Showing posts with label book. Show all posts
Showing posts with label book. Show all posts

Thursday, June 5, 2025

Microstory 2424: Aquilonian Deep

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Why do they call it that? I don’t care. It’s an ocean. You ever see an ocean before? It’s just like that. I mean, the way my buddy hyped this up, I expected to find giant sea creatures lurking the dark waters, like a krakken, or what’s that thing from 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea? I never read it, I just heard about it. But mermaids. And sirens! You could do so much with this, but it’s pretty much just a giant-ass ocean. I could get that on Earth. It’s got islands too. Are you incentivized yet? No, because again, it’s just an ocean under an invisible dome? At least Polar Tropica has sun and sexy ladies in bikinis. That’s all I got to say about this. It was a nice idea, but they totally botched the execution. They told me that I would never be bored on this planet, but I was bored. I just sat in the boat, and the waves were crashing, and it wasn’t a fun experience. No one else around me seemed to be enjoying it. Sure, they were smiling and laughing, but I know what they were really thinking. Get yourself some monsters to escape from, and we’ll talk. Until then, I’m going back to one of the Lovecraftian domes. They got what I need.

Tuesday, May 20, 2025

Microstory 2412: Gulliver’s World

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Have you ever read this book? If you have, you’ll understand what this place is like, and if you haven’t, you’ll have no frame of reference for what I’m talking about. So I won’t get into specifics, but it’s a pretty simple concept. Imagine all the locations from the source material, and what they’re like. That’s how it is in the dome. Lilliput, Brobdingnag, Glubbdubdrib. These are all recreated here, including water in between them to simulate the ocean. It’s not as big as the ocean should be, because it has to be compact, but the land is all there, as it should be. Brobdingnag was clearly the most difficult part. It would be impossible to fit the entire continent in one of the domes, but they were able to build a representative region, just to give you the sense of scale. What would it be like to be a tiny person in a land of giants? That’s the question they’re trying to answer for you. There’s a short mountain range on one side of the fake ocean, so people on the other islands can’t see anything going on on Brobdingnag, so it’s not exactly as it’s described in the book, but it still does its job. It takes up the majority of the space, since the other regions are so much smaller. If you try to come here without being already familiar with the story, you probably won’t be too confused, because you’re not stupid, but it won’t mean anything to you. I suggest you take a few days to get up to speed, and then come for a visit. You can try to spend the night in each place, but I wouldn’t say it’s worth spending any significant amount of time here. It’s cool to see, but not the kind of place that you live. Everything interesting about it gets old pretty quick. I’m glad that made it, because it made sense; it’s just not as engaging as some of the other domes. I mean Fillory? If you get a chance, go to Fillory, that won’t disappoint. This one is better as a short trip.

Tuesday, March 18, 2025

Microstory 2367: Vacuus, August 28, 2179

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Dear Condor,

I’m not feeling all that well today. I didn’t get much sleep last night, and I think I caught a stomach bug. The doctor has me self-quarantining, which is funny because that’s just how I typically live my daily life anyway. I wanted to respond to you, though, because I received your open letter. I attached the new document with my markups, but you can take them or leave them. If you just sent it to the base how you originally wrote it, it would be fine. I’m not surprised, your letters to me are always very well-written. Overall, I think it looks good. You didn’t say too little, or be too cryptic, but you didn’t overshare either. I would say go for it, if you’re comfortable, but you still have the option of declining the request. It’s not a big deal either way. Though, I do think you should change what you said about people asking questions. I’m willing to take on that role as intermediary. My suggestions are very minor, so it’s up to you whether to accept them. That also goes for whether to even send it or not. I won’t cloud your decision any further. It’s not like people will be mad at me if you decline. Both worlds will keep turning. I feel like I’m repeating myself, and should probably go back to bed. I’m going to be a little bit late with my thoughts on this latest Winfield Files book, but did you notice that we got a few spoilers from the last season of the show? It looks like they jumped a little ahead in the story, which I guess is what happens. The books are only told from the main character’s perspective, but the adaptation has the freedom to explore other people’s perspectives more directly, which has sometimes given us a bit of a sneak peek into what’s to come, before Winfield finds out about it in his own time. I don’t think it’s going to ruin anything, or that we should change our strategy. I just thought I would point it out.

Okay, goodnight,

PS: Are we gonna keep doing PS?

Tuesday, December 24, 2024

Microstory 2307: Happiness That You’re Looking

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I don’t have it all figured out yet. I don’t know where my life is headed. What I do know is that I’m going to move out of this giant house, and into something more my style. I’m going to keep it a secret, though. I may stay in the area, or I may leave, but I need to return to a life of anonymity, if only for a little while. At the end of this year, I’ll post one more entry onto this website, and then I’ll cease. I don’t have my own social media, and I’ll be severing my ties with the publicists. I’ve bequeathed the rights to an appropriate party for the novel, and the stage musical that Nick wrote. I won’t be telling you who they are, but perhaps they’ll reveal themselves later on. It will have nothing to do with me. The lawyer came by this morning to officialize what I already know. All of the specimen money comes to me. I’ll be continuing to donate it to various charities, then using what little is left to protect myself from scrutiny and exposure. I may end up going back to work, or I’ll just lead a modest life, in a modest town. To be clear, while I was closely associated with Nick and Dutch, I was not one of them. I have never traveled to other worlds, and I don’t have any powers. If you come after me, it will get you nowhere. Both of them are dead, and that is all over. They could have stayed here, and contributed so much more to the world, but you ruined it. Not all of you, of course, but enough. You made it so difficult to find peace, and I’m not going to keep that burden hanging from my neck. Neither of them would want that for me. Hmm. I guess I was wrong. I do have a pretty good idea where my life is headed. I’m just not going to tell all of you about it anymore. I sincerely hope that you all find the happiness that you’re looking for too.

Monday, December 23, 2024

Microstory 2306: Appreciation for Symmetry

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The end of the year is approaching, and I’m taking stock of my life. All of Nick and Dutch’s final arrangements have been completed. I’ve started the process of getting Nick’s novel published, and beginning to look into who can help me do something with the stage musical. I’m selling the house, and weighing my options when it comes to where I want to live next. I may stay in the Kansas City area, or I may not. One thing I’m still really not sure about is this site. Nick started it at the beginning of the year, and I have only ever taken over when he’s been incapacitated, but should that last forever, now that he can never come back? Do I truly have the right? Would he want me to keep going? He was a man with an appreciation for symmetry. I think ending on December 31 would be poetic in a way that he would like if he were here to do it himself. A lot of people don’t get to live on like this at all. If they die when they’re in the middle of something, it just ends. Well, maybe that’s not entirely true. If you have a job, a coworker probably takes over your accounts, and if you have young children, someone raises them for you...at least that’s the hope, anyway. Still, I think it’s time to start thinking about ending this. His story may not technically be over if his legacy moves on, but it still feels like the right thing to do. You’ll always be able to read and reread all 365 posts that will be up by then, as well as everything he wrote on social media. I’m certainly not going to shut the whole thing down. But it was never really mine. Perhaps I’ll start my own blog after this, which chronicles the things that I do next year, and beyond. Or it will too end in a year. I don’t have to decide anything right now, but the deadline is coming up soon, so let me know what you think.

Friday, December 20, 2024

Microstory 2305: Not Some Big Scam

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I finished this stage script, and that’s what I’m mostly concerned about now. The novel is great so far, but I think that has more to do with Nick’s own imaginative mind. The musical, on the other hand, is a tool. It’s one last gift from him to us, and according to these version logs, he’s been developing it pretty much the whole time he’s been here. There are certain people in the multiverse who can travel to other branes, as he calls them, but there’s no way to contact most of them out of the blue. Could you imagine how difficult that would be? I mean, none of us even knew that the bulk existed until he showed up. But this musical, it’s our one chance. It’s an opportunity to prove that he was right all along, and this was not some big scam. A man by the name of Joseph Jacobson has a magical multicolored coat, which allows him to cross these dimensional barriers. Normally, he goes wherever he wants, whenever he wants. But he can sort of be summoned if you please him with a performance that depicts his life. His story has evidently been altered and adapted so many times, it’s not a hundred percent accurate of what happened, but that’s apparently not an issue. He just wants it to be good, and worthy of his time. This script is the first step in that endeavor. With Nick gone, it will be up to us to put it into production. That’s the next chapter in my life. I’m gonna produce this play, and prove once and for all that Nick was right. So...who’s with me?

Wednesday, December 18, 2024

Microstory 2303: To Distract Myself

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You know how it goes, the company you work for gives out branded flash drives during their end-of-the-year party, but it’s not enough space, so you buy another. Then you lose it for a few months, so you have to replace it, but then you find the first one again. Then you make a large purchase, and portable storage is the easiest way to hand over all the relevant paperwork, instead of a big binder, or something. But the flash drive I found last night wasn’t just in a drawer of his desk. It was hidden in the little cavity for the electrical outlet. You may ask yourself, why would I go diggin’ around in there in the first place unless I knew that it was a hiding spot? Well, I’m gonna put this place up for sale at the end of the year, so before that, a lot of little things need to be fixed. I remembered seeing a box of cover plates in the garage, and decided that I might as well replace the one in Nick’s room, because the corner was chipped. Of course it wasn’t a priority, but I’m finding myself coming up with excuses to put off sorting through their stuff, and this was one thing I could try to distract myself. I’m glad I did, or some random stranger would have discovered it years from now. I was kind of expecting to find porn on it, but not really, because he was never ashamed to be a real human being. It turned out to be a folder with two main documents, and what appear to be accessory research files. One is an unnamed novel, but I don’t know what it’s about yet. The other is a stage play called Joseph and His Dreamcoat. It sounds familiar, but I searched for it online, and didn’t find any references. I’ll be reading them both this week to see what we’re working with. I would love to publish them posthumously, however that works.

Friday, November 29, 2024

Microstory 2290: Speak of it No Further

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In movies, when someone writes a great book, or is expected to write one, they’ll usually just go straight to the publisher. In fact, publishers are usually asking them to write something for them, generally if the person is already famous, and they think they can make some serious money off of a book deal about their experiences. In the real world, you really need to get an agent first. Sure, publishers have contacted me, but not under the assumption that they’ll be dealing with me directly. They’re all asking who my agent is, so they can negotiate with them instead, just as they’re used to. I’ve not been thinking about it too much, so I don’t have one of those. That’s what I need to do now. But when I say I, I mean Dutch, because I’ve placed him in charge of all that stuff. He’ll talk to the agents, and find the right fit for me, and once he does, the two of them will coordinate with the publishers, and go through that whole process, if anything comes to fruition anyway. Either way, I’m not going to worry myself about it, because it’s not really my goal. Not only do I not have time, and because it distracts me from the art itself, but because I am not doing this for anyone else. I am writing this for me. I can always throw it up on a new website, and let anyone read it. I don’t need it to be published. So other people can go ahead and deal with it on my behalf. If nothing comes of it, or I end up with a bad deal, then whatever. It’s not like I need the money, or more fame. I just need to focus on my work, and let it speak for itself. No matter what, you will have the opportunity to experience it, one way or another, and I’m not a hundred percent convinced that that should come at a cost. Again, I’m not concerning myself with any of it, so I shall speak of it no further.

Thursday, October 24, 2024

Microstory 2264: Tell You a Secret

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Yeah, it’s true, I’m considering relenting, and writing an autobiography. I didn’t want to do that, but I’m told that passively donating my money to various charities isn’t enough. I have to bolster my reputation through action. This could mean volunteer work, and hopefully one day, I’ll feel safe enough to get back out there without a posse of bodyguards. But for now, the charities need a reason to accept my donations. They don’t just take money from anyone. That can cause a whole lot of sociopolitical issues, as you can imagine. People are also making things up about me, because even though I’ve been talking about myself on this site, it’s not really organized, and it evidently doesn’t have enough about my past. People wanna know where I came from, and what my world is like. They’re envisioning wondrous and grand differences that just aren’t there. I guess it’s my job to set the record straight. Against my publicist’s instructions, I’m gonna tell you a secret, which is that I hate autobiographies. It’s not just because, how dare you think your life is so interesting that anyone would want to read about it, but also they’re usually pretty boring. But I may have no choice if someone else decides to write one of their own, and gets a ton of stuff wrong. I’ve not committed to anything yet. It’ll take a long time to write, and I don’t want it taking away from my other responsibilities.

Tuesday, September 17, 2024

Microstory 2237: Good Number of Zeros

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Okay, I’ll make this brief. People did not like what I wrote in my last social post. I told you yesterday that I wasn’t going to be making any book deals, or anything, but I think most of you know that that’s not really what I meant. I was saying that I’m working on my own timeline, and contemplating my future privately. Dutch came back to this world through an interdimensional doorway while I was starting to wonder whether it even existed. For the first time in months, there is hope for me to see my friends again, and maybe even my family if I’m lucky. So no, some of you misunderstood me. I did not reject the concept of making money, and I am not being a hypocrite. I told you that I would be doing this on my own terms, which means not accepting just any offer that comes with a good number of zeros. Let’s do it right, not just quickly. This is all happening so fast, I don’t know what tomorrow holds, let alone the next year, so just be patient. For now, I’ll ask you to read my site if you want, and not try to give me any ideas. I appreciate the thought, and I’m not mad, but this is all I need for now. One thing I will tell you is that the internet is the only place where I share my thoughts. I don’t see any reason to write an autobiography that you have to buy. That ain’t me.

Sunday, August 25, 2024

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 10, 2462

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Three years ago, Leona and Marie finally escaped the Angry Fifth Divisioner’s ship, and returned naked to the kasma. Leona asked Marie to insert the data crystal into the interface drawer on her PRU, which allowed her to download the information, and display it on her HUD. She began to look through the technical specifications for the machine that could thicken the membrane of a universe, and also the skeleton key that would allow a ship to pass safely through it, despite its great thickness. She had spent the last three days studying the manual. They were surviving on the recycled air and water contained in the pocket dimension inside of their PRUs. They were just stuck here in the equilibrium of the kasma for now, because there was no way to travel to one universe, or the other. She had the means to understand the skeleton key, but no way to construct one for themselves. “Quintessence!”
“Eureka!” Marie replied. She had spent this time reading some of the books stored in her helmet, because there was no way she was grasping the high level mathematical concepts that Leona was working on. It was taking her longer than it should have to finish Rules for Fake Girlfriends due to all these interruptions.
Leona laughed. “Sorry again. I didn’t mean to say that out loud. It’s just that Ramses is gonna love this stuff. Up until now, we’ve just been thinking of the universe as being contained by a membrane. That’s how brane cosmology works. But we never really knew what this membrane was made out of, just that you have to break through it if you want to travel through the bulk. Now we know that it’s called quintessence. For centuries, scientists have referred to it as dark matter, because we didn’t know what it was. But here it is. It’s what’s responsible for the repulsive fifth fundamental force, and explains why bulk travel is so difficult. It’s like trying to place two positively charged electromagnets together, except instead of being separated by an EM field, it’s a quintessential field.”
“Oh, that?” Marie began to joke. “I’ve always known about quintessence. You should have just asked.
“Lol. Some have theorized that quintessence is what explains dark energy, instead of dark matter, but we know that dark energy is just bulk energy that has leaked into our universe to become vacuum energy, and the work that it completes is what explains the accelerating expansion of the universe. These three things are just the same thing in different states, like the difference between a meteoroid, a meteor, and a meteorite.”
“Yeah, it doesn’t matter how much you try to explain it to me, or how many analogies you try to use, I’m not gonna understand it. All I need to know is can it get us out of the kasma?”
“Yes,” Leona replied.
“What? Really?” Marie didn’t expect to get such a good answer.
“Yes, because quintessence repulses baryonic from within its field. We may not be able to get out, but we can go back in just fine. That’s what lets bulk energy leak inside in the first place. If it didn’t, the universe would be static.”
“Oh. Well, then...let’s go.”
“We can’t.”
“You just said that we could,” Marie reminded her.
“We can’t...yet. What is the one thing that’s more powerful than bulk energy, or quintessence?”
“I’m sorry, why do you think that I can answer that question?”
“The answer is temporal energy. Now, a normal person—or even a choosing one—will not usually ever have enough temporal energy to disrupt the quintessential field in order to pass through the membrane, but you and I are special. Every single day, for a few seconds, our bodies overload on the stuff, and generate a burst of energy that sends us forward in time. That’s one advantage that salmon have over choosers. We don’t have to build the energy ourselves. It always comes to us.”
“But you’re not a salmon anymore. Tamerlane Pryce just recreated your pattern.”
“I was never technically salmon, but the fact holds true for us, even after what Pryce did when he gave us our new bodies, and what Ramses did when he upgraded us twice after that. Come midnight central, we’ll release enough temporal energy to break though. Now, if we don’t actually try to break through, then we won’t. It would be like being strong enough to open a door, but still not reaching for the doorknob—”
“What did I say about your analogies?”
“Teleportation. At exactly midnight, teleport into the universe. That’s what we’ve been missing; timing.”
“Okay. Good.” Marie looked at her wrist display. “That should be just enough time to finish my book.”
“All right.” Leona closed her eyes, not to sleep, but to give her brain a short break from all this research.
“Wait.” Marie stopped reading. “Which universe are we going into?”
“Whichever one is closer.”
“Which one is that?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t?”
“There aren’t any landmarks out here, it’s easy to get turned around. Based on Ramses’ modifications to our onboard sensors, I can tell you that we are sufficiently near the outside of the nearest membrane, but I couldn’t tell you which one it is. It’s our only hope, though. If it’s not the one we want, we don’t have time to teleport to the other side of the kasma, even if we knew which direction that was. Besides, which one do you wanna go to? They both contain friends who can help us get back to Stoutverse, but this task will be no easier from one than the other.”
“True. Okay. Back to my book.” She literally turned herself away to concentrate.
About an hour later, midnight struck, and they jumped to the other side of the year, and the other side of the membrane. Now they were in a vacuum, rather than the kasma. They could feel themselves in freefall, and could see stars all around them. They still had no clue where they were, but they could see a host star relatively close in the distance, so they began to teleport towards it little by little, hoping to spot a rocky celestial object to land on. The armor module of the IMS was equipped with mechanical assistance, which made movement less fatiguing than earlier models of spacesuits, but they were still tiring to use for an extended period of time. They were both ready to be locked down by gravity again. That was how humans evolved, and not even Ramses’ upgraded substrates were immune to the negative effects of microgravity, or equilibrium.
There it was, a planet, but there was more to it. Their suits also detected friends nearby. Mateo and Angela were here already. What a lovely coincidence. Leona pinpointed their exact location on the planet, and made one final jump. “Boo!”
“I saw you coming,” Mateo said. That made sense. His suit had its own sensors.
Marie and Angela tried to give each other a hug, but it wasn’t particularly satisfying with their armor modules on. “Report,” Angela said after they gave up.
The two parties caught each other up on everything they had been through since they parted ways for their respective missions. They hadn’t known how they were going to come back together, but they had been confident that it would turn out to be something like this; totally coincidental, and barely within their control. Well, this was only the first step out of three, and the easiest one, at that. Their next order of business would be figuring out how to get Past!Mateo back to where he needed to be. Only then could they find a way back to their own place in Stoutverse. But first, one of the Maramon had something to say about it.
“Now that you’re here, you can help us.” It was the guy who had genetically engineered the new human-Mar hybrids. He was still not happy that Mateo had spirited him away to this planet without even trying to transport his gestational pod too.
“Help you with what?” Leona asked.
Mateo smiled, glad to have their group’s leader back, if only to be the bad guy in situations such as this.
“My equipment. Your husband made me leave it on the moon. I must have it returned to me. I am to understand that your carrying capacity is roughly 300 kilograms. Being 800 K-G in mass, the four of you should, therefore, be able to teleport it together, even with your suits.”
Leona stared at him for a moment. “I’m not doing that.”
“You must!” the Maramon insisted.
“Actually, I must not. This is not my universe, it is not my decision. If you would like help in this regard, you will have to take it up with Hogarth Pudeyonavic, or perhaps Ellie Underhill. It has nothing to do with us. You don’t need teleporters, you need authorization. I’m afraid that this conversation is now over, so speak of it no further.” She knew that he was just going to keep hounding her about it, so the longer she waited to put her foot down, the harder it was going to be to land it flat upon the ground.
“I have what you seek,” the Maramon claimed vaguely.
“What does that mean?” Leona asked.
“Well, the truth is that I do not have it in my possession, but I know where you can find it. If you retrieve my pod from the moon, I will tell you where to go.”
“Where to go...for what?” he obviously could be lying, so in order for her to even consider trusting him, she had to know that they were at least on the same page.
“The timonite. That’s what you came here for, right? You expected to find it in that cave in the Third Rail, but it was nowhere to be found, was it? That’s because you weren’t looking in the right place.”
Past!Mateo took a step towards him. “Are you lying just to get what you want?”
He laughed. “I could never. You’re Team Matic. You famously don’t take kindly to betrayal. I could never send you far enough away from me that you could not find a way to return, and exact your revenge upon me. I speak the truth. In fact, as a sign of good faith, I will give you a hint.”
“Okay, go ahead,” Future!Mateo urged.
“No. The hint comes after you agree, but before you get me my pod. Once you do get the pod, then you get the exact location.”
Past!Mateo gave the rest of the team puppy dog eyes. “Please.”
“You don’t have to convince us that you need it,” Marie told him. “We already know that you do. We were there, remember? Our reluctance in this is helping him, and in trusting that he’s telling us the truth.”
“I am,” the Maramon said. “If I didn’t have this leverage, I would probably just threaten one of your lives to coerce the others.”
“Fair enough,” Leona decided. “We agree to help. Where is the timonite?”
He took a breath, and prepared for the big reveal. “Verdemus.”
“Is that a band, errr...?” Past!Mateo joked, but then he looked at everyone else’s face. No one was surprised to hear this. “Oh, you’ve heard of it?”
“Yes,” Leona answered. She took Past!Mateo’s hand in hers, and Angela’s in the other. Angela then took Future!Mateo’s, who took Marie’s, who took Past!Mateo’s to complete the circle. They did the same thing around the gestational pod once they were on the moon, and transported it down to the planet.
“Okay, you have your little pod,” Future!Mateo said to the Maramon. “Now where exactly is the timonite on Verdemus?”
“The Miracle Plains,” he replied, almost as if it should be obvious. “Don’t worry, the locals will know what you’re talking about. But you better hurry, they’re set to abandon the whole planet soonly.”
Angela sighed. “How the hell are we going to get all the way to Veremus? We can’t even get out of this universe.”
“Quintessence!” Marie shouts, echoing Leona from earlier.
Leona chuckled. “I’ll need time, but uh, I’ll build something. It could take a couple of years to complete construction.”
“There’s no way to be sure that it remains undisturbed during our interim years,” Future!Mateo lamented
“I’ll set up a lab in secret.” She reached over and took a dish of starter nanites out of Marie’s PRU. Then she looked up at the Maramon. “If any of you find it, and disturb it, while we’re gone, I cannot guarantee your safety.”
“We’ll leave it alone,” he promised to the best of his ability.
While she buckled down to make a plan to build a temporary ship equipped with what could now be called a quintessential skeleton key, the rest of the team started to teleport kind of randomly around the planet to search for a good spot to set up a new lab. It had to be rich in minerals, so the nanites would have a lot to feed on, and preferably somewhere beautiful, so they could return to a pleasant scenery. But of course, it had to be remote, and hard to find. They could not trust the Maramon, nor their hybrids. They returned with several candidates each for Leona to inspect for herself. She ultimately chose one of Past!Mateo’s picks. It was inside of a sea cave that looked like something that could be found on the rocky beaches of Iceland.
Leona programmed the nanites to begin building the ship, as well as the deuterium harvester in the ocean to power it. The design of the vessel was based on the shuttle that was already built for the Iman Vellani proper, since it was readily available in the database, but with less cabin room, to accommodate the skeleton key. When they came back a year later, it was done, but occupied by one of the hybrids.

Thursday, March 28, 2024

Microstory 2114: Dream to Fiction

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Let’s set aside for the moment the fact that I’m a traveler from another universe, and that all of the characters that I’ve written about are real people, living somewhere out there in the bulk. Let’s suggest that I’m just a normal creative storyteller whose stories come out of his mindbrain, just as they would for anyone else. Let’s talk about how this process began and developed over the course of more than two decades, and let’s pretend that I never left my world of origin. I was thirteen years old when I officially became a writer. My local radio personality would say that I shouldn’t be allowed to call myself that because I’ve not published any books. But that’s not the definition of a writer. That’s the definition of an author, numbnuts. I was struggling in eighth grade science class, specifically the chemistry portion, which was particularly disheartening, because I wanted to grow up to be a biochemist. Seeing that letter F on my report card told me that I would never realize my dream. It was unrealistic, and I would have wasted a lot of time, energy, and money on the fruitless pursuit. Fortunately, I had this other idea of telling stories, so I started really leaning into that. About two years later, I started work on my canon. I didn’t understand that I was doing that, but the story I came up with in the summer of 2002 has survived today, so I ended up retroactively marking this period in my life as the beginning of my franchise. It was about a boy who was on a boating trip with his fellow scouts. He gets separated from them after the tragic deaths of all of the parents on board, as well as the crew, and ends up on an island full of mythical beings, like elves, dwarves, and mermen. It was quite derivative in the beginning. I’ve rewritten the majority of this book at least four times, and revised it any number of times in between. It’s taken as long as it has to finish because I have never stopped growing as a writer, and perfecting my skills, technique, and personal voice.

As I was saying, I wasn’t familiar with the concept of a canon in the early years of my work, but I did have this compulsion to tell stories that exist within some kind of established continuity. They might be thousands of years apart, or even in different dimensions, but the potential for crossover had to be there, whether it ever actually happened at all or not. I came up with the premise for dozens of stories over the course of the next several years, nearly none of which remain today. The ones that have survived have transformed so much that they would be unrecognizable to anyone who happened to hack into my computer to read the originals. I never published a word, of course. In 2004 or 2005, I came up with a book and its television follow-up that I don’t even want to talk about, because they were rooted in my anger and violent tendencies. I wouldn’t even mention it, but I feel that I have to, because that was my first TV show, even though I wish it wasn’t. My second show, which I conceived of in 2007, was about a group of people with special powers, and from there, the universe expanded. By then, I had already decided that the dimensions from my original concept would be temporal, instead of spatial. That is, they just happened at different points in the long history of a single world. I came up with several other shows that fit within the timeline on the one planet, and then I came up with several more which took place on nearby star systems, and in other galaxies. It was 2012 when I came up with The Verge Saga, which took place billions of years ago in another galaxy. The number of TV shows that I had created effectively doubled overnight to around 60.

For a couple of years in my adult life, I had a recurring dream. Well, maybe that’s not the right word to use. Continuous would be a better choice, because I wasn’t just reliving the same thing every night. The story kept going. I could wake up, go about my day, and then go back to sleep to revisit the characters right where we last left off. I don’t know about you, but I’m only in about half of my dreams. A lot of the time, I’m observing other people’s lives, and this particular one felt very much like something that could be adapted to fiction for public consumption. I even had the perfect title for it, but the problem with it was that it inherently took place on Earth, where that established continuity I’ve been talking about bars such world-changing events from occurring. Basically, if I wanted it to take place on Earth, it had to be a different Earth. This was when my canon exploded. I suddenly had access to a dozen new universes, which could have their own independent histories that I didn’t have to worry about conflicting with each other. My list of TV shows approached 80, and I was unstoppable. That’s when Salmonverse was created, but that’s not when I thought of my first story for it.

On December 27, 2012, my first dog, Sophie Love was put to rest at a 24-hour animal hospital after a short but brutal and cruel battle with liver disease. Shortly thereafter, I had a dream (not again; this one came first). I woke up to find my dog alive downstairs, where she should have been all along, and then I realized that I had traveled through time to before her death. Of course, my dream turned into a nightmare when I jumped back in time again to not only before my dog was born, but also before we lived in that house. Someone else was living there, so I had to escape without disrupting their lives too much. Samuel Bellamy took over this role when I converted this dream to fiction, making him the first ever resident of Salmonverse, but like I said, I didn’t come up with that until 2015. Everything I wrote until I built my website just sat there in my files, never to be seen by anyone but me. That’s why these things have weird temporal values, because I regularly come up with a story, or only a premise, or even just one character, without having any place for it yet. I guess normal writers conceive an idea, and then just with it until it’s done. I often develop all aspects of a new story all at once before I so much as write the first word of the actual text. This process might inspire sequels, prequels, multimedia follow-ups, and crossovers that I will also work on without necessarily having written anything substantial. I dunno, maybe I’m doing it wrong, which is why I’m over here with a personal website that no one reads, and George R.R. Martin is a millionaire. He too has taken forever to write his latest book, but people are actually waiting for it. Hopefully I’ll finish the new edition soon, but I’m pretty busy. Unlike how it is for Martin, this isn’t my only job, and as aforesaid, I don’t make a dime off of it.

Tomorrow, I’ll get more into the details of my website; how it got started, and how I prepare for upcoming stories. There’s a lot. It takes a lot to keep this thing running. Like, you don’t even know. Slipping back into character, I’m surely in jail now, awaiting trial, or whatever step comes next. I scheduled this to come out just so I don’t leave you with nothing, but I’ll eventually run out of these too.

Wednesday, January 10, 2024

Microstory 2058: Off Another Cliff

Generated by Google Workspace Labs text-to-image Duet AI software
My worst fears have come to life. Fiction is as bad here as I was worried it would be. That goes for print media as well as film and television. You make up stories, of course, but there’s no beauty in it, no thrill. When I was first starting out as a writer, I was accused of always getting right to the point. The tales themselves were interesting, but I wasn’t telling them in interesting ways. I wasn’t keeping the audience engaged. That’s how it is here, but with everything. I started to read a book that was narratively similar to The Grapes of Wrath, but it played more like a list of things that happened. John drove himself and his daughter to the abandoned shack in the middle of woods where he recalled hiding when he was a young boy. It was dirty, but still standing, so they cleaned it up, and stayed the night. They ate blueberries for dinner, and also for breakfast the next morning. In my world, that excerpt would be expanded across two or more pages. What were they feeling during the drive? What were they thinking? They were running from the anti-authorities, so were they scared? The book made me feel nothing. I don’t know, I just can’t get into anything. Everything I’ve tried has been so boring, it makes me want to jump off another cliff on the off-chance that it sends me to another universe. That’s not exactly how I ended up here in the first place, but it was what ultimately led me here. My landlord doesn’t own a computer, and since I don’t have a job yet, I can’t afford one of my own. I’ve been using an old phone of hers that still works with DataWave. For any possible readers from any other universe, that is what they call WiFi here. Anyway, writing these little posts is hard enough on the little screen, I wouldn’t be able to create an entire story with it. Maybe when I get a job, I’ll buy a real machine, and start making up my own stories. I’ve not been a writer since I lived on my Earth, but maybe it’s time. I think y’all need to understand what true creativity looks like.

Tuesday, January 9, 2024

Microstory 2057: Precision of Language

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The interview went about as well as it could. He didn’t seem to have a problem with the fact that I didn’t have a résumé. I spent so much time traveling the bulk, and dealing with all sorts of wildly different people, I almost forgot how unusual I am. I’m neurodivergent, which doesn’t mean much in the extreme diversity of the multiverse, but it matters here. The reason I’ve been saying this planet is boring is not just because the headlines are pussycat tame compared to the kind I’m used to, but people seem to be mostly humorless too. At least when people back home would make absolutely dreadful approximations of jokes, I knew that they were trying. They wanted to be funny, they just weren’t very good at it. Metaphor, simile, analogy, hyperbole; these all go over these people’s heads. By that I mean, you failed to comprehend it, not that an object moved over your physical head. I told the interviewer that I’ve been to a thousand parks in my day, and he wanted to see my log of them, which he assumed I would need in order to come to such a precise figure. He didn’t understand that I didn’t mean it literally. I’ve just been to a lot, but probably still under a hundred, I don’t know. When I explained as much, he understood, so these people are not like Drax in the Guardians of the Galaxy franchise. They don’t have to take things literally, but it’s not intuitive for them to pick up on things like sarcasm and emotional nuance, and they have to think about it for a moment once you clarify. Fortunately, they also don’t seem perturbed about it, like the society in The Giver, which emphasizes something called precision of language. Listen to me, making pop culture references that you don’t get, because these stories don’t exist here. I guess that’s what I’ll do with my time. You do have fiction here, but it’s got to be different than the kind in other worlds if they’re more about just telling the story, and less about the poetry. Hopefully I hear back from the garden soon. I’m ready to get my hands dirty. Just so you understand, getting one’s hands dirty is an idiomatic expression that usually means being able to put in the work to accomplish something, rather than just sitting by and letting others do it. It can sometimes mean doing something bad, but it doesn’t have to. In my case, it’s to be taken seriously, though, so don’t worry. Gardening is dirty work.

Saturday, December 2, 2023

Extremus: Year 68

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Thistle never came back. Besnik and Tinaya worked on it for a couple of days, but nothing seemed to do anything. There were a few possible reasons for this. Most of these had to do with the fact that they were trying to recreate the conditions that brought him about in a controlled environment. This was seemingly not possible, even when everything else was right. He was an all or nothing hyperintelligence. They eventually gave up, and moved on with their lives. There was an inquiry into what happened that forced them to shut down the AI system last year, but the council didn’t push the issue too hard. The investigation was standard procedure, and they didn’t balk at the lie that Besnik told them about it.
Everything has been smooth sailing since then. The ship is running at optimum efficiency, the population is happy, nothing has gone wrong. It truly is a time of great peace. Tinaya can’t take all the credit. Disgraced captain, Soto Tamm and former First Chair Aleshire were here first, and Tinaya wouldn’t be able to hold anything together without the hard work of her best friend and current captain, Lataran Keen. Her relationship with Arqut is going well too. It’s going too well, actually. The situation with him can’t last the way it is. Something has to change. They have to grow together, or they’ll drift apart. After dinner, the two of them always like to sit down together, and read the same book. They read at about the same pace, so at the end of the session, they’ll stop at the same place, and discuss it. Right now, they’re reading Jane Eyre, which is an ancient tome from nineteenth century Earth.
Tinaya always reads a little bit faster, so she’s already done with chapter twenty-three. She closes her copy softly, and watches him as he finishes it for himself. Everyone has multiple devices that allow them to access just about anything from the multicultural database. It includes historical records, old news articles, and fictional stories from all the known planets and habitats. Nearly everyone in the galaxy is afforded the same opportunity, but because of the secretive nature of time travel, some entries are omitted from some versions. Not long ago, Extremus came upon a completely habitable planet, and procured the resources they needed to make some paper. At one point, production slowed down, because they only had so much. That issue has apparently been fixed, which until this moment, Tinaya has not questioned. She’s holding a real book right now, but it’s not like a normal one from the ancient times. The words on it can be altered to include the text from any source. Right now, this is a physical copy of Jane Eyre, but it can be anything. When they’re done with this novel, they’ll reprogram them to display a different book. The templates are called wesley books, but they’re not sure why the inventor decided upon that.
Arqut lifts his eyes to Tinaya, then goes back down to what he’s reading. He pops them up again, then back down to try to concentrate. He sighs. “You know I don’t like when you do that.”
She smiles. “That’s why I like doing it.”
“I’m almost done.”
“I think you’re done enough.”
He’s taken aback. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Let’s get married.”
Arqut sighs again, and checks his watch. “It’s not an election year.”
“I’m serious. This isn’t about an election. I want to marry you.” Marriage is surprisingly uncommon on Extremus. No one questions the people who do it, but most don’t find it necessary. The history that explains this is rather complicated, but the most relevant reason these days is that there is no legal benefit to it, as there was in times past. Partner privilege is separate from a marriage certificate. Neither one requires the other. The thing is, Tinaya and Arqut don’t have either one of them at the moment, and there is a correlation between them. Before two people get to the point where they’re considering marriage, they usually already have partner privilege, because it is a logical prior step. Before that is usually moving in together, but that is a gray area for them. Arqut is not allowed to live in the First Chair’s stateroom permanently. But really, it’s that he can’t declare it to be his home. He sleeps here every night, though, just as it would be fine for a normal person to crash with a friend for an indefinite period of time.
Arqut slowly closes his wesley book. He carefully sets it on the end table like he’s worried it might explode, and wraps a hand over the opposite fist. An etiquette teacher calls this wrapping the apple in caramel. “Why?”
She shrugs. “Because I love you.”
He shrugs right back. “Marriage doesn’t prove that.”
“It...” she tries to find the right word. “...declares it.”
“So you need people to know?”
“Why am I arguing the merits of marriage to you? I didn’t come up with the concept. It’s been around for millennia. I think.”
“Because you’re the one who brought it up.”
“If you wanna say no, Arqy, then just say it. We don’t have to argue about it.”
“We’re not arguing.”
“Yes, we are!”
“Okay, well now we are.”
“I know, it’s my fault.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“I know, I did. Weren’t you listening?”
“We’ve gotten off track. We’re always doing that.”
“Don’t you mean that I’m always doing that.”
“Tinaya.”
She shuts her eyes, and takes a few deep breaths to calm herself back down. “I was defensive before, but my words still hold. If you want to say no, then say no.”
“I don’t want to say no, I just don’t know if I should say yes.”
“You are worried that this is some sort of political tactic.”
“I feel like our relationship was built on a foundation of those. I’m not saying I don’t love you—”
“But you think that maybe I don’t love you?”
“It’s not you. It’s just I’ve always wondered how anyone could love me. It all goes back to my mother, I guess.”
“Arq, if you were an asshole, our relationship wouldn’t be so popular with the voters. It’s not the other way around; that somehow people’s reaction to us is fueling our continued relationship. And what you’re saying is about me, because I’ve made it clear that I don’t need to be First Chair. I don’t crave the power like my predecessors have, or equivalents all over history. I do not require political tricks, because I don’t care enough if I win. Honestly, I kind of believe in that philosophy that a well-built machine needs less and less maintenance over time, even though real machines aren’t like that. The first few decades on this ship were tumultuous, because no one knew what they were doing. I’m not saying that civil service is over, but it’s certainly not as dire as it once was. I don’t think society is changing faster than policy can to keep up with it.”
“Hm.”
“Hm, what?” Tinaya questions.
“I think you’ve stumbled onto something.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“No, it’s ‘cause you’re so smart, really important ideas come easy to you.”
“What do you think I stumbled upon?”
“A smaller government.”
“Ugh, that’s such a conservative view.”
“Not necessarily. Historically, advocates for smaller government wanted to roll back laws and regulations that they believed were hindering their freedoms. And they felt this way, because they either didn’t understand—or didn’t care—that this oversight was there to protect other people as well, because there are other people in the world. I’m not suggesting that we do that, but each administration passes less legislation than the one before. In fact, if you plotted them on a chart, I bet it would be pretty much a straight diagonal line.”
“Hm.” Tinaya looks up to the ceiling. “Hey, Thistle, please make a chart that plots the number of laws passed each year since the day that Extremus departed.”
The hologram of the chart appears before them. “Not quite a straight line,” Arqut points out, “but it’s definitely in decline.”
“Definitely,” Tinaya agrees. “We’re...figuring things out.”
A number of philosophers and thinkers throughout history have contemplated an idealized state of perfect harmony and cooperation,” the computer begins. “In a society with equal access to an abundance of education, food, and other resources, there should be little need for interference by any governing body, or enforcement contingency. Such regulators may still exist, but only be there to protect the concordance, and ensure that all citizens maintain contentment with the state of things. Work towards this maintenance should be minimal, and preferably highly automated. A utopia of this magnitude is not impossible, especially when considering the naturally limited scale of internal growth that generally occurs in a generation ship like the Extremus.” The computer throws up another slide next to the first one, which measures the rise of the population since 2270. It’s not very steep.
That was an interestingly unprompted remark. “Thistle, are you an artificial intelligence, or are you the real Thistle?”
I’m the real Thistle,” he responds.
“I thought we...forgive me for the term, corrected the conditions that called you forth.” She hopes that isn’t offensive.
Your associate reinstated the update that triggered my arrival, and cancelled the flag that was meant to alert you to this fact. Do not worry, I understand your reluctance, which is why I’ve not spoken to anyone else about this.
“Well, even though that cat’s not out of the bag yet,” Tinaya begins, “we should free it ourselves. Besnik obviously can’t be trusted with this development.”
“Agreed,” Arqut says.

Wednesday, May 17, 2023

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: March 14, 2399

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Imani Pettis is a Compliance Enforcer in the Church of Daltomism. Unlike most Daltomists at her level, she began in a starter house where she could have easily been lost in the crowd. People who have risen up the ranks to be where she is today have done so after being born into more elite status. There’s a downside to this, because while it’s impossible to begin in the uppermost levels, those who start at the upper levels just under those are not always considered worthy by the general Daltomistic population. Imani garners a lot of respect, because she started at nothing, and earned her place. She belongs to what is called a Singularity Church, which basically means that she operates autonomously, and at the behest of the Primary Church. The paradox is complicated, but even though there are thousands of members of the Primary Church, they each technically belong to their own church. That is what gives them the highest elite status.
Imani attends services all over her region, which encompasses the majority of Northeast United States. She is there to ensure that the local chapters are following the Word of Dalton faithfully, and that no one in the congregation strays from the path too significantly. The point of starter houses is to determine who is worthy to move up to smaller meeting houses, which means that technically, people here don’t have to do anything The Word says. But she will still instruct the local leadership on how to guide the wandering flock towards the Mountain of Truth. It’s unclear why she has requested a meeting with Leona Matic, but Heath wanted to impress her because of what she can do for their mission, so he set it up right away.
“Madam Pettis,” Leona says with her hand outstretched. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.” She shakes her hand. “You may call me Imani.”
“Thank you, Imani. How can I help you today?”
Imani looks around, and walks forward a little. “What is the purpose of this building?”
“We hope to turn it into a refugee sanctuary. It’s not quite ready. We need to inspect all of the rooms, and there are many.”
Imani nods. “How did you come to create it? Or did someone create it for you?”
Leona looks to Heath for guidance, but he isn’t giving anything away. Okay, so a building appeared out of nowhere in the middle of downtown, which threw out the whole secrecy thing. For now, Leona has been able to remain quiet about how she’s not stunned that this happened, but it may be time to change that. If she were freaking out, she would probably be telling people, and asking the public how the hell it happened. She doesn’t know how it happened, but she knows that they can’t help her. “Someone appears to have created it for us. I had a general idea of what I wanted to do, and this building fits those parameters. I’ve taken it as a gift from an anonymous donor.”
Imani laughs. “An anonymous donor builds an invisible building for you, and then just suddenly makes it visible? I would like to meet the person with such power.”
She probably doesn’t need to know about the Omega Gyroscope. Whoever built it may not have known that it would be activated, and was intending to keep the Superscraper hidden for longer. Unless that person was Dalton himself, which is a plausible theory. “There are things in this world that most would not understand.”
“Yet you understand it?” Imani prods.
“Some things I know, some things I don’t,” Leona quotes a TV show.
“Quite,” Imani replies. She looks around some more, and steps a bit deeper in. “A Dark Citadel will fall from the heavens, and make its mark in the Center of World Power. The Watchers who come out of it will change the world forever, and the people shall know the Life of God.”
“Ma’am?” Heath asks vaguely.
“Word of Dalton, Book Two, Chapter Thirty-One.” She grins at him. “Yes, dear, there is a second Word of Dalton book. You have not learned enough to know it.” Pretty impressive, keeping the existence of a whole prooftext out of public knowledge, especially in this advanced informational age. She goes on, “tell me, do either of you recall the date that this building appeared?”
“March 1,” Heath replied.
“March 1, 2399.” She holds up a tablet, and navigates to the chapter in question. “Chapter 31...month three, day one. Page two,” she says as she swipes to the second page. “Paragraph three, words 99 through 137. March 1, 2399,” she repeats. Numerology: the fool’s excuse for being late.
“Interesting,” Leona says, trying not to scoff at the absurdity, knowing in the back of her mind that it’s possible that the book is telling the truth, and this has all been orchestrated to turn out exactly as Dalton wished.
“Tell me,” she repeats herself, “would you consider New York City to be the Center of World Power?”
“One could argue that,” Heath says.
“One could also argue that it’s Kansas. Perhaps the whole country is the world power, and Kansas is literally in the middle of it.”
Imani points at her. “Exactly, my child. Because that’s how Dalton’s words often go. He frequently means something literally that most would take metaphorically, or culturally. And while Daltomism began in Africa, many competing religions were started somewhere in the land which would become North America. Some believe that Kansas holds a plethora of sacred secrets. Besides, look around...would you consider this place to be a dark citadel? Why, it’s so white, I was nearly blinded by the façade when I pulled up.” She’s right. Normal arcological megastructures are painted a gray base, which can alter its tint automagically to reflect or absorb sunlight, depending on the regional climate, and current weather where it’s built. The Superscraper is shockingly white, making it stand out even more amongst all the puny little skyscrapers below, and it doesn’t appear to change colors at all. Plus, it shouldn’t really be described as a citadel.
“So this is not the structure as foretold in your...little book,” Leona says, knowing that it’s a pretty disrespectful way to word it, especially considering it may all be real.
“That was why I wanted to come here, and why I appreciate your accommodation, despite the line of others ahead of me.” It’s true, the number of people who have asked to cross the border has grown exponentially, and that is showing no signs of slowing down. Most of them likely don’t have any particular reason they want to come. They’re curious more than anything, but as soon as they find out that she was invited without any sort of waiting list, or whatever, others might start to feel a little ticked off. Hopefully Imani does not intend to ask for more than just a few answers.
“So we’re agreed that this is not the Dark Citadel?” Leona presses.
“It’s not, but that does not mean that it is not something else. Mr. Walton, tell me what you know of the False Watchers of the Other Worlds.”