Salmofilia

I love salmon. Oh man do I love it -- grilled, baked, dried, smoked, stir fried -- well, you get the picture. I figure that inside of me must lurk the spirit of a grizzly, or perhaps I have a grizzly totem. I can imagine slapping a salmon from a splurgling river ...

Dragon Con

I have decided to go to Dragon Con again this year. It is "the world's largest fantasy/SF convention, held annually in Atlanta, GA, on Labor Day weekend." I have been going for a few years in a row now. It has a great writers track of seminars, that I have attended in the past, and a sizeable turnout from many of the famous fantasy, sci-fi, etc. authors. Many attendees dress up in amazing costumes, but since I have no girlfriend to share the convention with, I won't be wearing a costume myself. I would feel too self conscious showing up stag in a costume -- the biggest benefit of which is going to the fantastic costume ball.

They also have a Dawn Contest, where women dress up as Dawn (a graphic novel character). I think they chose Dawn, because (1) she wears many, vastly different costumes, and (2) the author was cool with the whole thing. Those ladies strut across the stage in front of 100's (1000's?) of people in a large auditorium -- that takes guts and moxy. The MC is Anthony Daniels, of C3PO fame. He is what makes the whole costume contest work -- keeping the pace moving and supporting the ladies who find their confidence flagging. I bet they have it on youtube somewhere.

I hope to see you there...

Romance -- with Photon Torpedoes

So, I have realized that my two main characters are, well, going to fully enjoy each others company. I am considering bringing romance more to the forefront, since my female (non-human) character is becoming more and more interesting to write about -- because of the hard choices she is having to make. She is a secondary character that is jumping to the forefront. So much for my intricate storyline plans. Shrug. Any suggestions on a good romance-scifi book to inpire me?

Units of Measure

In a science fiction/fantasy book, I love to get lost in the world. Harry Potter's world is rich and intriguing. There is a reward for taking the effort to suspend disbelief. What does this have to do with units of measure? Well, I am writing a book that has a character that has to do some surveying (so, I suppose, he is a surveyor, among other roles). Are the indigenous peoples of some far off alien world going to describe their world in meters and furlongs? I think not. Wouldn't be terribly absorbing if they didn't have their own interesting (and reasonable, at least to them) ways of doing things.

Having a well developed world involves these little details -- what do they worship? how do they eat and what? who rules? what has value to them? and... how to they mark time, measure distances, evaluate weights and volumes. Some of these things may not come up, but for a surveyor who is working with these locals, I think that the unit of measure for distance is sure to come up.

So, how will they tell him a long or short distance? Will short distances be in body lengths or flea jumps or thigh bones? We have the furlong -- the length that a team of oxen should plow a field before given a rest, a "furrow-long". A "chain" in width by a furlong gives an acre -- the amount of land plow-able by an ox team in a day.

So, what will my locals use? Will the basis be farming, as above? I suppose they better be agrarian. I suppose it will depend on what made them need to measure length or by convenience. They have to have a need to measure to create the impetus to create and manage a measurement system.

Also of interest, will these aliens have the same unit of measure between their settlements or will they have their own System International vs. the Queen's? Maybe in my book the unit of measure differences will have sparked warfare and carnage. I mean, haven't you wanted to kill one of those smug bastards who bitches about your use of yards instead of meters? Haven't you? Or is it just me? : )

300

I went to see the film "300" Tuesday night. I am going restrict my observations on the film to its use of archetypes. The characters seemed to be detached and wooden. I realize that this is something of the genre of graphic novels noire (the film is based on a graphic novel). The film stays true to that aspect -- to have massively grotesque deformities, totally fearless leaders, perfect warriors, etc.

Personally, I try to fight such absolutes in my writing. I don't have a great artwork to divert attention from the characters. Nor can I write imagery well enough to fill that role. Instead, I like to write about grey characters -- ones driven by personal motivations. To some extent, I am successful. Hell, even Darth Vader had a softer side (well, at least episodes 4-6). One of the many problems I had with episodes 1-3 was the woodeness of the characters. You could almost see them advancing plot elements. "And now Darth Moebius travels to planet Flarg in order to advance plot element x". A funny web site bitching about star wars is here.

I enjoy quite a bit looking at the world through my characters eyes. What would this guy/gal do here? Maybe because I am not the Lone Ranger, I tend to see them driven by their view of the world -- not by some detached perfect course. Such characters are much more compelling to me. Also, I tend to prefer not black and white, but red-green-blue. Three sided conflicts tend to allow more maneuvering for the characters.

Now I need to find the motivation to put more words to the page, er, lcd.

Powerful Smell

I have always been intrigued by the power of smell. It may be our most primordial sense. Suck in some chemicals past your upper nasal cavity -- your smell receptors are basically a part of your brain. Smell is one of the earliest senses to develop, with taste and touch of course. Seemingly simple smells have an amazing ability to stir deep memories.

In my writing, I find that smells trigger flashbacks in my characters as they do to myself. One such memory is triggered by the smell of picked-ripe strawberries, the ones that are red all the way through. Not the storebought ones, mind you, with their white cores. That smell makes me think of OJ Simpson and his mad bronco ride up the California interstate.

I was driving back with a few work buddies from Carmel by the Sea to San Jose, CA, where I worked at the time. I think it was a Friday in June, 1994, but I suppose I could check the date easy enough (you can guess why, I suppose). We were coming back from dinner at the Boar's Breath (Head?) Inn, the one owned by Clint Eastwood.

Seeing fruit stands along the side of the road, we pulled off to buy some freshly picked strawberries. Pints were selling for $1 each by an eighty year old migrant worker. Well, he was probably 30 something, but he looked like no one from that tv show. He was skin was so pigmented from endless hours in the sun that the dark coastal soil dusting his skin looked light brown, almost white. He had a permanent stoop to his posture, one that could only come from tireless hours in the berry fields. That, more than his heavily sun ravaged skin, is what put the years on his appearance.

I could see that he had a lot of strawberries; the rancher at that farm, he said, lets them pick and sell the very ripe ones, the ones too ripe to make it to the store. So, I bought a pallet of them. Yes - a pallet. He tried to give me a pallet discount, but I would have none of that.

As I handed the strawberries out into the car and slid into the drivers seat, one of my friends said that on the radio OJ was making a break for it in a white bronco and the police were in pursuit. So, as we drove up the road, we laughed and talked about how we might should pull over and see if he would make it all the way up to us. We ate strawberries. Vine ripe, melt in your mouth strawberries that I had never known could be that delicious. Well, sensuous as much as delicious. That pallet of strawberries, in the evening sun, filled the cabin of that car with smell that to this day still triggers that memory of OJ Simpson. And of the man that picked them.

New Blog

Here it is, my new blog. Nothing profound here -- hopefully just a spot to work on my writing and maybe yours too.