Celebrations!

Good news everyone! I finished the third draft of my novel, Shattered Sky! It is now with beta readers. Hurrah!

This is an exceptionally short blog post.

Well, I guess I can say that I recently went to 7/11 and they did not have Nes-Quick! I felt shocked and confused by this.

Fanning!

So, as an author whose book is going to be published, I've got a major question facing me.

What do I do with the people who release or create fan-art for my novels and works! Well, I am a huge proponent of free expression. I think that remixes, mashups, slash-fics, fan-fics, fan-arts, drawings, scribbles, and so on. I've seen some of the astounding things that fans have created: Fans of Babylon 5 built a whole video game, just as one example!

And so I am making a stand. Right here. Right now.

If you are a fan of my work: Write! Mashup! Create art of all kinds. Even the naughty kind. And if you want your fan-creations to be exhibited here, E-mail me! Include the title of the piece, what you want to be identified as, and I'll provide it. The only thing I'll have to refrain from reposting is the aforementioned "naughty things", as my grandparents read this blog.

And so, our first piece of fan-art!

This was by Rebecca Rozakis, a friend of my editor Kate Sullivan. Rebecca would like to say that she wishes she drew it on better paper.

I think it's fantastic!

Villainy most specific

Recently, I've been reading the latest novel by S.M Sterling (and by latest, I mean latest as of 2001, but I only just found it, so it's latest relative to me), The Peshawar Lancers. Despite not actually being about the Peshawar Lancers, I've been enjoying it immensely. There's lots of swords, guns, airships, villains to be killed and so on. But something has been sticking out to me.

It has to have one of the most evil villains I've ever read.

Seriously! He's a misogynistic, Satan worshiping, cannibalistic Russian who seeks to bring about the end of the world. Also, he killed the main character's father (indirectly).

This got me thinking about villains. Villains are vital for a story. Luke Skywalker is only as interesting as his conflict with Darth Vader. Without Duke Rodger's odiously evil/charismatic presence, Alanna's struggles to gain her knighthood would be lacking an essential drive and stake (beyond Alanna's personal desires, of course). You get my point.

But what makes a good villain?

Trick question!

Villains are all about specificity. You can't just grab Hitler out of a box and file off his fingerprints then stick him into a new suit. Well, you can. But that's a lot less fun! A good villain requires you to think about what kind of story you want to tell. For example, if I were telling a science fiction war story, I'd want a villain that reasonably controls an army, has politics diametrically opposed to the main character's faction, and is intelligent enough to be a credible threat. If I were telling a murder mystery, you'd want someone with a good (or at least, understandable/relate-able/scientifically explicable/coherent) reason for killing, has the ability to enact these murders, and is intelligent enough to be a credible threat. If I were telling a story set in a dystopia - and the main thrust was overcoming and destroying said dystopia - then I'd make a reason for the bad guys to be in charge, a reason for their government to be dystopic, and the intelligence to be a credible threat.

Notice a theme?

Intelligence. I've said it before to friends and publishers and random people on the street and my literature class: The most important thing about a character is that they are intelligent. And if I ever said it was something like being relate-able or likable, well, that's also the most important trait(s). But intelligence is what keeps a character engaging and interesting.

When you are reading a book and swearing at a character for doing something stupid, you are doing it wrong.

Unless, of course, I wrote the book.

In which case, you simply do not understand my genius.

Future Shock and Blind Spots

So, I've been editing my novel Shattered Sky, as well as working (slowly) on my prequel short story...and while doing this, I started thinking about the future.

One of the big problems (and advantages) of writing science fiction is that one gets to look at the picture of today and extrapolate outwards. This lets you take modern culture and look at how it might mutate and change and evolve. This lets you do really interesting social commentary, allowing you to distort our own world to - paradoxically - see it all the clearer. This lets you look at the human condition.

And this lets you throw darts at the wall and see what might stick. Star Trek, for example, is quite proud of predicting the cellphone with their handheld communicators. No one seems to mention some predictions that seem quite silly these days, such as whales being stuck on the Enterprise D to aide in spatial navigation or other assorted bizarre and stupid things that Star Trek has posited about humanity's future in space.

I don't think I'm unique in being an author who has created a rather intricate timeline of the future. I also don't think I'm unique...in being an author who profoundly hopes he or she is dead wrong.

The Debris Dreams universe takes place in the year 2068, and as I've alluded to before, it's not exactly an easy or smooth road to get there, and the biggest pothole in said road is The Slump: A period between 2019 and 2029 (some argue 2039, just as even now, some people argue that the Great Depression didn't end till 1946)  where the world's economy collapsed, half a dozen wars between previously peaceful nations erupted, terrorism ran rampant and the internet was almost knocked out for good.

Nasty future shocks indeed.

But what caused it? And, more importantly, do I think it's particularly likely? Will we have to suffer through the horrors of a second American Civil War, ecological collapse and resulting devastation?

NOPE!

See, the Slump is predicated on a sudden and complete collapse of economic structures due to an unexpectedly sharp drop-off in oil quantities in the middle east. Rather than the "slow, bumpy plateau" predicted by most Peak Oilers (who I also don't think are right), the world of Debris Dreams was plunged into a sharp, fast downturn. Alternate forms of energy were too immature to save the world from the collapse, and the resulting system shocks just made everything worse.

I try to keep abreast of up and coming technologies, and everything I've seen points to solar, nuclear and genetically engineered biofuels (which are distinct and different from ethanol based biofuels) taking over for oil within the decade, and that oil reserves (while dwindling) will last us quite a bit longer...longer still if and when our cars get better gas mileage and are used more efficiently.

We don't need to worry about an energy based Slump.

What we do need to worry about is a cultural Slump, a political Slump. I personally hate the standard "oh woe is me, everyone is a stupid, vain, greedy jerk (except for myself, of course)" whining that I hear constantly at college. By and large, I think that most people are good. Most people are intelligent, as intelligent as you (yes you) or I. Most people want what is best for themselves, their families and so on.

The problem is that we sometimes let the worst of us dictate policy for the majority of us. These people - be they politicians, corporate CEOs, kings, queens, junta leaders or would be dictators - are usually harmless until they actually get power, which they normally get by preying on the worst of our thoughts and fears. It is easy to forget that you are not the only sane person in the world. It is easy to forget that every single person on the planet - all seven billion of them - are all as complex, multifaceted, deep and interesting as you are.

In that blind spot, the would be dictator whispers: "Let me protect you from the other."

In that blind spot, the politician whispers: "Let me make a law to keep the other from taking what you have."

In that blind spot, the warlord whispers: "Come, lets kill the other, because they are not human."

That blind spot will exist, whether or not we have solar powered flying cars or regress to the 12th century. So, the next time the world looks scary and confusing, and you just wish everyone would stop being so nuts, think...and remember the blind spot. 

Moms' Cabin

This was written for my Tuesday/Thursday Advanced Poetry Workshop! Enjoy!

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Moms’ Cabin

By David Colby

                Floating above the mantelpiece

                There is a photograph

Six young men and women

Wearing red berets

Left to Right

Carloz Alvarez:  KIA, a mine blew chunks into his belly under Shi-Armstrong and he died clutching

Lee Sanders: KIA, Loonie sniper shot him over the horizon. He was checking his air.

Trace Yue: KIA, her suit ruptured, shrapnel. Never figured which side threw it.

Gordon Nara: KIA, bayonet…really? In this day and age?

Penelope N’paya: MIA, went to recon, right when the Loonies dropped the nuke outside of New Mubai.                    

            (only found her shadow, not a confirmation)

They’re all smiling, standing beside the shuttle that took them there.

To the left of Gordon

Underneath Carloz

Drusilla Xao: Star of Valor for gallantry under fire, three Purple Hearts, CAASMC Long Service Medal, Distinguished S3TA Service Medallion, Lunar Campaign Medallion, Civil Service Award.

She’s smiling in the photograph. Under her is signed:

永遠忠誠 Semper Fidelis Always Faithful–Unit 201, 12/31/2069

Mom notices me looking

reaches out with a hand marked by three purple hearts

Switches off the ‘graph

And goes back to her tea

Quantum Spin Plates Update Number 1

Summer break comes to an end depressingly soon, and this brings with it the first ever QSP Update!

These updates are mostly a way for me to talk about what I’m working on, show off, and generally keep my various projects straight in my head. And thus, we have the two categories.

Shiny New Ideas: These are brand new concepts that have just recently shown up. They usually have a die-off rate of 90-95%, because I have a lot of ideas and usually write them for a short time, and then let them die. Sometimes, a SNI sticks and clings like glue!

Unfinished Rough Draft: These are drafts that are rough and unfinished. If an SNI survives to be 10k words, then it is officially considered to be a Rogue Draft. These usually have a die-off rate of anywhere from 60-15%, depending on whether or not it was easy or hard to get to these 10k points.

Note: I have finished drafts that I’m working on, and those will be covered in later issues of my Updates…and not this update because I was writing it at 1 in the morning and I’m about to pass out! Enjoy!

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SNI

PSYCH-SQUAD: When Jack Hoole was pulled out of his senior biology class by two USAF colonels, he thought he was in trouble. Then, after making him sign an NDA, they explained: For the past ten years, the United States, Canada, France, Britain, Japan, Germany and the Russian Federation had been fighting a secret war against a galactic empire of psionic aliens called the Doyen, utilizing a stolen piece of Doyen technology called the Prometheus Device to activate psionic powers in latent human beings. Using these psionic powers, Psyches (as they are called) are able to create telekinetic, non-newtonian starships called Ego-Ships, as well as produce force fields, read minds, fold space/time to jump lightyears in a single instant, and project blasts of raw kinetic energy across kilometers of space.

Whoa.

Jack, being a latent, leaps at the chance for an actual honest to god adventure. And since the Prometheus Device works best on developing minds, the Air Force is eager to get him. He finds himself warped to Antares Station, a space station built in the binary star system Antares, 150 parsecs away from home. With his powers active, Jack meets a multinational group of other cadets, and learns that while humanity has some advantages over the Doyen Empire, the war remains an obscenely long shot. Still, if extinction is looking us in the face, Jack would rather go out swinging…

STATUS: 5k!

PROGRESS REPORT: Moderate to fast when I have the time to work on it.

THOUGHTS: I keep writing and hope that no one notices it’s a mashup between Stargate, Trinity and Evangelion.

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Unfinished Rough Drafts

MERCH: The year is 2011. McCain is President, the Iran war has just wrapped up, and the global population of Supers has just hit 7,000. Supers – who appeared on the scene ten years before when Lady Liberty dramatically stopped the 9/11 attacks – have completely changed the world. They’ve invented new technologies, ended wars, cleaned up the environment, and in return, people shower them with fame, attention and money. To be lucky enough to have a Parnell Cortex, the required mutation to exhibit superpowers of any kind, is like winning the lottery ten times in a row.

That’s what Jake Vega thought at least.  And when his Cortex quickened during a high school assembly, everything went great. At first. He had superspeed, for one thing. For another thing, he’s been showered in money, merchandizing, offers for jobs left and right ranging from acting as a superpowered mercenary for Blackwater International to being a mascot for a city. In the end, he decides to front for Marvel’s new comic line.

But…Jake finds out that life as a super isn’t nearly as heroic as he thought. Oh, the money is good, but there’s little to no catching muggers, no supervillains to battle. Nothing but a life of shallow fame, easily earned wealth, and constant paparazzi. A life of being merch.

STATUS: 11k

PROGRESS: Slowed down (Death possibility 65%)

THOUGHTS:  I’m not quite sure how to tell the story of a teenage boy given huge piles of money, groupies and FREAKING SUPER POWERS being consumed by enuii and depression due to this…without the main character seeming like a shallow douchebag. Seriously, just donate your money to charity, damn it!

THE TALE OF KES THE TWISTCATCHER: Forty thousand years in our future, on a distant farming planet ignored by the galaxy at large, Kes is the unwanted daughter of a brutal, abusive drunkard. But then, one day, something new comes to the village. Specifically, something old comes: A man, who had left the village years hence to seek his fortunes serving aboard starships. And back he has come, with three missing limbs, a missing eye, a face scarred by radiation…and a chest full of golden coins. His tales of adventures alighted her imagination. And so, she ran away from home and came to her homeworld’s spaceport.

And, almost immediately, she was set on by a press-gang. Beaten about the head. Shoved onto a shuttle and forced into slavery aboard the starship Revenge, captained by the piratical and brutal Lord-Captain Sadronosticus. There, Kes finds herself apprenticed to Denny Feng-Zhao, a mysterious old man who serves as the Revenge’s Twistcatcher: The officer responsible for managing and controlling and purging the ship’s population of mutants.

However, the history of the Revenge is long, and not all is as it seems…

STATUS: 31K

PROGRESS: Fast when I write it! (Death Possibility 24%)

THOUGHTS: I love this story. Unfortunately, I can’t sell it to my delightful publishers at Candlemark and Gleam because…it is…a Warhammer 40,000 story. This means it has one and only one home: The mysterious and foreboding Black Library. Only these people will accept and publish WH40K stories. So, I guess I will have to toil endlessly at the gates of the Black Library…in between doing my actual works!

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Between these projects, I'm working on my short stories, editing my finished books, and trying to graduate college.

And those are all my spin plates! 

U MAD BRO?

And thus, we come to the second blog post.

My novel, Debris Dreams, takes place in the year 2068. That's 56 years. 56 years...you know, one of my beta readers said that that makes Debris Dreams "near future." This struck me as odd, but I can see the point. After all, if I'm lucky, I'll live to see 2068.

But on the other hand...

Take the gulf between the year 1914 and 1970. In that time, we've had two world wars, total economic collapse, a inverse economic revitalization, a radical explosion of technologies, a moon landing, terrorism, social upheaval, artistic revolutions, actual revolutions, failed invasions...this list could go on for a while, but I think you get the gist.

So, the question logically goes, what happens between 2012 and 2068?

That's what I'm working on as I wait for my next round of edits for Debris Dreams! Three interconnected short stories that chart the history of the DD universe from 2022 to 2068, each one starring a different side character from Debris Dreams itself.

And you, my loyal blog readers (all three of them) will get to read previews, snippits and general ramblings about them. Goodie!


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Liberation
By David Colby

                Portia Brown stopped at the third checkpoint for the day and wished she had shot President Windrip when she had the chance. It was a petty, vindictive thought from a woman who prided herself in a lifetime of non-violence, and she tried to ignore it, even as a security mech stomped around her car. It was an odd mish-mash of old and new. New: Mechanized legs, controlled by a spliced in X-Box Kinetic mkVI scanner and operated with a nationalized OS poached out of Anon’s hands by the FSA’s netwar division. Old: Two ungainly looking Squad Automatic Weapons strapped to either side of the thing’s turreted head, a head that aimed directly at Portia’s car.

                “Papers?”

                That came from an entirely too human FSA officer, wearing a bulletproof vest that looked like it had stopped a few rounds over the past week. He also had a taser at his hip and an assault rifle over his back and looked willing to use both at the first sign of trouble.

                Portia kept her hands well above her head as she reached up and grabbed her papers from what had once been a holder for sunglasses. She held them out to the FSA officer, who took them and then walked over to the checkpoint scanner. He wasn’t paid to actually read the papers. That was a job that fell to the machine.

                The mech kept it’s guns trained on Portia. She drummed her fingers on the wheel.

                “Get ready for a surprise!”

                Portia’s eyes widened as she looked at the mech, which had just spoke with a warbly, mechanical voice. The mech’s head tilted to the side and the SAW’s…sawed away, dust from the new case-less rounds hazing the air around the mech’s head. The FSA guard hit the deck and the people behind Portia in the checkpoint line screamed, several diving out of their cars to curl up on the ground. Portia herself screamed and screamed, she couldn’t help it.

                The SAWs stopped firing, hissing and clicking as they cooled down. The mech turned and ran off, vanishing around the corner. Portia looked around, her ears ringing. None of the cars had been shredded. No blood spilled the San Franciscan streets, or dribbled down the steep hill that banked before the checkpoint. Even the FSA guard looked fine, picking himself up and brushing his hands over his armor. Dust had coated his body…and both he and Portia looked up at the same time, Portia craning her head to see out her car window.

                Etched on the side of an old red brick building, blasted into the wall by hollow point, crowd stopper shells was a leering face with an exaggerated chin and narrowed eyes. Underneath it, cut into the stone by computer aimed bullets, were three words: U MAD BRO?