Archive for the ‘Writing’ Category
I have all sorts of things on my Twitter feed, from NASA to Emergency Kittens and everything in-between. I do follow a lot of sci-fi authors, so I’d thought I’d bring your attention to a few. They’ve all got projects both published and in the works, so if you’re looking for a good read, this selection might offer you a few choices. I’ve chosen them at random, but they’ve been brought to my attention through my Twitter feed. Most are available at Amazon for download on Kindle, at very reasonable prices. I’ve taken the covers and descriptions from these books from the Amazon listings. Please help support fellow sci-fi writers and give these books a read! I’ll be posting these books regularly, so keep a lookout for this listing. And if you’re a sci-fi writer who wants me to post your book, just let me know. I’ll be happy to!
Winner! The 2014 Stellar Sci-fi Contest For Science Fiction Dystopian Novel
The war of 2020 was quite bloodless, but its aftermath was plenty grisly. The victor? A monster corporation now wasting the planet’s resources with abandon — but controlling the people with precision. Using industrial-scale organ harvesting. Using wholesale euthanasia. Using squadrons of armed guards whose bulletproof visors hide any expression in their eyes.
We’re trapped, Zoe thought. Trapped on a dying planet. Wasn’t there a time when we didn’t live under massive domes with scrubbed air piped in and rising temperatures neutralized? That time is a blurry memory to me, almost gone. Gone, like the glaciers. Like the forests and their oxygen-breathing trees.
And now a deadly virus is spreading fast. Zoe’s beloved husband has already been carried off by it. At that, the corporation forced their young daughter Laya into an orphanage. The corporation is intent on eradicating the virus by liquidating everyone infected. Now Zoe herself has fallen ill. More than half of her dwindling energy is spent trying to hide that fact.
She remembered her promise to Laya, to be together again. She rested her forehead against the mirror and whispered to her ghostly fading self—hissed to herself, fierce in refusal! “You can’t die now. You just can’t!”
In this heartless technocratic dystopian future, normal emotions constitute treason. Acting on them is a capital crime. Can a mother’s passion defy this totalitarian system? Will a promised cure arrive in time to save Zoe—and can she get her hands on it?
And if she regains her health, is there a chance she can ever find freedom…and even new love?
The Organ Harvesters reveals a future that will make your skin crawl—and a human struggle to live free that will leave you beathless and inspired.
Can a unique partnership discover who is stealing the minds of children? Life isn’t easy when you don’t own yourself, not all humans are aware that other species exist, and your ship is semi-sentient. Kerris and Arucken are an interspecies messenger team, tasked with aiding communication across the galaxy. Haunted by the grief of her sister’s murder and stranded, Kerris must discover who is stealing the minds of children.
Theopolis James Logan is finally living his long-cherished dream. Whisked away from his mundane life on Earth – along with six other gifted teenagers – by an alliance of peaceful, alien civilisations known as The Affinity, he has forged a life of excitement and wonder on another world. To his friends, he is a technical specialist, adept in the use of super-advanced technology. However, in secret, he is a covert operative for The Star Agency: the Affinity’s secret service, defending the galaxy against the shadowy forces of the Metah Dah, the Affinity’s sworn enemy.
For centuries, the Star Agency has helped maintain a fragile peace, but when a devastatingly powerful secret weapon is lost, presumed stolen, it sets in motion a chain of events, pushing the Affinity towards the brink of war and plunging the seven human friends into a nerve-shredding battle for survival. Can they survive in a universe more dangerous and unpredictable than they can possibly imagine, or will the dark forces of the enemy triumph, tearing the Affinity apart?
Meanwhile, back on Earth, an old friend is looking for answers.
The Voyages Of The Seven is the second exciting adventure in the Star Agency Chronicles – an Interstellar secret agent adventure series suitable for young and old alike. If you think you know science fiction, think again
The Earth they left was a planet ravaged by climate change, war, and corruption. The planet they found was a lush world of wonder, and the pristine mountain valley they settled into provided all their needs. Their technology allowed them to live comfortable pioneer lives in a mild climate, with breathtaking landscapes and clean, fresh air. Avalon was paradise – a primitive paradise – but paradise none the less. But…this beautifully deceptive planet had a lesson for them…Paradise comes at a price.
Seventy five years after an alien virus infected Earth causing evolution to accelerate in wild and unpredictable ways, humanity has become an endangered species. An ancient prophecy, a Warrior of the People, and a vision of an unknown youth may be the keys to healing both the human race and the planet.
So now that I put my first book to bed (for now), it’s time to begin writing the second! I’ve come charging out at the gate, full of zip and zing, just itching to get those words out of my brain and onto a screen. After all, the characters have been banging around, demanding to take on some form and function, ready to put that plot to action.
And off I went, typing my little heart out. I came up with a fast outline, about twenty pages or so, then reduced them to about three, then one. Why? So I’d have a synopsis ready. My agent will need it, plus it helps to have it to hand when coming up with that all-important pitch.
I have a wide-screen display, so part of it showed my outline (to keep track of things) and the other was the book. Pretty soon, I ignored what I had up there for an outline and just kept going.
See, I wanted to write those first 50 pages that editors always seem to ask for when perusing a book submission. Checking it out to see if it’s any good. If it’s what they want. Can they sell it? Can you write? It’s got to be perfect, a real page-turner, else it’ll wind up in the slush pile and the permanent death bin. Can’t have that, now, can we?
So write I did, until I have my main three characters all set up nicely and it became pretty obvious they’d have work cut out for them to resolve their issues.
As it seems, so did I.
I wrote eighty pages. I only needed fifty.
My characters looked askance. One of them complained he had glue in his feet. Another thought she’d been kind of inactive for two long. And the other? Kind of went on and on about something or another without actually coming to a point.
Time to chuck out the garbage!
First, I read the whole thing without changing a word. The story line made perfect sense, but it could be better. I examined each paragraph, all the dialogue, even punctuation. Took my time and shelved a few ideas. I liked them, but those ideas gave too much of the plot away, so I made a file called, “For later.” I go back to that file if I need an idea, use a quote, even a suggestion. Often I ditch much of what’s in there, but if you come up with a good quote and it doesn’t fit right in its original spot, it might be useful later. Or you can admire it over and over and congratulate yourself for being clever and use it in witty conversation at one of those glamorous cocktail parties you’re going to be invited to when your book is published. Believe it or not, I got rid of 10 pages this way.
Next, I went over those really long paragraphs and the very short two-liners to see if I couldn’t condense them. I actually trimmed quite a bit this way.
Finally, I went over each and every sentence. That’s tough. I found myself reading sentences over and over, unable to shorten or reword them. It’s going to work out that I’m going to need some of those longer sentences, but I can make them shorter by finding better ways to contain the information they’re trying to convey. After all, brevity is the soul of wit, and you can keep a reader far more interested if you get right to it.
I’m not quite at 50 pages yet, but I’m nearly there. I’ve hacked and pruned my way to 59 pages, which isn’t too bad. My story’s exposition reads a whole lot better and I’m feeling good about it. I’m still in first draft mode, but with those solid first 50 pages, I’m ready to tackle the rest of the book…all three thousand pages of it…
Just kidding!
Photo credit: ft.com
They say if you stick a bunch of typewriters in front of a roomful of monkeys, they’ll eventually churn out Shakespeare. Now, I’ve never seen that proven but here’s a fact: artificial intelligence is now composing prose.
I like to read Engadget . It keeps me updated on technology of all sorts, no matter who or what developed it. So a story caught my eye the other day: AI-written novel passes first round of a literary competition. This competition, taking place in Japan, marked the first time an AI-human collaboration garnered serious consideration.
The Hoshi Shinichi Literary Award opened up its competition to artificial intelligence for the first time this year. Out of 1450 submission, 11 were human/AI collaborations.
Now, it’s not like the AI came up a great storyline all on its own. It had help, of course. Humans gave the AI the necessary components to create a story: vocabulary, a basic plot outline, sentences and phrases. With these ingredients, AI worked its muse and put forth a pretty darn good entry. Of course, it was science fiction – what else?
Competition judges read through the AI/human and deemed it good enough to pass onto the next round. I’m willing to be that made the authors quite proud. All the while, the judges never knew The Day a Computer Writes a Novel was anything but a human invention. Alas, while the story turned out to be well-structured, imaginative and inventive, it failed the character development test, leaving someone else (human, I’m assuming) to win the coveted prize.
So while this particular entry to the Hoshi Shinichi Literary Award competition didn’t garner first place, it did come out a winner of sorts. Imagine if you were one of the writers who got left behind and this robot beat you out. Part of me would feel kind of pissed off, insulted maybe, and yet, I’d be scratching my head. Has the sci-fi market gotten to the point where the objects of its plots are now the ones creating the new stories? If left to its own (plot) devices, what sort of plot will an AI write? Steampunk? Electrifying thrillers? A Cyborg in shining armor saving the day?
Kind of gives a whole new meaning to Asimov’s Laws of Robotics, eh? I mean, if a robot write a really bad story, who’s being harmed – the art, the robot or humans subjected to reading it?
Furthermore, will us humans be cast aside in favor of those who can churn out story after story, without food, water or air? No, wait…that’s pretty much every writer I know.
It’d be pretty interesting to watch how this plot develops.
An Early Draft, Now Barely Recognizable
It’s done. All Done. Over. Finished.
My sci-fi soul, laid bare, over the course of several hundred pages and 130K (or so) words.
My book. The one that took forever to write, or seemingly so.
Its fate rests in the hands of my agent now, who has total authority to sell it and make us both rich, famous and instantly recognizable.
My sister Gwen, our agent Marisa and me went out to dinner recently, discussing all that it takes to put forth a novel of any genre or length. Sure, there’s coming up with a compelling plot, interesting characters, twists, turns, a blast of an ending and the promise of more works to come. But there’s a backstory to all this, one that most readers never consider.
It’s this: what happens when the writer writes? What goes on in his or her life while the words flow?
I started writing this book in 2013. Mainly I wrote nonfiction and copy. Truly had no clue how to write a novel. So during the time from first word on the page until the seventh draft – yup, that’s right – I’ve had a lot of action occurring in the background.
Both of my parents died. My dearest uncle, too. I quit one job, lost another, and got hired again. I’ve had surgery and a scare of cancer. My sister had two surgeries and a cancer scare too. My brother is battling a terrible disease. My husband had major surgery. And sure, there were many times I stared at the computer screen, eyes filled with tears because I couldn’t think long enough or clearly to formulate a sentence. I couldn’t focus long enough even to come up with a lame blog entry.
Good things happened, too. My son grew nearly a foot (no lie – he’s 6’2 1/2″). Andrew and I had a great trip to Atlantic Canada and San Francisco. I have some wonderful friends that made me laugh. Gwen and I went to several fantastic literary events. Even had a few birthdays along the way.
And absolutely most of all, I survived the writing experience and I finished a book, got a wonderful, wonderful agent and there’s a publisher who might be interested in my work. Yay!
This, too, might seem strange to some, but probably not to a writer: my characters wouldn’t let me give up. If I wallowed in my grief and sorrow, one of them tapped me on the shoulder and said how sick they were being trapped in my brain and they were going to kick me in the patootskie if I didn’t let them go on with their lives and live it up on the pages of my book. They had plotting to do, people to exchange dialogue with, motives to fulfill. So as I drifted off to sleep at night, one or two of them inevitably held a conversation in my head, wondering what they should be doing next. I tried to discuss it with them, but often I was too sleepy. Sometimes, they’d be a bit too active and wouldn’t allow me to drift off, poking me to move the plot along already. And then, of course, when two characters grew rather attracted to each other, well…
So hopefully I’ll do a better job of keeping this blog active. I spent the past month on the final home stretch to get the manuscript in good order, and now that it’s done? I’m on to my next book!
They say a journey begins with a single step. How many steps, then, does a person take during a lifetime?
Many, if the journey is full and rich, and one thirsts for adventure, seeking it regardless of where it might lead.
I have the privilege to be acquainted with such a person who rarely, if ever didn’t let anything stop him, forever fulling his adventurous spirit. That person is my Dad.
My father began his journey on May 29, 1929, the middle child of eleven kids, in Harrison, South Dakota. His family consisted of a mother whose family were pioneers dating back to the early 1800s, and his father who left Holland as a boy to strike out in America, plus all those kids. They lived on a prosperous farm until the market crashed and the Dust Bowl took what was left. Instead of heading towards California, this family headed towards upstate New York. After a few fits and starts, Grandpa bought a dairy farm. My grandparents eventually sold the farm but remained in the town until their deaths. Except for two children, all others left to see what the world had in store for them.
Dad went to college during a time when not so many did but the Korean War interfered with those plans. He served as a drill sergeant and travelled all over. Not long after the war’s end, he met my mother, a musician in a popular band. Up on the stage, she sang and played drums. Dad introduced himself. Within eighteen months, they married. Over the course of seven years, three kids showed up. My aunts and uncles started families too. Seemed normal to have thirty-eight first cousins.
Never one to sit still, Dad’s entrepreneurial mind created successful businesses throughout his working years. His active mind and imagination saw opportunity in the oddest of places. Even if the odds seemed risky, Dad tried it anyway. Sure, a few ventures bombed but most paid off handsomely. That gave him the resources to travel. Curious and adventurous, he and Mom travelled the country and the world, making friends everywhere they visited.
Everything interested him, from the heavens above to here on earth, no matter where or what it was. He held public office and made friends with senators, congressmen and politicians. Loved culture and attended the opera, concerts and theatre. Dad’s garden grew amazing flowers and vegetables. His many friends kept my parents entertained throughout the year
If asked, Dad would tell you his biggest source of pride was his family. Not just us, but all of it. Not just a beloved uncle, but a member perching on a long family tree. Our family history extends to the late 1400s, and thanks to Dad, he left it to us to remember who we all are and where we came from (Germany and Holland).
Three years ago, the journey slowed down for Dad. On a winter vacation, he disappeared for seventeen hours. Couldn’t tell you where he went. Back home, he repeated himself over and over again. His gait grew unsteady and his blood sugar went through the roof. Then Mom died. Dad’s journey slowed considerably. Over this past winter, it ground to a halt. He stayed inside mostly, venturing to the doctor, the barber, an occasional meal at several local restaurants.
On January 28, a mild winter day, I took him out for a morning. Got his hair cut, ate lunch at his favorite diner. Saw a few friends and said hi. Dropped him off home. Said I love you and see you next week. Dad replied he loved me and smiled.
Fifteen hours later, he died, in the same exact spot my mother did twenty months ago. His caretaker said his eyes were fixed on a portrait of my mother as he passed over into the final frontier, the unknown that is the afterlife.
Mom loved the stars in the heavens. I’ve no doubt the two of them are holding hands up there now, twinkling their smiles back to their children, their family, their former world.
xo from your daughter, Gretchen, Mom and Dad!
Credit: Trustees of the British Museum/Mathieu Ossendrijver; NASA (both as shown in the New York Times)
Today I read in the New York Times an article about ancient Babylonians tracking the movement of Jupiter. It’s a remarkable discovery because the tablets dating from 350 BC to 50 BC (above is an example) revealed sophisticated mathematical equations comparing the motion of Jupiter across the sky. Cuneiform pressed into clay tablets detailed a graph which calculated the velocity of Jupiter’s travels in a given time. It was originally thought that this sort of calculus was first used in the Middle Ages.
Babylonians called Jupiter Marduk, the god of water, vegetation, judgement and magic. If you think about it, all four of those things might have been intensely important to a city-state. The fortunes of any population depend upon its ability to feed itself, and during dry times Marduk’s powers might have been called upon ensure the Tigris and the Euphrates kept flowing. Otherwise, without growing crops, it might have taken a bit of magic to keep the peace, and judgement must have come swiftly if Babylon’s citizens acted in a way not befitting of its patron god.
Marduk, I’ll have you know, didn’t come by his godship easily. It’s a bit obscure how he came into being as a mythological entity and it seems he went by 50 other names. During a civil war between the gods, Marduk, as a young god, offered his services to the Anunnaki gods, telling them he’d defeat the other warring gods and bring order. In return, they’d make Marduk the head god. Arming himself with all the elements and forces of nature, Marduk emerged victorious and took his rightful place as the one all others showed deference.
Somewhere in here’s a great story waiting to be written. No, not the trope where the ancient tablet is picked up by some unsuspecting archeologist or museum security guard and all hell (literally) breaks loose. Here’s my idea:
These hunks of clay talk to people via an ancient language known only to a few. An elderly professor, trying to prove he’s still relevant, goes into a collection and uncovers a cuneiform tablet no larger than a slice of stale bread. He’s seen it thousands of times, but realizes it’s been misinterpreted. A chip off of a corner, missing for years, turns up and changes the entire meaning of the message. It’s a message from Marduk himself, who foresees a wonderful vision that will only arise under exact circumstances. The elderly professor tries to show his revelation to the department dean, who dismisses him and accuses him of dementia-related hallucinations. Another professor, also getting along in years, is the only person who believes him. Trouble is, this person is on the other side of the globe and speaks another language. The two can only communicate, it turns out, in cuneiform symbol script. Both have age-related illnesses and it’s only a matter of time the two of them work together to solve the problem and bring the prophecy to life.
Will they?
If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you about our service…
What is it these days with businesses wanting to know how they’re doing? No matter where you go, who you see, what form you fill in or school you attend, there’s always some nosy person sticking a form or link in your face, begging to ask how things went, what they did right, wrong, fair-to-middling, or other such intrusive questions that you really don’t think hard and long enough to answer.
Take the other day, for instance. I had to go to the doctor. Nothing fancy, just a routine body inspection to make sure the organs weren’t grinding and bits weren’t falling off. Even got my arm stuck with a flu shot. Afterwards, I’m handed a clipboard. “Could you please fill this out?” says the nurse. “They want all of our patients to, nowadays. You know, to rate the service.”
I nod and smile, believing this is my opportunity to explode about my 3:15 appointment actually occurring at 4:10. That’d be admitting failure and besides, they already know they’d be inviting a lot more than negative responses. And it isn’t enough that patients have to fill out a lengthy questionnaire about the myriad of ailments you didn’t have, might have had or just plain had (aren’t they supposed to know this already?). They’d like to drain whatever we’ve got left in our pocket-protected pens and finish off our opinions of what was supposed to be an already lengthy process to begin with (let’s face it: NO ONE goes to the doctor believing they’re going to be in there for any less than two hours).
Then there’s the oil change I had the other day. What’s so mind blowing about a routine procedure for your car? Apparently, the place where I took it wants to know what they could do better. I really have no idea – change the little reminder sticker to a “Hello, Kitty” stick-on that blankly stares at you to take your Chevy in at 48,000? That questionnaire came in the form of a request. “If you don’t mind, could you take five minutes and go to our website and rate our service? It’ll take less than five minutes.” Having other things to do, I simply didn’t get around to it. Today, I received a phone call on both my land line and cell reminding me to do fill in that questionnaire so they can serve me better. To really get me in trouble, they called my husband’s cell, too. I guess they think a woman isn’t capable of knowing harassment when she sees it.
Amazon’s great for relentless pressure to rate your product, too. Sure, it’s terrific for books and larger items, like washer-dryers. But do I really need to review the rubber wristband for my kid’s watch? He’s going to break it anyway in about two days, and I only ordered it because I got a few CDs and it was convenient. Yeah, I get them too from every single online order I get – shows up in my mailbox that’s devoted exclusively to receiving quasi-necessary but easily forgotten emails.
Gas stations, chain restaurants, clothes stores, the babysitter…all of them need to know what I think about them. Is self-esteem in that short of supply these days? Do we really need to be patted on the back or smacked in the face? Why?
Of course, we all know the answer: Leave. Me. Alone.
The truth is, if someone’s doing a good job, they should be told about it. Praised, even. Same goes for bad work – boy, they ought to hear about it. Voluntarily. But why go asking and asking and asking? Yeah, sure, they’re going to tell you it’s all about providing you with better service. But does it really? I haven’t noticed anyone rushing to get my doctor to see me any faster. My oil change predictably gets changed every 3000 miles and the car still runs just fine. My life hasn’t been altered because of any basic, essential or throwaway service I’ve received anywhere, and that’s including the places where I actually did fill in the survey.
Tell you what. I’d love to write a short story on the person who’s filled out one too many surveys. Imagine a corporate hack processing all of these forms. He gets that one-off where the questionee provides blunt, tasteless answers. The hack checks out the person and winds up in some kind of cyber netherworld wherein he desperately tries to fulfill requests and never, ever gets it straight. Or the woman who answers a request with snarky comments. She trips down a portal and every snippety comment she makes comes back to bite her. What kind of world would those people inhabit? Or take the classic stoning scene from Shirley Jackson’s “The Lottery.” Instead of stones, the woman has thousands of anonymous hands shoving questionnaires in her face. Her inability to gauge billions of satisfying or unsettling performances, accompanied by a pen with a very short supply of ink, causes her hand to tremor, leading to an exploding brain and quite messy demise.
Now imagine you. There you are, paying the tab at Blammo Burger, when the chipper, youthful customer service assistant asks you if that cheese-onion-sausage-kale-acai-pilchard beef burger met your definition of yummy. How you gonna respond?
Thought so.
Man, I’ve had it.
Been a tough few weeks since I posted. And again, nothing horrible happened. Just me trying to reach the finish line.
After my, oh, sixth rewrite of my book, I finished it! I’m gasping and panting, sort of looking back at the experience, gazing upon it with bleary eyes, hoping I got it right this time.
Perhaps one of the most exciting, excruciating and frustrating things about putting a work of your own creation together is taking that rough assemblage of unruly words and whipping them into a recognizable form. I put off all forms of recreation and relaxation in order to finish, once and for all, this wonderful story I’ve drummed up in my head. My agent liked it very much, but said it needed work on the dialogue. My sister, the published author, liked the story but told me I gave out too many details when it wasn’t necessary.
Not wanting to rush through it, I read the whole thing through without doing one single edit. I wanted to absorb it, then take the suggestions of both my agent and sister and see how to fix it. I learned long ago not to take criticism personally. You can’t, not when you’re editing. Sure, it helps to have beta readers, and I did, but in the end your story’s going to have to win over the hearts of editors and publishers. There’s no room for taking criticism personally. I couldn’t.
Sure, my sister and I argued over plot points and she tossed my pages back at me when I didn’t quite understand what she was trying to tell me. You might say I have a different way of interpreting her lessons. But she didn’t write the book, I did, and if she can’t figure out what I’m saying, then how will the reader? And yes, once I read out loud my dialogue, my agent was right on the money – people don’t talk like that! Too stodgy, too boring, too…ugh…
So I fixed it all, wrote, rewrote and rewrote some more, even entire pages, until my eyes went numb. Fingers, too. And even after I rewrite the thing for the fifth time, I still wasn’t happy. I gave the whole kit-and-kaboodle one more look-over. Found those last few troublesome spots, as well as some missing commas, periods and other missing punctuation points.
And, for now, I’m done.
Boy, I showed those words a thing or two. So now, I’ll be making regular entries again. I missed my blog. A lot. But I’m doing a lot better now, having whipped my book into the best shape it’s ever been.
I’ve been glancing through the headlines, as most of you do, I’m sure, to not only figure out what’s going on in this world but perhaps troll up some fodder for fiction. When I’m stuck or need a break, I put down the project at hand, pick this up and scan headlines. Not blogs or other social media, but that quaint little collection of light grey pages that lands at the end of a driveway or plops on a porch.
Yep. A newspaper.
I subscribe to two local papers, have several digital subscriptions and read all sorts of magazines, both online and print. Listen to a whole bunch of different podcasts. From these sources, a virtual (literally) treasure trove of really neat stuff’s just waiting to be picked and eaten, occasionally alive. Though you might already know the stories and the sources, it’s worth consideration for sci-fi stories.
For example:
Headline: El Nino May Bring Record Heat, and Rain for California, New York Times, August 13 2015 edition.
Random inspiration: El Nino (“the child” – male), a slumbering pre-conquistedor kid, awakes from his long-forgotten grave when San Diego sewer workers open up a bit of the freeway to repair a broken water main. See, this kid’s the ancient victim of a sacred ritual wherein young innocents’ lives were sacrificed to The Holy One in order to bring warmth and water for crops to grow. Trouble is, after one long, lingering look at his hot wet-nurse, this youngster planned to grow to adulthood. Kid’s last thoughts, right before his neck slicing, conjured up a curse, promising a time when his bones are discovered, he’ll unleash his vengeance and both fry and flood California. So when our unsuspecting sewer workers jackhammer and pickax the asphalt on a typical July morning, the steam rising from the broken pipe isn’t evidence of a pipe failure, it’s EL NINO manifesting a physical form so he can wreaked havoc with the weather…and unite with the one woman who’d give him what he needed.
Headline: Swiss Find Remains of Two Japanese Climbers Missing Since 1970, Associated Press, August 7, 2015
Random inspiration: Though they might appear to be missing Japanese climbers, they are, in fact, only the remains of higher ascended beings who shed their disguises after studying the lives of those on Earth. Meeting at the foot of the Matterhorn glacier, their intergalactic stellercaster ship gracefully landed when said mountain, enveloped in dense fog, provided a safe and mysterious curtain for rescue. Once aboard, duo relates horrific story of nuclear war, cold war, resource depletion and disintegrating moral values, especially those having to do with free love. Ignoring all of the former and attentive to only the latter observation, lonely shipmates ditch the spacecraft to come ashore on this wild planet to learn a few firsthand lessons of their own.
So you see? It’s not much of a leap from reality to sci-fi. All that’s needed is a quick read between the lines and a spin on the details. After all, it’s what politicians do every day. Why not you?
So there I was, minding my own business and typing last Thursday’s blog entry – something about creating a new genre of fiction – when I thought I’d put in a handy, useful link. There were a few books I wanted to gather up links for, so I set about searching for the first – Stephen King’s “On Writing.” Since I was in a bit of a rush, trying to finish the blog before I made dinner, I noticed there were several Amazon site links for that book. That’s pretty common. I clicked on one to copy. Within nanoseconds, up came several pop-up windows telling me I had a security alert – one pop-up window literally spoke to me – and behind the speaking pop-up I could see something was downloading.
On top of that, a phone number appeared telling me I must call it immediately. Foolishly I did, out of idle curiosity – and I asked immediately who it was I was speaking to and how much this is going to cost. Not getting any real answer, I hung up. Okay, okay, you’re all going to call me an idiot for doing that. But you know what? I was panicked and on sensory overload. Normally, I’m as sensible as galoshes in a rainstorm. In this instance, I was a hair’s breadth from collapsing into a puddle of goo.
Then I shut down my computer, closed its display/lid over the keyboard and stared at it, as if experiencing a bad dream or a silly one-off that’d go away the moment I lifted the lid….which I did. Turning it back on, the evil pop-ups still lurked on the screen, menacing my desktop and covering my blog entry. I couldn’t close the pop-up windows, so I closed the browser.
Andrew, my husband, just happened to call and I spewed out the rapidly-disintigrating chain of events. My entire life flashed before my eyes (oh, c’mon, you can’t tell me your computer isn’t your entire center of being?). Calmly, he asked me to recite the series of events for him. Desperate to wish this unfortunate series of missteps away, I did, hoping for a seed of a solution.
“Did you back everything up?” Andrew asked.
“Well, most of it…and I thought our server did that,” I replied.
Okay, now this brings up two issues: “most of it” and “server.”
“Most of it” means I had my first book, latest draft, the one my agent now has, saved on two sticks. I’ve mailed it to myself, too. My latest book, a work-in-progress, saved on a stick and the server, but as I was working on it, not the very latest, up-to-the-minute version. Old incarnations/drafts of my first book – yes, on a stick drive, but not the server. Other files were saved on stick drives but I know I had other random files not saved anywhere.
“Server” means if our auto backup to the server backed up my work-in-progress book while the malware infected my computer…don’t want to think what might have come next…firewalls do come in handy…but so does disconnecting the internet from the wireless router. Nothing gets past if there’s no way it can get in, period.
Grabbing the travel case, I shoved my Mac into it, yelled something to my son like he can help himself to whatever’s in the fridge, hopped into my car and jammed onto the rush-hour traffic on the highway. I’m kicking myself, repeating what a dope I am for allowing this to happen, and am especially unforgiving about calling the number. When did I become soooo stupid? Sped like lightning to our local Geek Squad, stood in line while fighting to maintain calm. The woman who stood next to me made me laugh – her smartphone kept turning off and on and she was powerless to stop it. It was quite funny, actually – even she was laughing. “If I dropped it, yeah, sure, I can see something like this happening, but I didn’t do anything! This is all this phone’s idea,” she said.
The techie calls me forward and I swallow before explaining my actions to him. I feel like an idiot. With the manner of a emergency room doctor, in a soothing, calm voice he said, “You’re not the first one this has happened to, nor will you be the last. Macs are increasingly vulnerable to both malware and viruses. Give me a minute,” he said, disappearing through plastic sheets into a back room. After about five tension-filled minutes, he came out and said, “All right. Here’s the good news. From what we can tell, the malware didn’t execute, so that makes this situation a whole lot easier. It seems we can save everything, clean ‘er out and make everything right again, but it’ll take a few days since it’s the summer, people are on vacation and we’re short-staffed right now. So the bad news is, we have a seven-day turnaround right now. If you can wait that long, we’ll do the job.”
All I heard is, “The patient’s going to live.”
I gratefully thank him as I hand over my credit card, ignoring the ridiculous amount it’s going to cost to repair it. At least the service contract will last two years and the software that goes to protect it can be installed on two more computers.
It’s not until I get in the car and am on the highway that I realize it’s dark and 9:00 pm…and haven’t had dinner. Ah well, not hungry at all, after this. I arrive at home and walk in the house, handing Andrew the software as he asks me for details. He installs the software and it scans all of our networked files, as well as those on our hard drives and everything comes up clean (we have several computers). In the end, this story turns out well. I’ll get my computer back in a few days, I have another one to use but still, when I think how this could have turned out?
My God, what a nightmare.
Folks, drop whatever you’re doing RIGHT NOW AND BACK EVERYTHING UP!!!
Moon, Stars and Beyond 