I’ve been having trouble writing recently. I sit down and a million distractions get in the way. Pushing through has been proving to be hard. This seems to be a theme with everything right now, I’m not eating like I should and exercise is next to not at all. Maybe it’s the season. Either way inspiration seems to be hiding for now
I’ve decided to start rewriting Long Shadows Made Short so that it reads better. I’m a better writer and it needs some fixing. I’m never going to give up on it, not until it’s right. I also have a book I’m working on in my head that’s based on the Khmer Rouge takeover of Cambodia during the 70’s, but in a future sci-fi setting.
In reading over some of my other stories, someone once asked me if I really thought Genocide could happen to humanity again. I reminded them that it’s never really stopped. Even after Europe and America discovered what Hitler did, Stalin and Charmin Mao continued Genocides in their own countries for decades. The mass killing of our fellow human beings for one stupid reason or another is a theme that keeps repeating and therefore needs exploring.
I believe in Science Fiction as a tool for mankind to explore the best and worst possibilities of humanity and technology. Within a book or a movie we can see these worlds from a safe distance, reminding ourselves where we need improvement and most importantly, where we are great.
Right now I’m really just lacking motivation to write. I know at some point I’ll put my fingers on the keyboard and drift away. It feels a lot like listening to a Rush song or a moment of pure bliss. Hopefully it happens soon.
What do you guys do when you feel a blockage? Take more writing fiber?
What are your thoughts on Genocide and war crimes? Should novels focus on the good and forget the bad or is horror a part of human life that can exist in media safely…teaching us lessons we can stop teaching ourselves?
Do we think differently about the moon now? I find myself wondering if our concepts of space change as we touch it; as if tangibility changed the cosmos to something banal and ordinary. Perhaps when Neil Armstrong set his feet on celestial ground the sky became duller and we looked upward lacking motivation. The implications of this make me wonder about long term space colonization. After all, my generation has seen the death throes of the American space program.
I imagine people scattered like bugs, small ships making contact with planets, building up civilization and sending more out. We could become the beneficial bacteria of the cosmos, spreading and cultivating until we become untouchable. My fear – as we do so those rocks on which we step fall to decay beneath our feet. Imagine planets abandoned and forgotten as society advances. Instead of beneficial bacteria we become blight, a virus.
From this small gemological perspective we can see ourselves as the conquistadors of a grim future – full of chaos and despair or the rulers of a galaxy which can be tended and cherished for its beauty. Looking at the moon I see the reflection of humanity and wonder if its empty shell hasn’t been polluted by the twelve men who set food on it or if we won’t eventually return to our hopes of colonizing the lunar surface. Does the known rob us of the motivation for greatness? What do you think?
Whenever the future seems dismal I look up to the star’s and see the future of mankind. The greatest gift science-fiction gives us is the ability to plot our course into the future while remaining earthbound. From this position we become the dreamers of all things terrible and great – plotting our course through great civilizations full of aliens or dystopia’s where humanity is left to rot. Weather your story is a warning or revelry, let it out, my fellow sci-fi writers and dare to dream.
We are forging a future where we have weighed the possibility of mankind from the position of the dreamer down on earth. The best thing about being human is that these dreams can come true. The Star Trek communicator is now a cellphone. Cars are powered off hydrogen. Things long though to be the dreams of science-fiction are coming true, so use the power of your fiction to make a landscape that grows the best of humanity.
The other night my husband and I entered into a debate on weather or not our grey tabby, Franky, was really a cat.
“She has none of the qualities used to describe cats. She’s about as smart as a rock and she doesn’t even meow right.” To this I had little to add except that genes state she’s a cat and she only eats cat food.
“So does the hedgehog.” he responded, ruining my argument.
To tired to continue, I went to bed and assumed he’d forget about it come morning. Unfortunately my husband suffers from Insomnia and had all night to stew on reasons poor Franky is under qualified for cat-hood. Given, in three years she has yet to figure out where the cat in the mirror is, I’m going to let you people decide. Fortunate for you, my husband wrote this… essay:
Six things that make a “cat” that Franky lacks…
- Gracefulness – watch her get out of a window. Kramer from Siendfeld could learn a few tricks from her.
- Cunningness –DERP, derp, derp,!!!
- To land on her feet – Refer to reason one.
- Realizes that fire is hot – She walked over a candle and set her tummy on fire… More than once.
- Cleaning herself – I tried to wash her once, the smell just got worse.
- Ability to back-up – Seriously, have you ever seen her do it?
It is my theory that Franky is an assemblage dryer lint and fleas.