SFF Saturday 10-27-2012

I sincerely hope y'all are taking my weekly advice and discovering all of the talent available at Science Fiction Fantasy Saturday.  Fellow SFFSaturday authors, please forgive my delay in commenting on your works.  I'm in the process of moving from San Francisco to Seattle.  My internet connections are spotty, at best. Only the wonders of "scheduling" blog posts allow me to get these entries up with any regularity.

Another week, another entry from prisoner 1138.  And, yes, fellow geeks will recognize that number as a quiet homage to the worlds of George Lucas.

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Entry 3

The food here sucks.  I know, not a very original complaint, from a prisoner especially, but it's been on my mind.  Yesterday I screamed "THIS TASTES LIKE DIRT" at my cell wall.  The acoustics in here are quite fascinating and served to distract me from the dirt-food.  All of our years of technological advances, and we still cannot make protein bars taste like anything except dirt flavored cardboard. My diet consists of a vitamin-protein bar, and instant oatmeal (lukewarm) for breakfast, a protein bar for lunch, and (shocking!) a protein bar for dinner.  Of course I get three bottles of water a day.  I should be grateful for food--even that which is delivered via a wall chute with mechanical regularity--given the mass starvations on Earth. But, damn it, even a few wormy apples would be better than this crap.

I am prisoner 1138, but my name is Abraham bin Navi

SFF Saturday 10-20-2012

For more about Prisoner 1138, read here.
For many more forays (by very intelligent people) into the weird, the fantastical, and the universe at large, visit the main SFF Saturday page.

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Entry 2

I'm wondering if writing these notes to my future self makes sense.  If I've lost my sanity, and my soul, to such an extent that I need typed words to remind me what is real, will I actually be able to comprehend the words?  Maybe I should call these "Letters FOR my sanity".  Talking to someone, or writing to someone--even my future self-- is all I really have to do.  I could make longer entries, but the tablet battery life is very short.  I spend three hours running in circles just to recharge it after 15 minutes of power. They didn't approve my requisition for paper and pencil, so I'm stuck with this crappy tablet.  Should count my blessings, meager that they be, and be thankful that I'm not left etching each word into the metal walls. I miss my gadgets, damn it.

I am prisoner 1138, but my name is Abraham bin Navi

Well, thanks, Amazon

Best email ever.  This arrived in my inbox this morning:

SFF Saturday 10-13-2012

For more information about my new project for SFFSaturday, please read here.  Please, also, be sure to read all of the other entries for this week by visiting http://scififansat.blogspot.com/2012/10/sffs-13102012.html .  Pay special attention to the work of Sue Ann Bowling whose serialized "Jarn's Journal" made me realize that such a concept could be successful.

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Entry 1

I cannot date these entries. I have no idea how many days I’ve been here or what day it is. Lunar orbit is counter-intuitive to my human brain and I never really paid attention in astronomy classes. In the end it does not matter how long I’ve been here, for there is no calendar-set end-date to my captivity. I’m here until I die. Or until the dumbasses on Earth kill each other off. In which case, I’d probably starve to death or asphyxiate inside this damned prison. I should investigate operational systems more closely—plan for Armageddon contingencies. This is my first letter to my future-self, a reminder of my sanity before the isolation and alien nature of my incarceration take the last bit of my soul.

My prisoner designation is 1138, but my name is Abraham bin Navi.

The Story Before the Story

As if I have no clue about “what’s at stake.” Like I somehow forgot the war that raged during my entire childhood and killed four hundred million people.


The Hudson would carry her forty member crew and one hundred fifty colonists on a seven month journey to Dremiks—a Saturn-sized planet

orbiting the sun Santalas. Santalas, its system of six planets, and its corner of the universe had been unknown twenty-five years before.

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These brief lines from the first two pages of "Dremiks" offer  the succinct backstory of the novel. Humanity has been at war--as it always is-- and has nearly destroyed itself once again.  Aliens need help from humans and offer technology in exchange for that help.  They also broker a peace.  In their naivete, the Dremikians believe that human beings will move past pettiness and genocide once presented with a uniting cause beyond the solar system.  The story of "Dremiks" explores the challenges human's face in trying to overcome the harsh Universe and our own brutal natures.

Before the Hudson's journey, though, there was a war.  Admiral O'Connell rose to power during that war, dragging his motherless daughter along on his quest for prestige.  Four hundred million people died during Maggie's childhood as a direct result of the war.  Many more died from so called "natural causes".  Alliances and countries tumbled at the same time that an alien race made first contact.  There is a story here that needs to be told.

This is why my weekly offerings for Science Fiction Fantasy Saturday will now take the form of snippets serializing the backstory of "Dremiks". Each week, readers will get a ten sentence look at the journal of a man imprisoned for following his conscience.  He gets to be caustic, sarcastic, despondent, and insightful because no one cares what he writes.  He's been sent to Lunar colony to die.


He is prisoner 1138.  His journal is our cautionary tale.

Coping

I am, quite simply, overwhelmed with the amount of "author work" I have on my plate.

--I have an 11 book backlog of reviews to write.  I sincerely want to write thoughtful, insightful, reviews of these books.  I just cannot find the time to sit down at the computer and do it.

--I have 4 half finished books on my Kindle and several more waiting to be started.  At least once every day I think about sitting down and reading for a few hours to finish one of these books.  It never seems to happen.

--Lilly's story, which was supposed to be published by Christmas, doesn't even have a title.  I have several plot points outlined in my head, but woefully little on paper

-- I cannot remember to sign-up for, and then post for, Science Fiction Fantasy Saturday. I've been equally bad about reading all the wonderful work presented each week.  Work, I might add, posted by people I consider honored colleagues.

I have a rash of excuses for why each of these  situations exists, but the excuses really don't matter in the end.  I've got to adjust priorities and complete at least some of these tasks.  I can, after all, afford to miss a few meals and a couple nights (months) of  sleep.