After being consumed by my research into Molly's life for half a year, I expected the dissemination of her work to provide a much-needed respite. The opposite has been the case. Delving into the nasty world of book publishing has me longing for a return to The Reader and my editing of the second entry in her narrative.
There are so many other people out there selling science fiction that my science fact is lost in the noise. And how can a story, no matter how adventurous and bizarre, compete with the pure fancy of fiction? Well, for me, there's no contest. Knowing that these events will happen makes them more powerful in my esteem.
My last week has been almost as crazy as my visit by the Bern Seer. It began with some research into various agents and publishers. If I wanted to submit directly to a publisher I could, but they are swamped on entries and cutting back on publications (especially first-time authors). Better to have an agent get you on top of the pile.
So, I've sent query letters to a dozen agents that handle science fiction (I can't avoid the genre. People will believe James Frey... but not this). The problem here is that they are contracting as well. If my writing is not spectacular enough to sell Molly's story on page 1, they move to the next query. And I don't blame them. The reader is going to do the same thing.
One small publisher is interested and another has asked for sample chapters. It will be interesting to hear their opinion on my writing. They will, of course, be judging it alongside fiction that is meant to entertain. Did I do an adequate job of detailing Molly's adventures in a manner appropriate for casual readers? I suppose that's the crux of this exercise. To settle that question.
It'll be a few weeks before the dust settles and my options for spreading Molly's tale can be properly gauged. Until then, I need to get back to what I used to find laborious and now recognize as comforting. Back to the second book with a full edit. I would love to have the draft readable and complete before I depart on my "vacation." More on that later.
Wednesday
Tuesday
A Moment of Panic
Much has been said about my research into Molly, but little about the writing process. If anything, it has been even more manic than my time spent with The Reader. Most of the rough draft of my narrative's first entry was written in a mere week. 76,000 words in seven 12-16 hour days.
If that sounds epic, consider that I have become so familiar with this story that it was just a matter of moving it from my brain to the computer. Plus, I have an interactive outline to work with--the documents on The Reader.
As soon as I had this draft prepared, I realized that a portion of the next events in Molly's life deserved to be included as well. This brought the word-count up to 85,000. With only 50 pages left to edit, the final count of my first manuscript figures to be right at 100,000 words. If I were setting out to write a science fiction novel, I couldn't have done any better.
In fact, the overall structure of this first entry is startling for its neatness and simplicity. Ten sections, each one composed of around 10,000 words, or roughly 30 pages if I ever format this for publication. That early events in Molly's life could be detailed with such a beautiful layout is fascinating, even if coincidental.
The moment of panic came when I uncovered a document deep in The Reader which contradicted another report. I quickly went back and looked at my original source, and saw that a minor detail in a battle report could have been read two ways. I had read it incorrectly, reproducing this mistake in my narrative.
After a rough set of re-writes to reflect this new, and more accurate information, I feel that the events unfold in a more readable (and accurate) manner. The sensation, however, has not left me. What else have I gotten wrong? I'm beginning to think that I need a second person looking over my shoulder. Someone capable of catching any mistakes I might be making.
My wife, of course, serves as one line of defense. She reads my drafts and checks for inconsistencies and poor word choices. But any attempt to get her to look over The Reader leads to the little spiffs that we amusingly call "arguments." She has, after all, seen what the infernal device has done to my life.
If that sounds epic, consider that I have become so familiar with this story that it was just a matter of moving it from my brain to the computer. Plus, I have an interactive outline to work with--the documents on The Reader.
As soon as I had this draft prepared, I realized that a portion of the next events in Molly's life deserved to be included as well. This brought the word-count up to 85,000. With only 50 pages left to edit, the final count of my first manuscript figures to be right at 100,000 words. If I were setting out to write a science fiction novel, I couldn't have done any better.
In fact, the overall structure of this first entry is startling for its neatness and simplicity. Ten sections, each one composed of around 10,000 words, or roughly 30 pages if I ever format this for publication. That early events in Molly's life could be detailed with such a beautiful layout is fascinating, even if coincidental.
The moment of panic came when I uncovered a document deep in The Reader which contradicted another report. I quickly went back and looked at my original source, and saw that a minor detail in a battle report could have been read two ways. I had read it incorrectly, reproducing this mistake in my narrative.
After a rough set of re-writes to reflect this new, and more accurate information, I feel that the events unfold in a more readable (and accurate) manner. The sensation, however, has not left me. What else have I gotten wrong? I'm beginning to think that I need a second person looking over my shoulder. Someone capable of catching any mistakes I might be making.
My wife, of course, serves as one line of defense. She reads my drafts and checks for inconsistencies and poor word choices. But any attempt to get her to look over The Reader leads to the little spiffs that we amusingly call "arguments." She has, after all, seen what the infernal device has done to my life.
Monday
Dialogue
As I strive for "historical" accuracy, one of the areas in which I must take some liberties is dialogue. Portraying the voice of each character as faithfully as possible presents some challenges.
I have, in The Reader, diary entries from four of my main characters. This has been an excellent foundation for capturing their voices (and sometimes their companions'). I also have several conversations that were preserved by Molly, many years later, as best she could remember them. There were a few encounters she had while younger that were so instructional, she later attempted to write them down, line-by-line. Each of these resources have proved invaluable.
Writing accurate, readable, and entertaining dialogue was one of my greatest fears moving into this project. I've heard from lost of people that this is the most difficult thing to do well. Imagine the challenge of doing it well while doing an actual source justice.
I'm not sure if it was the preparation, or if my fears were overblown, but dialogue has turned out to be one of the simplest parts of these narratives to construct. After reading so many first and second-hand accounts of each character, I feel like they are living inside of me. When I get in a zone with the writing, I almost don't even see the screen... I hardly know what I'm writing. My fingers just try and keep up with the scene that is playing out before me. A scene I already know by heart from my research.
That's the key with writing about these future events. I study them until I know them. I know the smells, sights, sounds, tastes... and then I try to relate this vision to someone else. The reader. And maybe this is why I wasn't too bad a choice for this project. Perhaps this is why the Bern Seer chose me (if there was any sort of selection process at all). Maybe anybody could have done this.
Here's a sample to give you an idea of my process:
Sources:
READER DOC#295,201(Molly's Journal)
...can't believe Cole slept through the entire flight to Palan. Infuriating. Had so many things I wanted to talk about... plan for the trip back. He never once asked about Parsona, what she looked like, had planned to describe the entire layout, listen to some music together. I tried everything to wake him, but the guy sleeps like a brick. Like a brick with a cute, little snore. Okay, that part of the trip wasn't too bad. Lots of stolen glances. Just wish he'd fallen for my little ruse.
READER DOC#1,204,081(Cole's Audiolog Transcriptions)
After three nights of using the audiolog to record my sleep, I have to assume Molly is trying to get my goat. Get my goat. Now that's a curious phrase. Sounds weird to say it out-loud when I know it's being recorded. Great, now I'll have to edit this part out. So, uh, the snoring. I'm pretty sure this is some kind of running joke with Molly. I'll try one more night, just to make sure the mic is calibrated, and then this experiment will be concluded. Other observations: One, we spent two years in the simulators together pulling shifts and she never said a thing. Two, the first mention was on our flight to Palan. Three, it's entirely possible that this is a female thing, that Molly was angry at me for passing out on the starliner, which would also explain the heavy bruising discovered on my right arm upon arrival, and... now I don't remember which number I was on... uh, let's just say finally, this motivation on her part also calls into question her story about playing a card game that I have been able to find no mention of since.[END]
Result:
“Where are we?” Cole asked.
“Palan,” she said, as grumpy as everyone else on the ship, but for a different reason.
“Already? Man, that went by fast. Why didn’t you wake me?”
“You seemed pretty out of it. And when you started snoring really loud, I went and sat with some guys back in coach. They taught me this cool card game called Mossfoot. You start off with—“
“I don’t snore that loud,” Cole interrupted.
“Well, I just got back and people were complaining.”
“Hmmm. Record it next time. I don’t believe you.”
I hope this gives you, the eventual reader, a sense of how dialogue is being put together for this first trilogy. For every little line you read, understand that I'm pouring through dozens of disparate sources. This has me wondering if my manuscript submissions would have been cheaper to ship (and more likely to win a favorable reception) if I hadn't included my extensive footnoting system and bibliography.
I have, in The Reader, diary entries from four of my main characters. This has been an excellent foundation for capturing their voices (and sometimes their companions'). I also have several conversations that were preserved by Molly, many years later, as best she could remember them. There were a few encounters she had while younger that were so instructional, she later attempted to write them down, line-by-line. Each of these resources have proved invaluable.
Writing accurate, readable, and entertaining dialogue was one of my greatest fears moving into this project. I've heard from lost of people that this is the most difficult thing to do well. Imagine the challenge of doing it well while doing an actual source justice.
I'm not sure if it was the preparation, or if my fears were overblown, but dialogue has turned out to be one of the simplest parts of these narratives to construct. After reading so many first and second-hand accounts of each character, I feel like they are living inside of me. When I get in a zone with the writing, I almost don't even see the screen... I hardly know what I'm writing. My fingers just try and keep up with the scene that is playing out before me. A scene I already know by heart from my research.
That's the key with writing about these future events. I study them until I know them. I know the smells, sights, sounds, tastes... and then I try to relate this vision to someone else. The reader. And maybe this is why I wasn't too bad a choice for this project. Perhaps this is why the Bern Seer chose me (if there was any sort of selection process at all). Maybe anybody could have done this.
Here's a sample to give you an idea of my process:
Sources:
READER DOC#295,201(Molly's Journal)
...can't believe Cole slept through the entire flight to Palan. Infuriating. Had so many things I wanted to talk about... plan for the trip back. He never once asked about Parsona, what she looked like, had planned to describe the entire layout, listen to some music together. I tried everything to wake him, but the guy sleeps like a brick. Like a brick with a cute, little snore. Okay, that part of the trip wasn't too bad. Lots of stolen glances. Just wish he'd fallen for my little ruse.
READER DOC#1,204,081(Cole's Audiolog Transcriptions)
After three nights of using the audiolog to record my sleep, I have to assume Molly is trying to get my goat. Get my goat. Now that's a curious phrase. Sounds weird to say it out-loud when I know it's being recorded. Great, now I'll have to edit this part out. So, uh, the snoring. I'm pretty sure this is some kind of running joke with Molly. I'll try one more night, just to make sure the mic is calibrated, and then this experiment will be concluded. Other observations: One, we spent two years in the simulators together pulling shifts and she never said a thing. Two, the first mention was on our flight to Palan. Three, it's entirely possible that this is a female thing, that Molly was angry at me for passing out on the starliner, which would also explain the heavy bruising discovered on my right arm upon arrival, and... now I don't remember which number I was on... uh, let's just say finally, this motivation on her part also calls into question her story about playing a card game that I have been able to find no mention of since.[END]
Result:
“Where are we?” Cole asked.
“Palan,” she said, as grumpy as everyone else on the ship, but for a different reason.
“Already? Man, that went by fast. Why didn’t you wake me?”
“You seemed pretty out of it. And when you started snoring really loud, I went and sat with some guys back in coach. They taught me this cool card game called Mossfoot. You start off with—“
“I don’t snore that loud,” Cole interrupted.
“Well, I just got back and people were complaining.”
“Hmmm. Record it next time. I don’t believe you.”
I hope this gives you, the eventual reader, a sense of how dialogue is being put together for this first trilogy. For every little line you read, understand that I'm pouring through dozens of disparate sources. This has me wondering if my manuscript submissions would have been cheaper to ship (and more likely to win a favorable reception) if I hadn't included my extensive footnoting system and bibliography.
Sunday
A Beginning
Choosing the right place to start Molly's story was simple. Despite all that took place before, much of it long before she was even born, there was one day that changed everything. Not just for Molly, but for the galaxy.
The full scope of this story is only beginning to be understood, even after six months of nonstop reading and research. And yet, it all hinged on a single day. So that's where this story begins. The Tchung Affair.
I've apologized several times prior for my analytical, male brain. I'm an engineer, not a poet. If the following is hard to follow, please know that I appreciate the irony of my having been chosen for this task. I would reject the duty were I not so completely absorbed by its subject.
Here are the first seventeen pages of our saga, downloadable in .doc format:
http://www.divshare.com/download/7511472-ce6
The full scope of this story is only beginning to be understood, even after six months of nonstop reading and research. And yet, it all hinged on a single day. So that's where this story begins. The Tchung Affair.
I've apologized several times prior for my analytical, male brain. I'm an engineer, not a poet. If the following is hard to follow, please know that I appreciate the irony of my having been chosen for this task. I would reject the duty were I not so completely absorbed by its subject.
Here are the first seventeen pages of our saga, downloadable in .doc format:
http://www.divshare.com/download/7511472-ce6
Saturday
Deconstructing the Humanization of Delphi IV
One of the best tools I have for making sure my telling of Molly's story is both honest and compelling is, ironically, her Academy records. I have every paper Molly wrote, from Junior Academy book reports to a pre-action tactical assignment she wrote just prior to the Tchung Affair.
Here's a sample from one of her essays (picking up on the second page). I think it's a fair representation of her unique mixture of iconoclasm, creative thinking, and human decency.
*************************************
It is clear, therefore, that Dr. Glav Jones has made a grave error in linking societal changes on Delphi IV with first Human contact. His anti-consumption bias, noted above, has him searching for causation where there is mere correlation. Did the arrival of Human envoys to Delphi IV spark a revolution? Undoubtedly. Did Delphi society swing to a consumerist base in ensuing years? Absolutely. Was this, as Dr. Jones suggests, a result of a Human conspiracy? I think the answer is clearly "No." But without a grasp on the universal rules of Natural Selection, it is impossible for Dr. Jones to see why.
The Galactic Union has now cataloged over 400 planets that harbor life. More than 80 of these planets had some form of sentience. Almost twenty of those were at least in the industrial phase. In every case, the principles of evolutionary natural selection have been verified. The process is now understood to be chemical, as much as it is biological. We would be just as surprised to find a world which wasn't based on RNA/DNA and the subsequent shortcuts that life stumbles upon, as physicists would be if they discovered a planet on which objects didn't fall toward the center.
Despite this, xenoologists such as Dr. Jones continue to rely on soft psychological musings of cultural development rather than on the stricter theories which are founded on scientific principles and subjected to the rigors of peer-reviewed publication. The oversight would be tragic, were it not comical. The experts devoted to exploring the condition of all lifeforms do not study the very theories that govern life.
The case of Delphi IV highlights a pattern of sentient behavior seen, not just on other colony worlds, but in the ancient history of Earth. When organisms are given complete freedom, they tend to use that freedom to hoard resources. This is a fact of nature that can be seen in every engorged belly and every stockpile of gathered goods. Evolution rewards the greedy, especially if the organism can make large displays of philanthropy while it is quietly sneaking more away for itself.
Detractors of this theory often point to ecological niches that have attained a balance. This argument is flawed, as that balance has come after a long process of competing claims on resources. Give one of the competitors a bit more room, and see if they forgo the extra calories or territory because they prefer that on which they have already settled. The balance we see comes at the end of a process of each side taking as much as it can, resulting in fast prey and starving predators. If we found a symbiotic relationship wherein the horned grazers provided a steady supply of willing meals to the carnivores that promised to only eat their fill, I would be willing to entertain the argument.
What happened on Delphi IV was that the greedy imbalance between the slave-owners and the enslaved was disturbed. Guided by one of the great principles of the philosopher Madaline Meln, Humans intervened to secure the freedom of a sentient race in bondage. The subsequent flourishing of culture on Delphi IV led to increased societal freedoms and individual wealth. That the participants of this system used this combination to increase their own holdings, and improve the future for their offspring, is not to be condemned--it is to be expected.
There is much that Dr. Jones gets right in his analysis of Delphi IV, but not an ounce of it is based on a rational understanding of the forces at play. The good points he has, and I daresay the only reason the man is read and cited widely, is because his warnings of over-consumption resonate with Humans. Simply because the urge to hoard is rewarded in nature does not mean we ought to reward it in our civilized cultures.
The Delphians can learn from our mistakes, just as they have accepted the universal wrong of slavery. But we need to teach them that these urges they feel to possess as much as possible come from biological imperatives, not from a cultural invasion. Not only is the truth more helpful, it is more palatable. Current mistakes in ideology lead to xenophobia. We look at a universal trend, and tend to blame the first example of that trend as if it is the cause of the trend. This not only ensures that the pattern will continue, it perpetuates the hate that comes from ignorant tribalism.
For these reasons, and others that the space requirements of this assignment will not allow me to enumerate, I am unable to give a breakdown of Dr. Jones's conclusions regarding the increased consumption of luxury goods on Delphi IV following first contact. His biased assumptions and lack of a chemical or biological education do not just lead to flawed statements on the societal development of Delphians, I believe they make him unqualified to write about any culture in the Milky Way. Period.
*************************************
It is quite a read; and if you made it all the way through--kudos! Imagine sorting through thousands of documents like this on top of the millions of other bits of evidence I have. You'll understand why my hygiene has suffered.
Just as fascinating as Molly's ideas are those of her instructor, who gave her a D- for the paper. He corrected the obvious grammatical mistakes (reproduced faithfully, above) and cautioned her against run-on sentences and obtuse word-choices (typical of highschool essays, I'm afraid), but he really nailed her for not following the assignment.
From this last, we get an idea of what Molly went through at the Academy. Frankly, it just makes me love her even more.
Here's a sample from one of her essays (picking up on the second page). I think it's a fair representation of her unique mixture of iconoclasm, creative thinking, and human decency.
*************************************
It is clear, therefore, that Dr. Glav Jones has made a grave error in linking societal changes on Delphi IV with first Human contact. His anti-consumption bias, noted above, has him searching for causation where there is mere correlation. Did the arrival of Human envoys to Delphi IV spark a revolution? Undoubtedly. Did Delphi society swing to a consumerist base in ensuing years? Absolutely. Was this, as Dr. Jones suggests, a result of a Human conspiracy? I think the answer is clearly "No." But without a grasp on the universal rules of Natural Selection, it is impossible for Dr. Jones to see why.
The Galactic Union has now cataloged over 400 planets that harbor life. More than 80 of these planets had some form of sentience. Almost twenty of those were at least in the industrial phase. In every case, the principles of evolutionary natural selection have been verified. The process is now understood to be chemical, as much as it is biological. We would be just as surprised to find a world which wasn't based on RNA/DNA and the subsequent shortcuts that life stumbles upon, as physicists would be if they discovered a planet on which objects didn't fall toward the center.
Despite this, xenoologists such as Dr. Jones continue to rely on soft psychological musings of cultural development rather than on the stricter theories which are founded on scientific principles and subjected to the rigors of peer-reviewed publication. The oversight would be tragic, were it not comical. The experts devoted to exploring the condition of all lifeforms do not study the very theories that govern life.
The case of Delphi IV highlights a pattern of sentient behavior seen, not just on other colony worlds, but in the ancient history of Earth. When organisms are given complete freedom, they tend to use that freedom to hoard resources. This is a fact of nature that can be seen in every engorged belly and every stockpile of gathered goods. Evolution rewards the greedy, especially if the organism can make large displays of philanthropy while it is quietly sneaking more away for itself.
Detractors of this theory often point to ecological niches that have attained a balance. This argument is flawed, as that balance has come after a long process of competing claims on resources. Give one of the competitors a bit more room, and see if they forgo the extra calories or territory because they prefer that on which they have already settled. The balance we see comes at the end of a process of each side taking as much as it can, resulting in fast prey and starving predators. If we found a symbiotic relationship wherein the horned grazers provided a steady supply of willing meals to the carnivores that promised to only eat their fill, I would be willing to entertain the argument.
What happened on Delphi IV was that the greedy imbalance between the slave-owners and the enslaved was disturbed. Guided by one of the great principles of the philosopher Madaline Meln, Humans intervened to secure the freedom of a sentient race in bondage. The subsequent flourishing of culture on Delphi IV led to increased societal freedoms and individual wealth. That the participants of this system used this combination to increase their own holdings, and improve the future for their offspring, is not to be condemned--it is to be expected.
There is much that Dr. Jones gets right in his analysis of Delphi IV, but not an ounce of it is based on a rational understanding of the forces at play. The good points he has, and I daresay the only reason the man is read and cited widely, is because his warnings of over-consumption resonate with Humans. Simply because the urge to hoard is rewarded in nature does not mean we ought to reward it in our civilized cultures.
The Delphians can learn from our mistakes, just as they have accepted the universal wrong of slavery. But we need to teach them that these urges they feel to possess as much as possible come from biological imperatives, not from a cultural invasion. Not only is the truth more helpful, it is more palatable. Current mistakes in ideology lead to xenophobia. We look at a universal trend, and tend to blame the first example of that trend as if it is the cause of the trend. This not only ensures that the pattern will continue, it perpetuates the hate that comes from ignorant tribalism.
For these reasons, and others that the space requirements of this assignment will not allow me to enumerate, I am unable to give a breakdown of Dr. Jones's conclusions regarding the increased consumption of luxury goods on Delphi IV following first contact. His biased assumptions and lack of a chemical or biological education do not just lead to flawed statements on the societal development of Delphians, I believe they make him unqualified to write about any culture in the Milky Way. Period.
*************************************
It is quite a read; and if you made it all the way through--kudos! Imagine sorting through thousands of documents like this on top of the millions of other bits of evidence I have. You'll understand why my hygiene has suffered.
Just as fascinating as Molly's ideas are those of her instructor, who gave her a D- for the paper. He corrected the obvious grammatical mistakes (reproduced faithfully, above) and cautioned her against run-on sentences and obtuse word-choices (typical of highschool essays, I'm afraid), but he really nailed her for not following the assignment.
From this last, we get an idea of what Molly went through at the Academy. Frankly, it just makes me love her even more.
Friday
The Impossible Map
I'll never forget the day I showed Dr. Lisa Robinson, one of my astronomer friends at NASA, what has since become known as "The Impossible Map."
We were having lunch together in the cafeteria near KSC HQ (the hub of Kennedy Space Center's inland industrial area) when I showed her The Reader for the first time.
As I've said before, this project drove me batty from the first week, and I think Lisa was worried about her old friend. I was flipping through documents and talking excitedly about what I'd found thus far when I realized that Lisa wasn't looking at The Reader--she was looking at me.
It's an unpleasant experience, discovering that your close friends think you're crazy. Even worse is the difficulty one has in convincing them otherwise, especially when you are desperate to do so. The absolute worst, though, is when their sincere doubts begin to weaken your own resolve.
I was seeing myself through Lisa's eyes, and that's when I first starting having major doubts. Her next reaction didn't help matters. I had finally scrolled to the document I went there to show her. I slid The Reader across the table, urging her to take a look.
Lisa laughed immediately. She covered her mouth and looked up at me, eyes bulging wide. Her eyebrows were arced high, apologizing for not being able to control herself. When she explained why the was "Impossible," I was humiliated. Keep in mind, I'm a glorified chemical engineer with a physics degree--not an astronomer. However, a grade-schooler could have pointed out the obvious problem with the map I was showing her.
If it was labeled "The Milky Way," where in the universe was the picture taken from?
Lisa also pointed out that the spiral galaxy in the photo looked uncannily similar to M101. I asked her if these galaxies couldn't resemble one another, or if there was any way the photo could have been taken...and she said "No." Then she asked if it would be okay if she called my wife. "To have a chat."
Before I left, Lisa scanned a copy of the map right off the face of the reader (a technique I never thought of before, and have since used to snag schematics and some other diagrams). She said it would be fun to e-mail it around to her colleagues and stifled another laugh.
I figured the incident was over and promised myself that I would shower and shave before I visited with any more friends about this Molly Fyde nonsense.
The next week, I got a phone call from her. Again, she was telling me that the map was impossible, but this time...she wasn't laughing. She sounded anxious and harried. I had been asleep (passed out at my computer), but I agreed to rush right over (breaking my earlier promise to myself regarding hygiene and visitations).
"It was Wade that pointed it out," she told me behind the SSPF building. "He called me and congratulated me on the effort." Lisa was glancing up at the sky, as if someone were watching. "So I asked him what effort he was talking about, and he said the distances, positions, and luminosity."
Now I was the one worried for my friend. She looked horrible, and I couldn't follow a single word of what she was saying. I begged her to slow down and pretend my Day Pass was a Visitor's Pass.
"The distances are spot-on," she said. "The luminosities, the angles of deflection. For Menkar, Canopus, and Sol, anyway."
"What about the others?" I asked.
"Never heard of them," she said.
A handful of people at NASA already knew about the image and were poring over it. They were calling it "The Impossible Map." But now the label had become ironic and spooky instead of literal. Everyone wanted to know who had created the hoax. (If you guys are reading this, now you know where Lisa even got the image. Perhaps you want to start taking the hyperspace document more seriously?)
Here's the map (click to enlarge), and I can corroborate the relative distances between these stars by suggesting that they conform to elements within Molly's narrative. Here is a link to the star data Lisa sent me later that day.
We were having lunch together in the cafeteria near KSC HQ (the hub of Kennedy Space Center's inland industrial area) when I showed her The Reader for the first time.
As I've said before, this project drove me batty from the first week, and I think Lisa was worried about her old friend. I was flipping through documents and talking excitedly about what I'd found thus far when I realized that Lisa wasn't looking at The Reader--she was looking at me.
It's an unpleasant experience, discovering that your close friends think you're crazy. Even worse is the difficulty one has in convincing them otherwise, especially when you are desperate to do so. The absolute worst, though, is when their sincere doubts begin to weaken your own resolve.
I was seeing myself through Lisa's eyes, and that's when I first starting having major doubts. Her next reaction didn't help matters. I had finally scrolled to the document I went there to show her. I slid The Reader across the table, urging her to take a look.
Lisa laughed immediately. She covered her mouth and looked up at me, eyes bulging wide. Her eyebrows were arced high, apologizing for not being able to control herself. When she explained why the was "Impossible," I was humiliated. Keep in mind, I'm a glorified chemical engineer with a physics degree--not an astronomer. However, a grade-schooler could have pointed out the obvious problem with the map I was showing her.
If it was labeled "The Milky Way," where in the universe was the picture taken from?
Lisa also pointed out that the spiral galaxy in the photo looked uncannily similar to M101. I asked her if these galaxies couldn't resemble one another, or if there was any way the photo could have been taken...and she said "No." Then she asked if it would be okay if she called my wife. "To have a chat."
Before I left, Lisa scanned a copy of the map right off the face of the reader (a technique I never thought of before, and have since used to snag schematics and some other diagrams). She said it would be fun to e-mail it around to her colleagues and stifled another laugh.
I figured the incident was over and promised myself that I would shower and shave before I visited with any more friends about this Molly Fyde nonsense.
The next week, I got a phone call from her. Again, she was telling me that the map was impossible, but this time...she wasn't laughing. She sounded anxious and harried. I had been asleep (passed out at my computer), but I agreed to rush right over (breaking my earlier promise to myself regarding hygiene and visitations).
"It was Wade that pointed it out," she told me behind the SSPF building. "He called me and congratulated me on the effort." Lisa was glancing up at the sky, as if someone were watching. "So I asked him what effort he was talking about, and he said the distances, positions, and luminosity."
Now I was the one worried for my friend. She looked horrible, and I couldn't follow a single word of what she was saying. I begged her to slow down and pretend my Day Pass was a Visitor's Pass.
"The distances are spot-on," she said. "The luminosities, the angles of deflection. For Menkar, Canopus, and Sol, anyway."
"What about the others?" I asked.
"Never heard of them," she said.
A handful of people at NASA already knew about the image and were poring over it. They were calling it "The Impossible Map." But now the label had become ironic and spooky instead of literal. Everyone wanted to know who had created the hoax. (If you guys are reading this, now you know where Lisa even got the image. Perhaps you want to start taking the hyperspace document more seriously?)
Here's the map (click to enlarge), and I can corroborate the relative distances between these stars by suggesting that they conform to elements within Molly's narrative. Here is a link to the star data Lisa sent me later that day.
Thursday
Is Time Travel this Difficult?
After six months of research and frenzied writing, I have a completed manuscript of Molly's first set of adventures. The work is 100,000 words long and details Molly's search for her father's old starship. After several rounds of editing, I'm happy enough with the story (its readability and faithfulness to actual events) to flirt with publication.
You would think the easy part lies ahead, but unfortunately, this is not the case. My sixteen-hour days of nonstop manuscript work will prove to be the relaxing moments in this quest. The difficult part is going to be finding an agent that believes in Molly's story as much as I do, finding a publisher that believes what my agent tells them, and then finding an audience that believes what the jacket of my book tells them.
That's a lot of faith for an organization that gets no tax sheltering.
What's next and why is it going to be so hard? Well, I just wrote a dandy query letter and I have a list of select agents to send it to. I'm going to attach the first ten or so pages of my work, and see if any of them are interested in reading more. The problem will come from the constant rejections and time spent away from the actual writing.
As a rocket scientist specializing in chemical propellants, I'm used to trying various "recipes" and tweaking according to the results. I will try to see my upcoming failures as empirical data with which to hone subsequent tests. The metaphor, as demonstrated by the following video, could not be more apt.
While I'm crashing and burning, I have another 100K manuscript to begin editing, plus a third, fourth, and fifth book to write. I speculate wildly on why The Reader was brought through time and handed to me, and I'm starting to suspect a pretty mundane truth: Publishing in the future is more difficult than time travel. Right below vanity presses and print-on-demand is the Bill and Ted publication method. Drop your material off in the past and give it 500 years to make it to bookshelves, if then.
So. Welcome to the final countdown. Liftoff is commencing in three... two...
Uh, Mission Control? We have an anomaly.
You would think the easy part lies ahead, but unfortunately, this is not the case. My sixteen-hour days of nonstop manuscript work will prove to be the relaxing moments in this quest. The difficult part is going to be finding an agent that believes in Molly's story as much as I do, finding a publisher that believes what my agent tells them, and then finding an audience that believes what the jacket of my book tells them.
That's a lot of faith for an organization that gets no tax sheltering.
What's next and why is it going to be so hard? Well, I just wrote a dandy query letter and I have a list of select agents to send it to. I'm going to attach the first ten or so pages of my work, and see if any of them are interested in reading more. The problem will come from the constant rejections and time spent away from the actual writing.
As a rocket scientist specializing in chemical propellants, I'm used to trying various "recipes" and tweaking according to the results. I will try to see my upcoming failures as empirical data with which to hone subsequent tests. The metaphor, as demonstrated by the following video, could not be more apt.
While I'm crashing and burning, I have another 100K manuscript to begin editing, plus a third, fourth, and fifth book to write. I speculate wildly on why The Reader was brought through time and handed to me, and I'm starting to suspect a pretty mundane truth: Publishing in the future is more difficult than time travel. Right below vanity presses and print-on-demand is the Bill and Ted publication method. Drop your material off in the past and give it 500 years to make it to bookshelves, if then.
So. Welcome to the final countdown. Liftoff is commencing in three... two...
Uh, Mission Control? We have an anomaly.
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