop, staples of my youth.  And they now have way more sex in them, which would have been a big plus for me as an adolescent.

All my fellow writers watch a lot more TV than I do. I feel left out, particularly as I've never much liked SF TV shows.  I've discussed this before.

But I'm willing to keep trying. Since I'm writing a book that involves alternate universes, several people have recommended Fringe.  But there are three gigantic seasons of the thing. I didn't feel like digging through all of it.

Fortunately, a writer and editor named Jennifer Heddle came to the rescue, with a guide to what episodes to watch in the first seasons. I can't emphasize how much this kind of thing helps. I can be up to speed quickly, and not waste a lot of time on filler material. If you actually enjoy watching TV, as an activity, filler material is fine, even necessary. I'm just trying to get a basic knowledge, so I can fake it. I'm using leverage, and Ms. Heddle is providing the capital.  Thank you!

Did you ever think you would need Cliff's Notes for television shows?

So far, Fringe is OK. It has the problem I find inherent to SF TV shows (and most written SF, truth be told): it's always about what it's about. The characters know what the story is, and they do what they need to in order to move it along. Employees of evil megacorporations spend their time kidnapping people and plotting world domination rather than clockwatching and attending project update meetings. Everyone feels obliged to follow the dictates of a typewritten manifesto from decades ago. And Olivia, the main character, God love her, has the sense of humor of a cement mixer. Of course, she is slowly discovering that she was the victim of unauthorized experiments on her in childhood, which could ruin anyone's day.

And why does the ravishing Astrid get to do nothing but turn things on and examine bodies? I'm worried she'll start sending out her resume, looking for a sidekick job where she actually gets to say mordant and amusing things and occasionally kick someone's butt. Is that too much to ask?

Nice ending episode, with some cute mysteries set up.  If I'd had to watch the entire season to get there, I would have felt underrewarded, but as it is, I'm looking forward to zipping through Season 2!

God of Carnage: play without subtext

Last night I went to the Huntington Theater to see Yasmin Reza's God of Carnage (which is currently also a movie, Carnage). It was better than most Huntington productions, though given my experience with them, that's setting the bar pretty low.

The play was translated from the original French by Christopher Hampton. He must also have had to translate a lot of cultural referents from the 14th Arrondissement (or wherever) to Cobble Hill, Brooklyn. The housing supply owner Mike Novak reads a bit too generically working class--self-satisfied upper middle class people tend to be easier to port from one cultural operating system to another, while strivers still have culturally specific rough edges.

You probably know the story. One 11-year-old boy hit another one with a stick, breaking a couple of teeth. The two pairs of parents come together to reasonably discuss the situation, only to fall apart into almost hostility, drunkenness, and self-pity.

It's pretty fun, and has the advantage of being really short. But it says nothing other than what is there. There is essentially no subtext. No character is anything other than what he or she says there on stage. There is no sense of anything deeper, any history, any unarticulated feelings. At one point they flirt with wondering what the real story of the boys' relationship might be, a potentially deeper issue, but quickly drop it in favor of squabbling over cell phones, tulips, and Darfur.

Movies can get away with that kind of thing, because they have so many other ways of distracting you from lack of underlying content. Plays can't. If those real people in front of you don't bleed out past the edges of the stage and the hour or two they are there, they become just people saying lines.

I won't see the movie, so feel free to tell me what that's like.

We live in Newt Gingrich's alternate universe

There are certain figures that genre writers like to use as defining specific eras.  If you go to early-to-mid eighteenth century America, no matter where you go, you run into Benjamin Franklin. Straining at the limits of biography, Neal Stephenson bootlegs an extremely young Ben Franklin into Quicksliver, and Jim Morrow puts an only slightly older one into The Last Witchfinder. Similarly, Mark Twain puffs a cigar and comments mordantly in almost any version of the Gilded Age you can imagine, Theodore Roosevelt yells "Bully!" in alternate worlds with steam-powered land dreadnoughts and Confederate empires, and Winston Churchill nobly faces down invading German armies even in worlds where history varied widely from our own. No amount of historical change can seem to get rid of these guys.

I am sure Newt Gingrich sees himself as a similar linking figure, looming darkly in a variety of divergent histories. Often he is scorned and disregarded, which doesn't make him any the less penetrating and right. But now, in our universe.... The muffin and the moment have met.

Gingrich writes and reads science fiction. I am sure that he consciously thinks this. This is the right universe, he thinks, for his improbable ascent. This is the line of history that is the true one. There are lesser lines where he goes down to defeat. They are low-probability lines, inhabited by shadows.

I don't think he'd ever blurt this out, in debate or on the stump. He has learned some control over the years. It would make him seem...crazy. But look into his eyes. He doesn't really believe that you exist. You're just a shadow appearing in a single universe. But he is a reality in all of them. Believe it.

My Arisia schedule

Since getting back from the holidays I've been buried by both my jobs:  many hours per day of book revision, plus prep for some sales meetings next month for the freelance job.  I should have more time in bit.

And so I am feeling a bit squished by the fact that, a long time ago, I decided to go to the convention that kicks off our season here in Boston: Arisia.  I still have a lot to get done!

But here, quite late, is where you can see me at Arisia, if you are attending.  My panels:

Friday 5:30 pm
The Heinlein Juveniles, with Karen Purcell, Sandra Hutchinson, and Julia Rios.  I don't think anyone will ever read these again, but the reasons why are worth discussing.

Saturday 1:00 pm
Our Grim Meat-Hook Future, with Ken Kingsgrave-Ernstein, Steve Sawicki, Glenn Grant, and Suzanne Reynolds-Alpert.  Are we looking at the right dystopias?

Sunday 10:00 am (the hour otherwise known as the Event Horizon)
Traditional Stories, Modern Audiences, with Vikki Ciaffone, Meredith Schwartz, April Grant, and Bob Kuhn. Elaine Isaak, a friend from my writing workshop, indicated that she couldn't figure out why I was on this panel, and she may be right, because I want to talk about how removing religion, class distinctions, and early death from past stories alters something essential about them. But who is going to hear what I have to say at that hour?

If you're around, find me and say hi.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas

I will be off visit my mother in Illinois over the next few days. I won't be taking my laptop, so you most likely won't hear from me before the new year.  Talk to you then.

Who's willing to pay for increased density?

In an interesting post, Upzoning Manhattan, Matthew Yglesias asks, "Should Manhattan get even denser?" and answers "Yes".  Cities are green, and denser cities are greener.

Despite the fact that the demand for increased density is ever-present in economically successful cities, people who already live there usually resist. This is certainly true here in Cambridge. As I've mentioned before, there is a struggle in my neighborhood to decrease the density of residential units being built on what was once a commercial greenhouse and a heating oil distributor.  People are quite angry about the negative externalities of having more people in their neighborhood (traffic, mostly).

Pretty much everyone who lives here does so because of the density, which results in easy access to food, entertainment, specialty stores, and interesting neighbors. Those additional neighbors will help support more of all of these things. And if we don't provide places for new people to live, housing prices here will continue to rise, and they will move elsewhere, eventually to some other part of the country. We lose not only liveliness, but economic growth and political influence.

Current neighbors have a vote, potential neighbors don't. And let's not get into that annoying issue of private property, and the pesky rights that go along with it. The solution is always to rezone so that people who bought the property hoping to develop it under the old zoning no longer are able to do so. Eventually, no building will occur, and Cambridge will become a retirement community with universities and biotech firms in it. I don't see that as a viable future.

On "The Comfort of Strangers"

Gordon Van Gelder asked me for some comments on "The Comfort of Strangers", the story I have in the latest issue of The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction. When he got it (complete with diagram), it disturbed him in some obscure way, and he didn't print it, save for an out-of-context mention of a Penrose Triangle.

So, just in case you wanted to figure out what I meant, here is a somewhat extended version of what I sent Gordon.

While "The Comfort of Strangers" seems pretty light and funny, it is also an actual hard SF story that struggles directly with the real fact that the more realistic the far-future hard Sfness of a story, the less likely it is to be emotionally engaging to a reader in the early twenty-first century. This is particularly true since this story involves the reactions of alien species evolved under conditions quite different than the ones that guided our own evolution.

But stores should  have some emotional resonance. Otherwise, they are really essays, not stories--and, yes, many science fiction stories are essays with characters, kind of like the dialogues of Plato or Bishop Berkeley's Three Dialogues Between Hylas and Philonous or Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged.

So, like any writer in our genre, I bootlegged current-day emotional content back in, and translated the incomprehensible emotional connections of that future into terms we can relate to, even though the translated would make no sense to the actual beings in the story. An far-future alien sense of loss has to be comprehensible for the reader as a human sense of loss.

But it's actually worse than that.  Given the type of people attracted to written science fiction, the genre has evolved stories that are the equivalent of those ivory figurines Chinese ladies of earlier Chinese dynasties supposedly used to indicate to doctors where it hurt, since the doctor was not allowed to investigate the woman's actual body, or like a child might tell you his stuffed animal is worried about the arrival of the new baby. These stories show readers "where it hurts", while using characters and situations that are more focused and safer than real ones, and thus more interesting.

So the story is also about the biological constraints on emotional choices, told with fun alien hand puppets. I had started out writing a kind of rebuttal to stories like Kij Johnson's "Spar", which is about the emotions of sex, not the needs of reproduction. I wanted to show how you can't escape from the constraints of biology, and ended up writing something about frustrated reproduction that looks very much like a story about frustrated emotional relationships.

This is true despite the fact that the alien reproductive requirements are as realistic as I can make them--though they are mostly based on actual insects and other creatures in our own real world. I tried to play as fair within the constraints as I could--SF with the net up, as people say.

I'm not sure all of those things can be done at the same time, or at least, comprehended at the same time. It’s a little like a Penrose triangle, where every vertex makes sense, but the shape as a whole cannot literally exist.

 Diagram of "The Comfort of Strangers"

Pretty fancy underlying intellectual content for a story about sex with aliens!  That’s why I am the major literary figure that I am.

Comparative effectiveness: what the big money should be funding

• Do aid programs work? If so, which ones are the most effective?
• Does education increase value? By how much? Which methods work best? For whom?
• Does this or that medical treatment actually benefit the patient? Is there an easier, cheaper method that's just as effective? What routine practices would reduce death or morbidity rates?
• Does increasing density benefit the economic life of cities? What mix of density and sprawl gives maximum freedom and happiness to the population?
• Which practices most effectively preserve biodiversity, or decrease atmospheric carbon, or preserve scarce resources?

These are all difficult questions. They are hard to answer because there are so many vested interests and existing practices, and the benefits aren't clear cut. There is a huge amount of noise in each of these systems. And testing comparative effectiveness is extremely expensive and time-consuming.

This is where the big charitable foundations, like the Gates Foundation, should be putting their money. And I mean, all of it. There is huge potential value in improving all of these systems. Only large amounts of disinterested money, with no stake in the outcomes, can effectively fund studies that will provide credible, reliable results.

But, oddly, many of these foundations continue to fund actual programs. Educational programs. Aid programs. Urban development programs. Even though no one really knows which of them works, and what the most effective procedures are.

Even these guys want to seem to be doing something. Just learning what works seems so removed from human affairs, so academic. But it isn't. Without such studies, we are wasting our time and money.

Part of it, of course, is that everyone is afraid of the answers. Which treasured programs, practices, and beliefs actually don't do anything, or are actually harmful? A lot of vested interests stand to be disrupted.

And no big foundation is in the disruption business. They are in the cultural assumption validation business. No one goes to a fancy charity ball to celebrate proving that the past five decades of aid to some country's poor has been entirely wasted.

Still, I want to see someone do it. In fact, that's a charity I would donate to.

The plight of the payer

Confirmation bias is the defining cognitive error of physicians.  Physicians want to help you. Therefore, by definition, whatever they do to you must be helping you. Plus, you are demanding, and if they actually do manage to say "well, actually, there is nothing we can really do about that", you get mad and search around for someone who will finally do something. Finally, they get paid more if they do something than if they don't. They will tell you that that has no effect on their decisions, but they are, of course, wrong.

Hence my essential healthcare cost equation:

Bias-to-action, income-requiring physicians + patients demanding that someone do something = excess spending on healthcare

(Please note:  I don't mean to imply that physicians are not actually performing useful services, or that patients are hypochondriacs.  I'm just pointing out a tendency)

And who has to do that excess spending? Health insurers. And by necessity...you, the premium payer.

So if insurers discover that some medical procedure really, genuinely doesn't do anything useful, can they stop paying physicians to do it?

Consider the dubious practice of vertebroplasty, where someone injects cement into a vertebra to alleviate the pain of vertebral compression fractures. Back pain is awful and debilitating, and sufferers will go to almost any lengths to find something that works. Doctors who provide vertebroplasty are sure that it works.

An interesting article in Health Affairs, "Can Coverage Be Rescinded When Negative Trial Results Threaten A Popular Procedure? The Ongoing Saga Of Vertebroplasty" (HT: The Incidental Economist) covers this issue in detail. (The article was ungated when I looked at it, but seems to be gated now.  Pressure from vertebroplasty providers? In any case, unfortunate: it's a good article.)

There is no good clinical trial that shows that it works.  Insurers started covering the procedure here and there, and as a result are stuck:

 ...after insurers had covered vertebroplasty for so long, however, they feared that any attempt to change their “yes” to a “no” would be publicly perceived as cutting off access to beneficial care.

Because insurance covered the procedure, that very coverage had created a landscape of providers, manufacturers, and patients with a vested interest in continuing the status quo.

Because the procedure is covered, it is hard to recruit for a clinical trial by offering access to a new procedure. Two studies were done comparing the results of a vertebroplasty against a sham surgery, both indicating that the procedure, as you might expect, does nothing. There is a lot of "need to act" and money (and ego) involved now, so those who do these procedures are pushing back hard:

Because vertebroplasty is a technique requiring manual skill, the clinicians who perform the procedure often believe that the results of any related study will be driven by the training and expertise of the study practitioners.

It would be nice if "does the procedure do anything?" was the standard of coverage, but this is the real world here:

The vertebroplasty trials illuminated a divide between the highest-quality scientific evidence available and the dominant opinion in the clinical community about the benefits of the procedure. Payers reported that when making policy, they must strive to take both into account.

There is no good solution to this conundrum. I'm sure it happens in single-payer systems too. At the edges of provable benefits, patients become big babies and doctors turn into self-deluding egomaniacs. That's the rock-solid foundation under every healthcare system.

The Red Queen's race of innovation

Randall Parker of the ever-interesting Futurepundit had a post earlier this week pointing out that we need to continue to innovate just to maintain our current standard of living. This is a corollary to Tyler Cowen's notion of the Great Stagnation.

The Industrial Revolution happened when a relatively small group of people in northwestern Europe figured out how to unlock the energy in black sunlight, coal, and use it to move heavy things around. Water first, then other stuff, then people. Once they had it around, the energy proved useful for other things, and let them grab a lot of minerals and reform them in useful ways. The intellectual system that resulted proved useful for finding and using yet other hiding-in-plain-sight resources, like oil, atmospheric nitrogen, underground water, previously unaccessible soils, deepwater fish. Each time they climbed over a new lip, there was a big pool of resources to be used.

We had a good run. Now every one of those resources is getting more expensive in terms of energy and effort. Those big pools are gone. If the price of these resources goes up in absolute terms, in energy and time, then we will have to use less. We need to be constantly figuring out ways to get and use them more efficiently in order to have water, food, warmth, light, and entertainment. Innovations need to come regularly just to keep us as comfortable as we are now.

It may well be that our dramatic advances in information manipulation have somewhat misled us on how obdurate physical reality is. Our airy towers get higher and more beautiful. Maintaining the foundations is a constant effort. Do we understand how much effort that really is?

Properly used, of course, it is just that information that will enable us to understand that, and do something about it. Or it might just let us clearly perceive the looming disaster, while enabling an incredible amount of futile squabbling about whose fault it is.

The 2008 financial meltdown and the current pathetic Eurozone refusal to recognize that a snappy new pair of jeans doesn't really do anything about the gangrene in your leg will look like minor intellectual errors in comparison to the history of that collapse.

Recent reread: The Instant Enemy

I've mentioned elsewhere that I like mystery fiction, and that I like a detective without a lot of personal issues intended to make him seem like a real character. You know, a love of jazz, alcoholism, an estranged adolescent daughter, that kind of thing.

So I like Ross Macdonald's Lew Archer. Archer seems to work in order to earn money. At least he shows some semblance of pleasure when it seems he might get some. But who knows what he spends it on--he seems to live in his office. He may occasionally get sexually aroused, but doesn't really have a lot of tastes, hobbies, pet peeves, or friends who can't help him. He's a pure private eye. His reward is in seeing the truth. His only pleasure is solving crossword puzzles made out of human lives.

The Instant Enemy (1968) is a good example of Macdonald's high style, which is that of Greek tragedy told backward. In classical Greek tragedy, the audience knows the family history and its ancient crimes, and waits to see how the characters on stage will learn about it, what their reactions will be, and what effects those reactions will have. In Macdonald, Archer is hired to investigate a crime, often a fairly mundane one. As he digs into the motivations of the acts, he gradually uncovers a long and brutal history that connects a huge number of seemingly unrelated characters. Sins are visited on children and grandchildren, and no one ever seems to escape.  And, of course, the investigation of the crime then sets off a series of other crimes, as suspended or forgotten stresses are released.

A paradigmatic Macdonald novel might be where Archer is hired by a man to find out why his daughter was arrested for jaywalking on her way to school, only to finally reveal that the people who built the intersection murdered someone and buried him under the crosswalk, that the daughter is actually the illegitimate daughter of the cop who arrests her, and that her teacher is her father's deranged ex-wife, the one who murdered the crossing guard's son in a kidnapping gone wrong, but not before someone is beaten to death in the squash court and the driver of the car that beeped at the girl in the crosswalk drives off a cliff after realizing the true meaning of those events at recess, thirty years before.

The Instant Enemy is a fast and entertaining example of the genre.  I lay down on my couch and read it until I was done, fairly late at night. And I'd read it before! The pace is of a sports car with great steering and tight suspension tearing down a twisty mountain road in the dark. In a rainstorm.  If he ever seems to let up, it's just to lull you into a false sense of security. There's a lot to learn from here.

Each Macdonald book is really a pocket family saga, with all its crimes and illusions,  uncovered by the obsessed archeologist, Archer.  Each is about the image Archer has in The Instant Enemy after he gets knocked out by a bad former cop: "Huge turning wheels, like the interlocking wheels of eternity and necessity". But instead of making you wade through hundreds of pages, he gives it to you in compressed form. In a world of morbidly obese literature, it's quite a relief.

Can successful people teach you how to deal with failure?

As in self-help books, bloggers like to write about failure, defeat, and frustration. Unfortunately, also like self-help books, they tend to write about these things in the context of...well, of success.  The author of the book, the author of the blog, are qualified to tell you about failure, because they are successful.

In this context, failures are learning opportunities. Frustration is surmounted and eliminated. The blogger is now a successful venture capitalist. Or award-winning (or even best-selling) writer. Or happily married with two kids and another on the way. Or just really good looking.

There is clearly a role for this kind of thing, as there is in belief in an afterlife. "Well, right now this sucks, but ultimately it will all work out." I too read these posts, looking for signs that the troops I've left on the battlefield did not die in vain, that all those corpses are really just a learning experience, fertilizer for the growth of future victory.

Part of the problem for me is that the failures of these now-successful people are also kind of like successes. They fail out of Harvard Law School even though their professors are in awe of their intellect. They lose a $5 million company. They sleep with 100 incredibly-hot-but-wrong-for-me people. They become desperate alcoholics, neglect their families,  and spend most of the award banquet after they win their Pulitzer puking in the bathroom.

So I understand I can't even fail successfully.  Or, as the old joke has it, "look who thinks he's nothing".

I understand that failure can sometimes only be discussed when an intervening success makes it less painful to contemplate. I just suspect that I'm not getting the real story, just as it seems that no photo you now see of a person shows you what they actually look like (I like the toggles in Figure 5, particularly the third and fifth ones).  We are curators of our own image, after all, and few people like to truly reveal the vomit-inducing pain of failure unless they fundamentally see themselves as successful. If you sometimes feel your being had by these stories, you are not alone.

I'm a middle-aged man trying to maintain a writing career that has never taken off the way it should have. I have not stopped trying, and will not. I'm not particularly confessional, so I doubt I will plumb the depths of failure for you here. But I will try to be clear about what this means, and what it requires.

Newt Gingrich: a science fiction writer's idea of a politician

What, you need an actual post to go along with the title?

I guess, now that we are in the future, we need one of those technocratic visionary leaders the future was always going to ruled by.

Science fiction writers don't create futures you want to live in. They create futures that are fun to read about. This one is turning out to be neither.

Intertemporal hostility in the American author

A couple of weeks ago I whined about revision. The great thing about revising a novel is that whining becomes a marathon event.  I'm marking up a draft of a YA novel involving a young man who gets shanghaied into an alternate world, gets home, and finds that his problems have only just started.

I try not to get too angry at that slacker of a few months ago who thought that an easy departure from the riverside hotel in the steam-powered world without a direct confrontation with the interdimensional Bad Cop was a great way to end a section. He didn't have the advantage of having the whole book in front of him.  All he had was a blank screen.

Well, cry me a river.  Now I have to face the fact that he didn't get Mom out of where she was stuck and just kind of abandoned her until she pops up suddenly at the end. Again, his excuse is that pesky blank screen. Does he think that gets him out of everything? That smug bastard, with his nice word counts and his sense of satisfaction at writing The End!  He barely did anything.

He knew the day would come when "and then a miracle occurs" would no longer cut it. And I'm uneasily conscious of the future self who will regard my way of busting Mom out and getting her home without having her actually prevent her son from diving into a dangerous alternate world to save his father as lame and predictable. Screw him. Doesn't he know how hard this is?

When you're a writer, you don't really need other enemies. Your past and future selves are quite enough.

Invisible progress: surgical hemostats

I too sometimes go for the "where's my jetpack?", Great Stagnation negativity about technological progress over the past few decades.

But progress is steady, and to a large extent invisible. I recently wrote a press release for a client about surgical hemostats, internal tissue sealants, and adhesion barriers.  This is a whole range of materials the control internal blood flow and connect up tissues, largely during surgery. There is intense competition, and new forms of these are constantly being developed. If you go into surgery, one of these is probably used during the procedure. But who outside of a surgical suite has ever heard of the things?

And, yes, I presume a new combination thrombin/gelatin surgical hemostat (thrombin for the clotting, gelatin as a physical blood barrier) is more expensive than its predecessor.  Surgeries have certainly been performed successfully without it. But each small advance adds up. I bet a surgeon in 2011, if he or she had to perform a surgery in 1991, would be startled by how many taken-for-granted little advances there have been in those two decades, and how retrospectively difficult and dangerous surgery back in that dark age really was.  Ditto for someone in 2031 coming back to now.

Dull for a science fiction writer to fit compellingly into a story, however, unless maybe the gelatin is made to hold some mysterious material with more dire effects... SF is not usually about the use of technology, but its creative misuse.

Progress is a bunch of nanobots transforming things at a level below the visible.

Hey!  Where are my nanobots? I figured we'd all be gray goo by now....

Our only real choice on global warming: adapt

David Zetland at Aguanomics has the best simple description of our global warming choices. Short summary: no one is ever going to agree to reduce carbon emissions, even though when the sky falls it will fall on every one of us. So our only option is to work out how we are going to live in a high-carbon world.

I care about global warming.  I am also flying my family to visit my mother this Christmas holiday. Am I evil? A fool? No. Just complicit. Just making the same choices everyone makes. We have only one life, we have the opportunity to live it in pleasure and comfort, and so we will take it. If we think about it, we'll bicycle somewhere rather than driving or put a solar panel on our roof.  I believe the technical measurement for how much that helps is on the close order of "jack shit".

So, how do we live in a warmer world? We need to think about it, because, assuredly, we are going to be living in it. And blaming someone else, no doubt.  Those pesky Chinese! Don't they know cars and single-family houses are merely vanities? What's wrong with them?

If the sky is going to fall, figure out how to strengthen your roof. That's the highest value for your dollars, like it or not.

BTW, Aguanomics (note the 'g'), mostly about water but also about other topics, is one of the most informative blogs around.  Scarcity of potable water is going to be a major issue in the coming decades. I'm currently reading Mr. Zetland's The End of Abundance, a compendium of good sense on water policy. From his accounts, he travels all around the world, doing interesting things and meeting interesting people. And his photo indicates that he is good looking to boot. I'm feeling the uneven distribution of resources here. I'll just have to live with that, and suck as much value from him as I can. Look for stuff I've stolen from him in my fiction.