[science] Dark Oxygen, Quark Matter, and Terraforming Mars

So much exciting astronomical news! Click through for all the juicy details.

Mars Could be Terraformed Using Resources that are Already There 

A team of engineers and geophysicists led by the University of Chicago proposed a new method for terraforming Mars with nanoparticles. This method would take advantage of resources already present on the Martian surface and, according to their feasibility study, would be enough to start the terraforming process.

Neutron Star Mergers Could Be Producing Quark Matter

When neutron stars dance together, the grand smash finale they experience might create the densest known form of matter known in the Universe. It’s called “quark matter, ” a highly weird combo of liberated quarks and gluons. It’s unclear if the stuff existed in their cores before the end of their dance. However, in the wild aftermath a neutron-star merger, the strange conditions could free quarks and gluons from protons and neutrons. That lets them move around freely in the aftermath. So, researchers want to know how freely they move and what conditions might impede their motion (or flow).

What if you Flew Your Warp Drive Spaceship into a Black Hole?

Recently, two researchers looked at what would happen if a ship with warp drive tried to get into a black hole. The result is an interesting thought experiment. It might not lead to starship-sized warp drives but might allow scientists to create smaller versions someday.

Book Review: Beyond the Sea of Endless Grass

The Endless Song (Tales of the Forever Sea: Book Two), by Joshua Phillip Johnson (DAW)

I adored Joshua Phillip Johnson’s The Forever Sea, set in a world where ships kept afloat by magical hearthfires sail an endless sea of grass, so much that I eagerly snatched up the sequel. And ended up wishing it had been a stand-alone.

This overly long book followed two storylines that are so disconnected for the first three-quarters of the book, I wished it had been divided into two separate volumes or, better yet, that the “continuing” story be cut. By far my favorite part involves a mainland noble family, Borders, that has fallen on hard times, both financially and politically. The power struggles of the ruthless Emperor and the vassal barons are convoluted, rich in cultural world-building, and full of drama. I found the loving, boisterous relationship between youngest Borders child, Flitch, and his siblings delightful and emotionally moving. The action gets even more gripping when, under immediate risk of their barony being destroyed by the Emperor, Flitch’s father reveals a secret hidden deep beneath their castle: the entrance to a realm of immensely powerful and deadly, nonhuman magic. Everything about the “Flitch” narrative grabbed me, from the tense action to the sweet love story between one of Flitch’s siblings, a gifted gender-neutral artist and a charismatic librarian from another barony, to their sister’s impulsive nature and the quiet, detail orientation of another brother. Eventually, the family seeks refuge with a neighbor baron, a youthful-seeming woman of extraordinary strength and madcap humor. She may well give Flitch a run as the most enchanting character in the book.

Meanwhile, Kindred, the heroine from the first volume, follows up setting the grass sea on fire with scuttling her ship, thereby sending her crew—all two of them, one of whom is her lover--to the eerie bottom of the sea. Here, the landscape is filled with fantastical plants and perhaps-animals, not to mention roving bands of humans eking out their livelihood from detritus falling from the surface. Alas, until well past the halfway point, there was so little dramatic tension in these chapters, I kept falling asleep.

At last, most of the way through the book, the two story lines veer toward one another when Kindred’s long-lost grandmother unleashes an army of deep-sea monsters that threaten human life on the surface. Alas, at this point I had lost all interest in the Kindred story, I skimmed over those parts to get back to the dramatic adventures of Flitch and his family. For me, past midway is far too late to introduce a reason to care about these characters and way, way too late for a hint that the two stories will at some nebulous point in the future come together (and they don’t, except in a deus ex machina sort of way). I kept reading on the strength of the first volume, but I don’t see how a reader new to this series would make any sense of it. Which is too bad because The Forever Sea is a really, really cool world. And Flitch's story is magnificent.

Book Review: Wishing Disappoints

 The Wishing Game, by Meg Shaffer (Ballantine)

I was intrigued by the premise of an updated Roald Dahl’s Charlie and the Chocolate Factory with emphasis on the plight of kids stuck in the fosterage system. As much as I was predisposed to like this book, especially in light of it earning “Best Book of the Year,” I found in it one disappointment after another.

First, the protagonist: Lucy Hart, rejected by her family in favor of her chronically ill older sister, ought to have been a sympathetic viewpoint character. She has gone from one miserable life situation to another. As a child, though, she had the gumption to run away to the island fortress (Clock Island, site of the eponymous, wildly popular children’s book series penned by the mysterious recluse, Jack Masterson) and demand to become his apprentice. Of course, this did not go well, although she, Jack, and gifted cover artist Hugo have never forgotten one another. At the opening of the book, Lucy is working at a dead-end job as a teacher’s aide. She’s barely able to make rent, let alone provide a suitable home for Christopher, the foster kid she’s determined to adopt. Herein lies my initial and enduring inability to connect with Lucy. She seems to be no more emotionally mature than an average adolescent, even more so when she decides that the only solution to her life problems is to enter and win a fabulous prize offered by Jack, the only copy of his unpublished next Clock Island novel. Her wish appears to be coming true when she is selected as a finalist and travels to Clock Island.

Aside from one writer to another: One copy?? Give me a break! No agent, editor, publisher, publicist, beta reader, copy editor, proofreader, online writers group, professional association, or trusted friend (looking at you, Hugo) would ever allow such irresponsibility as printing out one copy and then destroying all the files of the previous versions (or the equivalent typewritten manuscripts). (At the beginning of my writing career, I typed out drafts (at least three) with carbon paper and kept them all, using them as show and tell for school presentations.)

Second aside: many aspects of this novel read as if written by someone ignorant of the publishing business, yet Jack is a many-times-over best seller, supposedly with an agent and editor with whom he’s had a long relationship. It didn’t take long for me to suspect that the naïveté was on the part of this book’s author. I confess to a prejudice against “Creative Writing” folks who all too often have no clue about how genre storytelling works. I can’t think of another explanation for the prevailing ignorance.

These issues paled beside the huge red flags. Here are but a few: Lucy decides that the key to happiness is to adopt a kid. Other than the limited, structured interactions with students her job, she has no experience with parenting. Her interactions with Christopher come across as sugar-coated wish fulfillment (except for a few small afterthought details in the last chapter). There’s no chemistry between the two of them; their stereotyped interactions could have come straight out of 1950s family sitcoms. As Lucy’s history is revealed, it’s clear that because she felt unloved as a child, her solution is to shower another child with the love she never received. Not to resolve her own issues, not to learn to love (and forgive) herself, not to let go of her resentment of her sister and parents.

Baycon 2024 Report

Baycon is my local science fiction convention and I’ve been attending it, more or less regularly, since the 1990s. It’s moved from one hotel and city to another over the years and I have followed, “as the tail follows the dog.” My attendance came to a screeching halt in 2020 with the pandemic. The last convention I attended in person was FogCon in February of that year. We knew that a nasty virus was afoot but nobody wore masks. We “elbow-bumped” instead of hugging. If anyone got sick, I never heard. Then came the lockdown, as we called it. Conventions switched to virtual attendance. Althought I’m a somewhat slow adopted or tech, I’d become used to video chatting back in 2013, when I took care of my best friend in a different state while she was dying of cancer. My husband and I stayed in touch (via Skype, if I remember correctly). Then when my younger daughter attended medical school on the other side of the country, we visited by video chat regularly. She moved back to this area for her residency. Her final year was 2020, during which her regular service rotations were replaced by caring for dying Covid patients. Needless to say, I became quite cautious about my exposure. So even when conventions began to move from virtual-only to hybrid to in-person, I reconnected slowly. Even when I was ready to attend a convention in person (2023, which shows you how long it took me), armed with masks, hand sanitizer, and rapid tests, the universe conspired to jinx my plans. It was hard. I missed my friends and all the chance encounters and spontaneous expressions of community. All this is a prelude to my first successful return to in-person conventions.

Baycon programming had asked potential panelists to suggest topics. Two of mine were accepted, including Writing Beyond Trauma. Here’s the description I wrote:

These are perilous times for many of us. As survivors or the loved ones of survivors, how has our experience affected us as writers? How do our stories transcend and heal? Escape? Educate our audience? Are there times when the pain is so great, the words simply will not come--what do we do when we have lost our voice and how do we use writing to regain it? In this panel, we will strive to listen respectfully and to leave time between each speaker to absorb more deeply what they have said.

[Guest Post] Writing Black Rose by Arlo Z Graves

 Writing Black Rose

by Arlo Z Graves

 

 

 I knew I wanted to tell stories in first grade.

I entered kindergarten late because at five, I still couldn’t talk well. Not long after, I ended up in special education classes and speech therapy. The special ed teacher, a lovely soul of infinite patience, assigned us a retelling of Cinderella.

I hated school. The sounds, smells, social rules, they overwhelmed me. But this story, this retelling of Cinderella…it made sense. I could do that. I couldn’t read or write to any extent at the time. I recall knowing the alphabet and little else, so my mom typed the thing while I dictated it.

It was terrible, naturally, the Cinderella story. It changed me. I knew it was what I wanted in life. I knew I had stories to tell. I knew I wanted to be a writer.

 

I didn’t learn to read until I was sixteen. It’s still a struggle. My brain sees the negative space around the words and letters before the words themselves. Sometimes there are colors involved too. It’s a processing difference that modern technology allows me to adapt around. But before I could change the display of my laptop or simply have it read to me, my mom read to me. She read so much of my college curriculum, she deserves her own degree.

My dad told me stories. Every day on the way to school, he fabricated outrageous adventures of magical creatures living on Mars.

Between my parents, I might have been behind my peers in terms of ability, but I was well-read and inspired.

In high school, I started writing fanfiction. I went through a several-year hyper-fixation on the movies Van Helsing and Tombstone. So, I wrote about them. I put Van Helsing in the American West. I pitted him against a shapeshifting menace with a magical revolver. It was asinine teenage stuff. I called it Black Rose after the magical revolver.

“That’s a good story,” Dad said. “That’s a fun story.”

I forgot about it and moved on. Fast forward through a creative writing program at UCSC and several years spinning my wheels querying.

One day, my partner and I had dinner in Scotts Valley. I remember tearing up at the table. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” I said.

I’d been writing and querying, and piling up dozens, then hundreds of rejection letters.

I don’t remember exactly what my partner said. Something to the tune of: the right opportunities are coming.

Whatever he said, I got myself together and walked across the Safeway parking lot to the CVS for soap.

“Excuse me,” said a voice behind me. “That is the most amazing coat.”

I turned to thank her.

“You look like you stepped right out of a book. I write fantasy, you could be a character.”

I almost started crying again. “A real writer?” I asked. “You’re a real writer?”

She was indeed. She was Lillian Csernica (who writes about Finding Happiness in Writing here.)

We ended up meeting for tea. Then tea again. She introduced me to Duotrope and got me writing in different lengths. Flash fiction, short stories, novellas. She pushed me. She believed in me.

More important than anything else, than any stories I may write or sell, I made a friend that day. A stranger in a Safeway parking lot picked up my broken hope, dusted it off, and handed it back to me. “Let’s fix this up. You’ve got things to do kid.”

 

I wrote about things that scared me. I wrote about the fire, the CZU. That piece went on to win the grand prize in Stories That Need to be Told.

My parents saved half of our neighborhood during the fire, and I want to give something back to them. My dad, at seventy years old, held a firehose over our cabin while a crew backburned up the mountain. Pieces of homes fell on the roof.

“Are you ever going to write Black Rose?” my dad still asks me.

 

I wrote Black Rose.

It’s so stupid, it’s too stupid…I kept telling myself.

I imagined Lillian’s voice in my mind asking: why? Why is it stupid?

I outlined it, made the magic system, sat down and wrote the thing. I drew heavily from the Louis L'Amour books my mom read to me in bulk. I drew from the bonkers antics of my dad’s bite-sized space operas.

Using my winnings from the fire memoir, I booked a trip to old west ghost towns for research and took my mom with me. This was such an important experience. I’d looked at hundreds of images of Rhyolite and Goldfield Nevada to craft a wasteland setting for the book. But when we got there in our rental car, we found the landscape rich with color and diverse in plant and animal life. If I’d gone off of Google’s visions of the Nevada desert, I would never have known to incorporate so much beauty into the story. To me, those little details tied it all together into a piece I can be proud of.

 

Every time I give my family a writing update, Dad asks: “when are you going to write Black Rose?”

Don’t tell him I already wrote it. I hope someday soon, I can hand it to him, bound and polished. He always believed in it and I’m not sure why. And yet, here it is in spite of everything.

 

 

Postscript: Black Rose just made the long list for the Uncharted Novel Excerpt prize.

 

 

Arlo Z Graves is a nonbinary hillbilly who lives in a shack in the woods. ‘Zven’ enjoys ocarina, night hikes, and goth fashion. Their story Gerald: a Memoir won Stories That Need to be Told 2023 and their work can be found at Dragon Soul Press, the 96^th of October, and others. Visit Zven on Instagram.

https://www.instagram.com/arlozgraves/