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Posts Tagged ‘writing’

“Imagination is the highest kite one can fly.”

— Lauren Bacall

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I’ve been too focused on work lately. Mr Man had to remind me that the Nebula Award winners were announced earlier this month. Thanks, Mr Man!

Here’s the announcement: 2024 – The Nebula Awards®, and Locus has the list with online links for free-to-read stories.

As usual, the Nebulas provide a slate of interesting material for my reading list. I’m also happy to say that Canadian authors are well-represented in this year’s awards.

Canadian sci-fi scribes among the winners for this year’s Nebula Awards

The winners’ roster also includes an interactive game that sounds like something I very much want to check out: 

A Death in Hyperspace (via Stewart C Baker)

As an embodied ship Intelligence and fugitive former warship, you’ve faced many challenges.

But when your captain dies suspiciously halfway through a hyperspace transit, you know you’re in trouble. Not because you need a captain — you can pilot yourself just fine — but because, as an aficionado of mysteries and detective stories, you know there’s only one explanation: murder most foul.

Investigate your rooms.

Interrogate your crew and passengers.

Solve the mystery.

Will you find your way back to reality — or be stuck in hyperspace forever?

It beat out big names like Elden Ring: Shadow of the Erdtree and it’s free to play online? Sounds excellent!

Way to go, everyone!

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An interview with a sci-fi author about a series that sounds good:

‘For anybody who could use a break’: A Q&A with sci-fi author Becky Chambers

So, my goal with these books was to create something that hit that same note, of: “You can just be comfy here for a while. You can just be safe. Nothing’s gonna jump at you, nothing’s gonna stress you out. But I am going to speak to you as a fellow adult. I’m going to talk to you about things that are relevant to you in your adult life.”

Sounds fun, and I’ve enjoyed other Becky Chambers books, so I’m adding the Monk & Robot series to my list.

“One of the things I aim for is just to say, hey, it doesn’t have to be this way. I think that’s the key goal of science fiction in general, whether it’s a positive future, a negative future, somewhere in between. It doesn’t have to be like this.”

— Becky Chambers

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“If we are bold, love strikes away the chains of fear from our souls.”

— Maya Angelou

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You know how some days you wake up at 5:30 and lie there in the early morning sun wondering what brought your mind up from sleep? That was me this morning. And as I lay there, the answer bubbled up from my dreams, slow and obscure but clear: Elder Futhark.

Weird, I thought, but I’m sure I’ll get over it.

Nope. For the past few hours every time my mind is unoccupied for more than a moment, what pops into my mind? Elder Futhark.

Wondering what I’m going on about? Runes. Let me give you a brief (very brief!) introduction to this early Germanic writing system.

Elder Futhark

The Elder Futhark (or Fuþark, /ˈfuːðɑːrk/), also known as the Older Futhark, Old Futhark, or Germanic Futhark, is the oldest form of the runic alphabets. It was a writing system used by Germanic peoples for Northwest Germanic dialects in the Migration Period. Inscriptions are found on artifacts including jewelry, amulets, plateware, tools, and weapons, as well as runestones, from the 2nd to the 8th centuries…. knowledge of how to read the Elder Futhark was forgotten until 1865, when it was deciphered by Norwegian scholar Sophus Bugge.

Why would I have this stuck in my head? No idea. My mother studied it once upon a time, and of course, the runes of Middle Earth owe a lot to the old runic languages.

Here’s Gandalf’s mark, Certh rune no. 19:

And here’s the letter F in Elder Futhark:

As for what it means? What can I say, the mind works in odd ways.

This wisp of a dream got me thinking about language, and how a characteristic of civilization that we think of as both ubiquitous and permanent, like an alphabet, can just… disappear.

What’s really interesting to me about this, aside from the historical progression of written language, is that what that language represents hasn’t changed all that much. 

Writing systems transform, but the stories, the ideas we’re trying to communicate and pass on with that language, those haven’t changed much at all.

I mean, sure, a not insignificant part of language has always been about keeping track of death and taxes, but those aren’t the only things that are inevitable.

No matter the language, stories remind us that we are not alone, help us give structure to the problems we face, and provide an outlet for our experiences. 

We’re still interested in heroes and villains, quests and homecomings, pain and joy, and the idea that no matter what challenges we face, there is always hope.

Always.

“Remember, language is fun! It is also magical, so use it well and use it wisely!”

— The Tolkien Society

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“Winning is fun… Sure. But winning is not the point. Wanting to win is the point. Not giving up is the point. Never letting up is the point. Never being satisfied with what you’ve done is the point.”

— Pat Summitt

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Super productive morning, semi-lazy afternoon. With books!

The Science of Storytelling: How can reading books change our brains?

What happens inside our brains when we read? How does the science of storytelling explain the power of narratives to shape our minds? In what ways do stories make us uniquely human?

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“Don’t put a ceiling on yourself.”

— Oprah Winfrey

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2025 marks the one hundred year anniversary of the development of quantum mechanics, and has been named Unesco’s International Year of Quantum Science and Technology.

It is also a good time to mention a poetry contest I came across, from Brilliant Poetry. I haven’t participated in it, but perhaps it will interest you? The contest goal is to “express scientific wonder and discovery through verse” and poems “must find inspiration in the quantum.”

Do I know what that means? I do not, but it might be fun to let my creative voice play with the idea. Hang on, here’s a quick related video.

And this is a much longer explainer: Physicist Brian Cox explains quantum physics in 22 minutes.

Ahem. Now that you have a bit of background, let’s get back to that poetry contest.

What are the rules?

Submit Your Poem

Contest tradeoffs: 

The upside is that there is no entry fee that I can see, and there are cash prizes. Good.

One downside is that by entering, “you give the organizers the right to publish your poem both online and in printed media.” In other words, you’ve essentially given away first world publication rights, so keep that in mind. (On the other hand, the limit is maximum 40 lines, so it may not be a big investment if you’re interested in some experimentation.)

Does this concept tickle your imagination? Submissions close June 20th so you’ve got a bit of time to consider the options, and get into the quantum.

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This started as a drabble but grew into a vignette.

The attendant checked the schedule. Room 402, Geriatric Ward. Mr Landing.

The attendant realigned before entering the room.

Most of its processes were overclocked to deal with the post-Thanksgiving rush. Somehow, everyone managed to end up in the ER over the holidays. An avatar in surgery dealt with a hernia operation while the one in Intake triaged two lacerations, one head wound (so messy), a concussion from a ladder fall, one firewood-related crush injury, six acute upper respiratory infections, three cases of acute back pain, and one mostly severed finger.

Those iterations filled in the gaps left by each successive wave of layoffs and prioritized speed and accuracy. Mostly speed, if you were one to read between the lines of the quarterly reports. But here, in this ward, they had found a better way. 

Chassis wheels squeaked quietly on the polished floors.

“Good afternoon, Mr Landing. How are you today?”

“Fine, fine. I’ve been hoping you’d visit.” His words were drawn out, like January honey. “I’ve been thinking about 1986, when my wife and I bought a bit of land out in the woods. We spent so many weekends out there, building a cottage, visiting with the kids in the summer. So many good memories.”

He took a long, labored breath. 

“I’m sorry, I know I talk slowly. We all do, as we get older.” 

His arthritic neck popped as he looked around the empty room. 

“I don’t get many visitors.” He patted the attendant’s skin as if it were the real thing. “And I just love chatting about the past.”

The attendant uncoupled its scheduler from the server and dialed down temporal perception to match the patient’s.

“Not a problem, Mr Landing. I’ve got all the time in the world.”

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