Some of what I wrote tonight

More writ­ing in Once I Was You, involv­ing an old French song and a pas­toral vaca­tion. This bit is set on a world called Cloe­dine, where our POV char­ac­ter is tak­ing a break from her work as an envoy. She keeps hear­ing snip­pets of some ancient song:

À la claire fontaine
M’en allant promener

I sat up in my pal­let bed, blan­kets ruck­ing around my bare hips, and swung my bare peds to the dirt floor. I breathed deep the scent of rur­al ely­si­um. This part of Cloe­dine was giv­en over to ancient, pri­mal modes: shep­herds guid­ed flocks of squat, grey, wooly idiots through the foothills; the great moon, its stony face pocked with open-pit sil­ver mines, glared down, its reflec­tion shat­ter­ing on the wavelets of a lake only a hun­dred paces from my hutch’s window.

J’ai trou­vé l’eau si belle
Que je m’y suis baigné

Yes, I thought, je m’y suis baigné. “The water was so beau­ti­ful / that I bathed in it.”

The hutch’s door was a prim­i­tive affair, a rough pan­el of local wood, scent­ed like a spice whose name I could nev­er remem­ber. I touched the cold sil­ver knob, turned it even as it warmed in my hand, and pulled the door open.

The night air cooled my skin, lick­ing away sweat from the soft down I wore here. The scents of mat­ted fur and night­blos­soms swirled, heady as any intox­i­cant. I breathed it in, deep, deep, deeper.

Chante, rossig­nol, chante,
Toi qui as le coeur gai;
Tu as la coeur àrire,
Moi je l’ai à pleurer.

The waves lapped against the shore, hyp­not­ic. Here, far from the near­est city, a hun­dred thou­sand stars glit­tered in the chill sky. One of Cloedine’s orbital cities swung into view at the south­ern hori­zon, a smear of light almost bright enough that I could pick out indi­vid­ual torii. That must be Gavri, I thought, the only one of the cities that I knew to have a polar orbit. I watched it glide upwards, pro­pelled, it seemed, by the end­less wave action of the name­less lake. It cut the limb of the moon, turn­ing to shad­ow against the greater light, then reap­peared high­er. It passed over my head, out of sight, head­ed over the pole. If I wait­ed long enough, I knew, I would see it again, slight­ly to the west.

A dark spot in the sky lit with a blue point of light. «There,» said my agent, star­tling me.

«There what?» I said.

«That’s Earth.» She sighed. «That’s what you’re look­ing for, isn’t it?»

I did­n’t answer. I did­n’t need to.

The blue point fad­ed. I lay down in the soft grass, ten paces from my hutch’s open door, and lis­tened to the lake. I fell asleep before Gavri reappeared.

13 things I learned from books

But which books? See if you can guess… (Hint: They’re most­ly SF.)

  1. The road to Hell is paved with frozen door-to-door sales­men, and no one knows why.
  2. Forc­ing grunts to swear at their supe­ri­or offi­cers is a stu­pid way to build morale.
  3. If every­thing is infi­nite­ly improb­a­ble, then every­thing is equal­ly probable.
  4. If the Fast Burn is itself tran­scen­dent, and unhap­py with the direc­tion of the channedring, it may attempt to hide the jumpoff birthinghel. Also: Hexa­po­dia is the key insight.
  5. Grey-green alien skin requires a lot of soap.
  6. Even miss­ing the index and mid­dle fin­gers of his right hand, Roland is a hell of a shot.
  7. Give praise to the day at evening, to a blade when tried, and to ice when over it.
  8. Anath­e­ma” looks like a girl’s name if you’ve nev­er read a dictionary.
  9. If your full name has twelve words in it, most peo­ple will for­give you if you go by “Phaethon”.
  10. If your full name is “Hiro Pro­tag­o­nist”, you can bet your par­ents had some kind of weird relationship.
  11. One does not out­run a sub­stance that explodes at 15,000 feet per sec­ond. Also, if you’re count­ing on the police to save you, best not to antag­o­nize them while you’re sit­ting on a bomb.
  12. Chuck” and “toss” are per­fect­ly valid instruc­tions in a cookbook.
  13. No mat­ter how inter­est­ing the many-uni­vers­es-bridged-by-jump-gates premise may be, I can only read a book with that many near-rape scenes once. And it was a rough slog at that.

These are all off the top of my head, by the way. And yes, some are repeats.

Wait, what?


“Grand Design” Spi­ral Galaxy M81
From TopTechWriter.US’s Flickr photostream.

Via a cow-ork­er: Our world* may be a giant holo­gram.

…[Y]ou can think of the uni­verse as a sphere whose out­er sur­face is papered in Planck length-sized squares, each con­tain­ing one bit of information.”

Well, maybe you can. I can’t. Not yet, anyways.

____

* If by “world” we mean “Uni­verse”.

Pseudo-auto-portraiture

So is it a self-por­trait if you take a pic­ture of a pho­to of your­self? No? Did­n’t think so.

At any rate:

Remember?

My hair has aged 18 years since this pho­to was tak­en. So has the rest of me.

Also, by the time I got rid of that Bat­man shirt, it had gone heather-grey from repeat­ed wash­ings. That remains my favourite shirt ever.

Another start

Not sure where this is going, but here’s what I wrote tonight:

Once I Was You

Every time your heart beats, a ghost spins off. Invis­i­ble, a per­fect copy of your state of mind, he or she ascends, ris­ing into the dark of the eter­nal night, bound for the edge of time and the unimag­in­able con­flict that will inevitably arise there, some­day, between entropy and hope.

Some­times one comes back.

#

Someone–some arti­san, some dreamer–had reshaped the Whip­tail neb­u­la. Stel­lar nurs­eries had been torn apart, pro­to­stars thrown free, scat­tered like pearls skit­ter­ing across a floor from a snapped neck­lace. Dust lanes had been thread­ed and braid­ed into skeins like hair. Two tiny blue stars, sure­ly arti­fi­cial­ly induced, sat in posi­tions of unsta­ble grav­i­ta­tion­al equipo­ten­tial. Twin red stars pulsed fur­ther down, vari­ables that scaled up and down the bright­ness scale on a peri­od of less than an hour. 

Con­tin­ue read­ing “Anoth­er start”

Really now? The Gyrocaptain?

Tonight, flip­ping through my chan­nels, I came across this listing:

Beg pardon?

Cast your mind to The Road War­rior. Who comes imme­di­ate­ly to mind?

I know, I know. It’s these two guys, right?

It must be, because they’re the ones list­ed first. Last billing goes to this unknown actor, Melvin Something-or-other…

What ever became of him, anyways?