Friday, November 14, 2008

A Day at Bombay Hook


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As always, things are busy here, and so I haven't yet gotten my crack tech crew (Sean) to restore the driver for my scanner, and so I can't show you the diagram for the chapter I'm currently at work on.  Monday for sure!

Last Tuesday Marianne and I drove down to Bombay Hook, a major birding hotspot in Delaware, to look at the snow geese.  And there they were, flickering through the sky in vast flocks, covering the ponds like drifts of snow on still land, making a gabble like New York City at rush hour.  People who speak of the silence of nature don't get out enough.

There were also many, many harriers, a sufficiency of great blue herons, and all those pintails and shovelers and black ducks and such that Marianne's nuts about.

A lovely November day -- and on the way out of the reserve, there was a sunbow!  I took many shots with my dinky little $120 camera, of which the best was the one above, showing the rightward arc, where it touched the horizon.

So those who say nothing ever happens in Smyrna, Delaware, are wrong.  Just this week they had a sunbow.


And as always . . .

The Poem du Jour has been updated.   This time, I discuss "Three Metafictionally Blind Recursive Mice."

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Monday, November 10, 2008

Ducking the Bullet

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It was a busy weekend (the Art Crawl and conversation at the Pen & Pencil Club on Friday; Tom Purdom's literary salon, eagle-watching at Conowingo dam, and dinner with friends on Saturday; a quick visit to Greg and Barbara Frost and then several hours driving about a cemetery, writing words on leaves on Sunday), and as a result I still haven't found the scan.

So instead, I'll reflect briefly on the fact that I've just ducked the bullet yet again.  The November issue of The New York Review of Science Fiction contains an essay by Fiona Kelleghan, defining a new literary group she either discovered or invented, called the Savage Humanists.  The essay originally appeared in The Savage Humanists, a critical anthology also edited by Kelleghan.  And, though I am mentioned a couple of times in it as somebody who might belong in the SH camp, no story by me made it into the anthology.

So I'm not a member of the group.

Which is good, because I don't really think I fit the definition very well.  Gregory Frost seems to be the true and perfect exemplar of kind -- unless it's James Morrow.  In any case, satire seems to be important to the category, and satire is just something I don't do.  Sorry.

In any case, this brings to four the number of literary movements I've been close enough to that outsiders sometimes mistakenly include me in, but whose core members will attest to my not belonging to the club.  These are:

Cyberpunk
Steampunk
New Weird
Savage Humanists
I do not include Mannerpunk, Interstitial Arts (though I've attended their meetings), or Slipstream, because nobody's ever claimed I belonged in any of them.

Interestingly enough, the one group I did belong to -- other than being a freak, back in the late sixties, I mean -- nobody ever thinks to list me as.  Anybody care to guess?


A review worth cherishing . . .

In that same issue of NYRSF, Ariel Hameon has a very long review of The Dragons of Babel which would make me blush, if I didn't agree with every word of it.    I make it a point never to thank anybody for a good review, because . . . well, because it's an insult to the reviewer to imply that the words are anything other than honest opinion.  

Still, I was glad to get it.


And as always . . .

Poem du Jour has been updated.  Most recently, the power of "No!"

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Friday, November 7, 2008

Thought for the Day

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I was going to post a scan of the diagram I drew for the chapter I'm currently working on for the Darger and Surplus novel today.  But I can't find where it got saved to, and the program that runs the scanner has disappeared from my computer so I can't simply scan it again, and my tech staff (aka my son, Sean) is off with his D&D buddies and won't be back until tomorrow afternoon.

So instead, I'll simply share a thought that comes from Not Quite What I Was Planning:  Six-Word Memoirs by Writers Famous and Obscure, edited by Larry Smith and Rachel Fershleiser.  I didn't read the book itself, mind you.  I read a review of it.  I think the book itself would drive me crazy, because I want to know a lot more about people than six words can convey.

Still, I did like what Jennifer Shreve wrote:  Blogging is easy, writing is hard.


As always, as always, as always . . .

I've updated Poem du Jour.   The most recent poem is intended, without sarcasm or ill-will, for everybody who's unhappy about the results of Tuesday's election.  I'm ecstatic, mind you.  But I still respect those who are not.

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Monday, November 3, 2008

Yesterday's Discovery


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Yesterday, Marianne and I went to Laurel Hill Cemetery, a mighty Victorian necropolis ("Or --" as the guide on the Glasgow bus tour used to say in his quite wonderful Scottish burr, before this estimable gent was replaced by a perfectly inadequate tape --"City . . . of the Dead!") to take photos of gravestones for a project that will come to fruition next year, in time for Halloween.  And look what we found!  The grave of Rocky Balboa's wife!  Cunningly placed so as to look as if it were in a plebian urban graveyard, rather than one of the jewels of its kind.

What a fabulous world this is!


And as always . . .

The Poem du Jour has been updated.  This time with the abbreviated version of Mr. Toad's imaginary garden.

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Friday, October 31, 2008

A Creepy Halloween To All!


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I wrote my traditional yearly Halloween story yesterday, and I was going to post it here for all to enjoy.  But when I read it to Marianne and Sean, I did such an over-the-top performance that they began bouncing up and down, and shouting "You have to podcast this!"

The problem here is that, having never posted a podcast myself, it'll take a day or two for me to learn how to do that thing.  And, today being today, and I being scheduled to go downtown and watch the Phillies victory parade (we won!  the pennant!  whoop!), there wasn't the time for that.  And you don't want to podcast a Halloween story after the occasion itself.

"Couldn't I just post the story tomorrow and then podcast it next year?" I asked.

"By then, everybody will have swapped your story around, and it'll look like you're just adapting another piece of copy pasta."

Sigh.

Well . . . next year, you're in for a treat.  Meanwhile, there's the photo of my 108-pound jack-o-lantern above.

How on earth do you move a 108-pound pumpkin, you ask?  Well, it turns out there's appropriate technology for everything.  You simply roll it onto an empty grain sack.  Then two people grab the ends of the sack and lift.  It moves simple as simple.

And as always . . .

The Poem du Jour has been updated.  Enjoy!

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Monday, October 27, 2008

Asteroid Deflection Research Symposium 2008


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Here's the short version:

About two weeks ago, an observer at the Catalina Sky Survey spotted a small meteor (c. 1 meter in diameter) headed straight toward Earth. The astronomical community was alerted and about 570 observations were made by 27 observers over the next nineteen hours. It exploded about 35 kilometers over northern Sudan with a force of about one kiloton.

2008 TC3 was the first meteoroid ever spotted before it reached Earth's atmosphere. On average, a meteoroid of its size hits our planet once a week. If one were to explode over New York City or Moscow, the military would have sophisticated enough technology to recognize it for a natural event, rather than enemy attack. Not all nations with nuclear weapons could do so.

Apophis is a medium-sized (c. 270 meters in diameter) asteroid which in 2029 will pass between the Earth and the Moon -- and a lot closer to the Earth than to the Moon. It will be closer to us than our geosynchronous satellites. Luckily, its orbit is out of the plane of our satellites so it won't disrupt them. Even more luckily, it won't hit our planet.

If Apophis did hit our planet, it would not cause a worldwide extinction event on the order of that which killed off the dinosaurs 65 million years ago. That would take a rock a kilometer in diameter or larger. It's estimated that we've cataloged roughly 90% of the Near Earth Asteroids of that size and none of them are poise any threat to us anytime in the foreseeable future.

However, a 340-meter asteroid like Apophis could cause enormous regional damage. Nobody really knows how much. Mark Boslough of Sandia Laboratory, however, calculates that the Tunguska Event may have been caused by a meteor as small as forty meters in diameter.

The American Congress recently mandated NASA to survey 90% of all Near Earth Objects of 240 meters in diameter or larger by the year 2020. Since NASA has twenty billion dollars of mandates and a seventeen billion dollar budget, this doesn't look likely to happen. They're working on it, but piggybacking the search on other sky scans.

There are a number of potential ways to deflect an asteroid or comet (you don't want to blow it up, because the chunks would still hit the Earth, with minimally diminished destructive force), some of which use off-the-shelf technology. Given an early enough warning and a few years' lead time, it could certainly be done.

Nobody has the responsibility to do so.

Under current protocols, if a large rock were headed toward the Earth, scientists would quickly identify it and report it. Follow-up analysis would be run to determine if it were an impactor. If it turned out to be one, the scientific community would perform more observations to update the orbit and publish those findings. This would continue in a cycle for as long as the object was on its way.

If the impactor was a serious threat to the planet, it is presumed that somebody would do something. Who that somebody is, though, and which of several options they would take, nobody knows.

All in all, a pretty nifty symposium.


Look! Up in the sky! It's a rocket! It's an award! It's . . .

. . . Willey Ley's Hugo. After the symposium, Marianne and I went to the Udvar-Hazy Center at Dulles International. The center is an overflow facility for the Smithsonian's Air and Space Museum, and it's essentially a big hangar with lots of planes and spacecraft: A space shuttle, the Enola Gay, a couple of MiGs, and so.

Plus Willey Ley's Hugo. In a display case with other historically significant tchotchkes. Pretty damn cool.


And as always . . .

Poem du Jour has been updated.

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Saturday, October 25, 2008

Inside Scoop

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Explanation: Last Friday I was off at the 2008 Asteroid Deflection Symposium, and discovered what prices the Hyatt wanted for simple access. So I called my son and asked him to post an explanation for why I wasn't blogging myself. "You can add something snarky of your own afterwards," I said.

Late Saturday, I came wearily home and said, "You posted to the blog, right?"

No. He'd written a post and saved it because he thought it was too negative.

I told him if it's honest, he should post it. Here's what he wrote:


So! Michael Swanwick is off at some convention or other, learning about how asteroids are going to destroy the planet, or the importance of planet destroying asteroids, or how violence between asteroid gangs often leads to asteroid slaughter. Because he's too cheap to shell out for the hotel's Internet access, you get his son, Sean Swanwick, instead.

So, he talks a lot about writing and being a writer, right? Not quite as glamorous as I'm sure he paints it. For one thing, this chair at his desk I'm sitting in right now seems to be a thick plastic bag wrapped around a bunch of metal bars. There are a few knobs that ostensibly adjust the thing, but they don't seem to do anything. The chair seems to drain the energy out of me, filling me with the urge to bunk off and eat a burrito.

Maybe this explains why I come home so often to find him reclined on his much nicer couch, a small towel draped gracefully over his eyes. "Hey, Dad," I'll say, "You asleep?"

"No," comes the muffled reply, "I'm writing." Well, awesome, good luck with that. Of course, this raises the question of why he chooses to discourage me from following his career by waking me up every time I try to 'write' past noon, but that's neither here no there.

And his desk? The keyboard is resting loosely on top of roughly two inches of manuscripts, paperbacks, and bits of wiring that goes to digital cameras. At the very bottom of the pile is a small hotplate, so when he grows tired of his workload he can simply switch it on and wait five minutes for the resulting fire to clear everything away again. Convenient, but when he does the monitor suffers smoke damage

The books, though, the books dominate the house. Every room save the kitchen has at least two bookshelves, and most of the shelves have two layers of books, one concealing the other. While this is an excellent way to hide your illicit gains from a diamond heist, mostly they're just huge piles of aging Science Fiction books. Not too long ago, one of the shelves in his office collapsed completely from the strain, covering the floor ankle deep in old, yellowing paperbacks. My (quite reasonable) suggestion to simply run a wood chipper through the affected area was rebuffed without even a second thought! Sometimes I wonder if he's taking my suggestions seriously at all.

I think the most telling little artifact within spitting distance is this bright pink Post-It note on the monitor. It reads, simply, "NO" in big, black letters. Apparently this is a reminder to my father to stop accepting new assignments--not to agree to write more features for magazines, not to agree to do more interviews, not to write news paper articles for recently deceased authors so they'll be honored a little more than, "Hack Star Trek Novelization Author Dies Embarrassingly." And I agree wholeheartedly, he should be taking on fewer responsibilities. They're cutting into his time writing on the couch.

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