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Local Sci-Fi Author to Speak

I have been asked to present an informal “pop talk” half an hour before the May 14 performance of Hand2Mouth Theatre‘s Uncanny Valley, described as a “sci-fi adventure into psychic space.” I haven’t seen the show yet myself, but here’s a little bit of information about it:

We have used a number of SF inspirations and sources throughout the 1.5 year creation process (books, stories, films, etc.) We have been particularly interested in the “what if” suppositions in SF as well as perspectives on the “other”, “doubling”, and the “uncanny”. One of the underlying questions of the show is “What if the theatre were a literal memory machine that allowed actual past events to be re-experienced, experienced by others, possibly even manipulated and altered?” In earlier phases of the show, SF was a strong stylistic force (space suits, mind reading machines, alien doubles, time travel, etc.). In this final phase of the show, these elements are de-emphasized and treated more subtly. What remains is a thrilling and uncanny meditation on the nature of memory, consciousness, reality, and time. In the course of the show, by seeing skewed unfamiliar alternate versions of ourselves through the looking glass of the memory machine, we can somehow view our past and present with greater clarity (much in the same way that SF can reveal hidden truths about the real by exploring the unreal).

You can watch the intriguing video trailer for the play, and read more on the company’s blog.

My talk will be informal, conversational, and interactive. I’m planning to mention Philip K. Dick, of course. Are there any other SF themes, authors, or notable works I should be sure to bring up?

If you’re in the Portland area this Saturday, I hope you’ll come to the show!

A lovely day to go out to sea and get shot at

The Lady Washington and Hawaiian Chieftain are a pair of replica 18th-century merchant sailing vessels. The Lady Washington portrayed the HMS Interceptor in the film Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl and also appeared in Star Trek Generations. Their home port is in Aberdeen, Washington, but this weekend they were visiting Rainier, Oregon. As it happens, I’m considering setting my next novel aboard an 18th-century sailing vessel, so for research purposes Kate and I drove up to Rainier to experience one of their “Battle Sails,” in which the two ships shoot at each other with real black powder. It was a great day for a sea battle, with temperatures in the fifties, lightly overcast, and just enough wind for sailing.

There were about 40 of us passengers all told, about 10 of them small children who had come to sail on the “pirate ship.” As it happens, the Chieftain was unable to carry passengers at this time due to generator issues (though she was still able to sail and fight) so we all piled onto the Lady Washington. It was a little crowded but not unreasonably so.

The crew numbered 11: the captain decided where the ship should go, manned the tiller, and gave high-level instructions to the first mate; the first mate turned those instructions into detailed commands for the hands who actually set the sails; the engineer was in charge of the diesel engine (which we used only when docking; in the 18th century a ship like this would almost always have anchored offshore) and when under sail was the most experienced hand; the steward was in charge of herding the passengers and also acted as gunner; and seven hands clambered about and hauled on ropes as directed. This complement is fairly similar to the size of crew the ship would have had when hauling cargo in the 18th century.

I noted that there were neither NO STEP signs nor friction strips anywhere on the vessel; any approximately horizontal surface was fair game for being clambered upon.

All of the crew were dressed in a rough approximation of period costume, accessorized with safety harnesses and other modern practicalities. Several of the hands wore Vibram shoes with individual toes, which seemed a reasonable accomodation to soft modern feet. The captain and engineer were in their thirties, I’d say; all of the rest were college-age and I believe all of the hands were volunteers who were paying for the privilege of working and learning aboard. The youngest and least experienced hand had been on board for three days. Three of the hands were women, as was the first mate (who was addressed by the captain as “madam mate”) and short Mohawks were popular with both sexes.

The ship herself was also a compromise, being equipped with a diesel engine, radar, life jackets, and other modern features, as well as bunks with a lot more than eighteen inches per crew member. I’m glad we were on the Lady Washington rather than the Hawaiian Chieftain, as the latter vessel is both based on a more recent original and is less authentic in many of her appointments.

The captain, a skinny somber fellow who advised a small child to get away from the tiller because “there’s two hundred tons of ship pushing that rudder around, and I’ve seen men’s femurs get snapped right in half” and remarked “madam mate, see to it that doesn’t happen again,” was an interesting contrast to the first mate, all grin and aviator sunglasses, who said things like “awesome!” and “set the jib, question mark?”

I wish we’d been given a little more information than the basic safety drill (how to put on the life jackets and when to put your fingers in your ears). I did pick up a few words of sailor-ese, but I never got a very good understanding of how the mate’s shouted commands translated into the motions of the sails, never mind how those motions translated to the ship’s heading and velocity. The crew climbed up into the rigging to unfurl and furl the sails at the beginning and end of the voyage; the rest of the time, all but one of them spent their time running back and forth between four stations on the deck, hauling on ropes to turn the sails around the axes of the two masts. The one remaining hand was entirely responsible for all of the sails at the front of the ship, which kept her very busy; apparently this was a rite of passage. Those motions of the sails, plus the tiller, were sufficient to direct the ship into a favorable position to fire on the other ship while avoiding being fired upon. Even though the wind was quite light, only about 8 MPH, when the sails were turned to catch it, the ship gave a very perceptible lean and surge — a thrilling moment.

Combat for this type of small merchant ship does not resemble the massed broadsides you’ve seen in the movies. She was equipped with two deck guns, each about two and a half feet long and firing a three-pound ball, plus two small swivel guns at the back. Our single gunner, carrying a satchel of black power and a slow match, ran to whichever gun was closest to the enemy, loaded it, and fired at the captain’s command (which was generally “as they bear”). These little three-pounder guns (by comparison, the guns in Master and Commander were eighteen-pounders) were enough to make a noise and do a little damage — hopefully enough to scare off any seagoing predators. Our main battle tactic was to try to get directly ahead of the other ship, where she had no guns, while attempting to get into a position where we could fire a “raking” shot down the length of the other ship. It was also useful to get upwind of the other ship, stealing the wind she needed to maneuver. Between the maneuvering and the time for the gunner to prepare the guns, each ship got off a shot every five to fifteen minutes; it was a duel, not a slugfest.

The two ships were firing blanks — just black powder, no cannonballs — at each other. We were instructed to plug our ears for the shot (and it was damn loud; I can’t imagine the noise of a broadside of eighteen-pounders) and then listen for the echo. A quick echo back from the other ship was counted as a hit; a delayed echo from the far shore was a miss. There was definitely a difference in the sound between the two. When the other ship shot at us, meanwhile, we could tell when the shot was about to come because we could see and hear them preparing it. Apart from all the yelling and gunfire, sailing ships are quite quiet.

The 18th-century sailing vessel was the most complicated machine of its day. There were hundreds of different ropes, every one of them had a specific purpose, and the crew had to know the vocabulary, leap into action, and execute the commands with precision and alacrity, or else lines would foul, sails would collide, and the ship would lose way — a sitation difficult to recover from. In other words, it was a lot like square dancing.

Unlike square dancing, however, the crew was expected to repeat back every command even as they began to execute it, and also to announce changes in status such as opening hatches and returning to deck after going aloft (e.g. “back on deck, three in the fore” meaning that there were three hands still aloft on the foremast). These formalities were strictly observed even though it didn’t seem that anyone was listening. At one point, when a hand landed on the deck, he looked up and announced “back on deck… can’t tell.” I don’t think anyone other than Kate and I laughed.

Lady Washington was handicapped with several inexperienced hands, in addition to the passengers getting in the way, and when we returned to port the captain announced that “if we all had fun, then everybody won” — in other words, we lost the battle badly, and if this had been an actual emergency we would have been disabled, boarded, and taken prisoner. (The goal was never to sink the enemy ship — whether pirate or navy, there was always more money to be made by capturing it in usable condition.)

Now I have a real understanding of why the officers always stand on the elevated quarterdeck at the back of the ship. Because of its position and elevation, it has the best view of what’s going on both onboard and out on the sea. From there you can see if lines or sails are fouled, if hands are in the wrong place, and where the other ship is. The crew, on the other hand, doesn’t need this information and in fact may be better off without it. At one point, during a brief lull in the action, the engineer paused in coiling ropes and idly wondered aloud where the other ship was. I said to him “you don’t really have to know, do you?” He grinned and said “Naw, all I have to do is pull on whatever rope the guy in the funny hat tells me to.”

This little trip was nothing more than a taste of an approximation of an 18th-century sea battle, but we had fun and I got some sensory details that I can probably use in my writing. If nothing else, it provides a solid real-world structure on which we can hang the imagery when we read the Aubrey/Maturin novels.

 

 

 

I don’t have the shoes for this

Last night I presented the annual Stolee Lecture to an audience of about 60 BVU students, faculty, and staff. When I saw the beautiful video projection set-up they had, I asked the audience if they’d rather see slides of my trip to Mars, or hear me read a story as originally scheduled. They voted overwhelmingly for the Mars talk, so Mars it was.

Iowa people are quiet, polite people. They didn’t react a lot, or ask a lot of questions, but I’m told the talk was well received.

After the talk I wrote 1630 more words on the steampunkish story. It now stands at 7003 words and still isn’t quite done, which is unfortunate as I was asked for 3000-5000 words. Once it’s finished I will see how much I can cut, and then I will probably have to beg the editor’s forgiveness for going over. We will see.

Woke up this morning to snow. Two or three inches of wet, slushy stuff, still coming down, and a hard cold wind. I am assured this will not affect my ability to get to the airport. I really hope it doesn’t cause any problems, because I’m tired and I’m lonely and I want to go home and see my sweetie.

Hecate on Toast

I sat in on one of Inez’s creative writing classes this afternoon. The class began with a ten-minute free-writing exercise, and Inez gave everyone in the class except me the choice of two writing prompts based on story titles of mine (“Moonlight on the Carpet” and “Teaching the Pig to Sing”). Most of the students chose “Moonlight on the Carpet” and most of those who chose to read them out loud produced creepy stories very much like my own of that title. Most of those who chose “Teaching the Pig to Sing” had a story that involved a literal pig, unlike my own.

I also participated, but rather than give me my own titles Inez gave me a choice of two of hers: “Easy A” or “Hecate on Toast.” Here’s what I wrote:

Hecate on Toast

Hecate was on my toast again.

“Why does a Greek god keep appearing on my toast?” I asked her.

The face imprinted on the bread turned to me, dark and light swirls moving impossibly across the warm and crumbly surface. “It is a message from the Fates,” she said. Her voice was warm and buttery, as you’d expect.

“Yes, but what message?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged, one perfectly-turned shoulder coming briefly into view above the lower crust. “I’m just the messenger. You know how the Fates are.”

“Sadly, yes.” I looked out over the quad, at the smoking hole from last week’s dragon strike. The Fates had decreed that one too, and the administration was still trying to get bids on the repairs. “I wish they’d be a little less capricious, is all I’m saying.”

“It’s in their nature.”

“Yeah, like the scorpion who stung the frog while crossing the river. But the scorpion died! Sometimes obeying your nature is not the best thing to do.”

“He could have waited until he got to the other shore before stinging the frog. Then he would have obeyed his nature and still gotten across the river alive.”

Was this snarky comment a message from the Fates as well? Could it apply to my life in some way? I popped open the calendar on my phone and checked the coming week. I had two exorcisms to perform, a protective spell to cast, and I’d booked out all of Wednesday to freshen up the wards on the girls’ dorm. None of these seemed amenable to obeying, or not obeying, my nature.

Just then a whang echoed across the room. Startled, I looked up to see an albatross — a mighty seabird bigger than a turkey with a ten-foot wingspan, staggering on the windowsill and shaking its beaky head in stunned confusion. “Who put that there?” it said.

A talking albatross was surely another sign from the Fates. I opened the window and let the stunned albatross flop onto the carpet below. “The window? It’s been there for years. Surely there’s some reason — some deep, significant reason closely connected to your ineffable, most secret nature — that you happened to run into it just now?”

“Well… it could have something to do with the fact that I’m an ensorceled sailor.”

I stared, as stunned as any window-smacked albatross. “Leon?”

The albatross stared back. “Oswald?”

“What are the odds!” I cried, and embraced my long-lost brother. His feathers were greasy and he smelled of fish. “Where have you been these past seven years?”

“Oh, you know… hanging out on the waves, snatching fish, ogling the lady albatrosses… the usual. You?”

“I’m in maintenance now.” I gestured out the window. “Every spell on this campus needs constant upkeep, and I’m the guy.”

“Shouldn’t there be a spell to keep low-flying birds from smacking into your classroom windows?”

“Yeah,” said Hecate from the toast. Her voice, still buttery, had gone cold. “Shouldn’t there be?”

Suddenly I realized what had been nagging me for weeks — ever since Hecate had appeared on my toast for the first time. I’d neglected an entire class of protective spell. It was, perhaps, in my nature to do so. What else might be happening because of that?

Just then the skies split open and one of the Fates descended into the quad, its four pairs of wings raising a tremendous wind. “Package for Oswald,” it said, and handed me a lightning-girt parcel.

This wasn’t going to be good.

But you can see it from here

So here I am at Buena Vista University (which, by the way, they pronounce “byoona” rather than “bwayna”… apparently this has something to do with the Spanish-American War) in Storm Lake, Iowa. BVU is small and in the middle of nowhere but very well endowed; the campus is saturated with wifi and every student gets a laptop and, this year, an iPad as well. Walking past students’ screens at breakfast, I see: Facebook, Facebook, Facebook, Microsoft Word, Facebook. The school also makes up for its location with an extensive travel program. Most students travel somewhere like New York each year, and my host Inez is going to Korea. And, of course, they paid to bring me out here to speak.

Nonetheless, it is the middle of Iowa. The coffee I got this morning was so pale and weak I literally thought I’d gotten tea by accident. I mean, if there were text on the bottom of the cup you would have had no difficulty reading it. Inez took me out for Mexican last night; it was actually quite good, but as we were preparing to leave the gal at the next table asked me what I’d had. “Arroz con pollo,” I said. She blinked and asked me what that was in English.

The school mascot is the beaver, which apparently most of the visiting lecturers find hilarious. As I’m from Oregon, the Beaver State, it’s not funny but it is a bit distracting.

I got a lot of writing done on the plane yesterday: 1684 words for the day, total of 5363. Just the siege and aftermath to go. Unfortunately, the editor asked for 3000-5000 words, so once I’m done I’ll have some cutting to do. More writing this morning, as I don’t have any obligations today until lunchtime.

And that’s the news from Storm Lake, where all the women are strong, all the men are good-looking, and all the students are jesus christ, was I ever that young?

Storming Storm Lake

At the airport oh-God-early for a flight to Omaha via Denver, followed by a two-hour drive to exciting Storm Lake, Iowa, home of Buena Vista University. My Clarion West classmate Inez Schaechterle is a professor in the English department there, and she’s invited me to come out for a few days to deliver the annual Stolee Lecture (I’ll be reading my story “The Tale of the Golden Eagle”) and speak to several English classes. All expenses paid, and an honorarium besides, so yay.

I’ve been working on a short story which is something in the steampunk direction. I expect to finish it before I return home, possibly even today.

Otherwise there’s not really much to report. Kate and I have been hither-and-yonning a lot, and yesterday was the first day in two weeks we were in the same place at the same time. Now I’m off again, but I’ll be back on Tuesday. Then on Wednesday it’s a 24-hour fast and other fun stuff in preparation for a colonoscopy Thursday. No worries, it’s just a standard screening, but it’s a royal pain; what with the prep and the sedation it affects most of a week. Feh.

Stick around, the fun never stops around here.

Salon Futura podcast, and further compu-woes

You can hear me in a panel discussion about YA science fiction in this month’s Salon Futura podcast.

In other news, the brand new Mac Mini I bought to replace the one that died two weeks ago has, itself, died. It went roaring, like a Klingon, as its fan revved up to top speed when it crashed and never came back. Several attempts to revive it proved futile… it wouldn’t even give the usual startup bong. Took it back to the shop and got a new one in exchange. Was dismayed to find the backup I’d made as soon as I got the previous new system all set up could not be restored. But I also had a Time Machine backup, which did restore just fine. So after one full day of cussing at technology I’m right back where I was. Yay?

PorSFiS presents David Levine’s Mission to “Mars” 4/9/11

I will be presenting my Mars talk at the April meeting of the Portland Science Fiction Society, free and open to the public. If you’re in Portland, please come along! This might be your last chance to see it!

Saturday, April 9th, 2011
Meeting starts 2:30pm, talk at 3:30pm
Concordia University Library
http://www.cu-portland.edu/documents/campus_map.pdf
2811 NE Holman Street
Portland, OR
Room GRW108

David D. Levine is a science fiction writer who’s sold over 40 short stories to all the major markets, including Asimov’s and Analog. He’s won a Hugo Award, been nominated for the Nebula, and won or been shortlisted for many other awards as well as appearing in numerous Year’s Best anthologies. He retired in 2007 after a 25-year career as a technical writer, software engineer, and user interface designer for Tektronix, Intel, and McAfee and now spends his days writing, traveling, and getting into trouble.

In January 2010 David spent two weeks at the Mars Desert Research Station, a simulated Mars base in the Utah desert. Although the Martian conditions were simulated, the science was real, as were the isolation, hostile environment, and problems faced by the six-person crew. Although his official title was Crew Journalist, he soon found himself repairing space suits, helping to keep the habitat running, and having interplanetary adventures he’d never before imagined.

David’s talk, profusely illustrated with photographs, has been presented at the Worldcon, the Nebula Awards, Clarion West, the Mars Society’s annual conference, Powell’s Technical Books, and Google and has received many rave reviews. You’ll laugh! You’ll cry! You might even learn something!

“Trust” now available at Daily Science Fiction

My story “Trust” (of which even the editor who bought it says “Warning: Disturbing”) has been published as the story-of-the-day at Daily Science Fiction. It will remain on the front page until Monday, and will be available in the archive indefinitely at http://dailysciencefiction.com/story/david-d-levine/trust.

I hope you find it interesting and thought-provoking.

Also: Just got the galleys of my Locus interview, which should be published in the May issue. SQUEE!

Aaaaand… draft!

Yesterday I wrote 266 new words and called it a draft. There’s a lot of denouement that I thought I’d have that isn’t in there — maybe I’m just tired, and sick of this draft — but it’s a kind of conclusion anyway and I typed THE END before the end of March, as I had resolved. YA SF novel The Loneliest Girl on Mars is in the can!

I was a lot happier with my other two first drafts; I’m keenly aware of the problems with this one. Maybe this just indicates how much I’ve learned over the course of writing three novels. I need to go through my notes file and all the notes embedded in the manuscript and collect together a big master list of all the changes I want to make when I rewrite.

But! It is done. 68,922 words, 338 manuscript pages, in just less than a year (I started outlining on April 11 last year and started drafting on April 24… note that I took the month+ we were in Australia almost completely off). That’s not to mention 29,215 words of notes and outline. It goes in the drawer for a bit now — two to six weeks, I guess — while I do research for the next novel and write one or two short stories. And then it’s a couple weeks or a month of revision before going to beta readers. May or may not get it in the mail by the end of June as originally scheduled, but there’s nobody but me who cares about that deadline.

Yay me.

Yesterday was also Kate’s birthday. I fixed up the Squeezebox so she could listen to Internet radio again (she was very excited about that), and I also bought her a primrose and a ranunculus plant. We had lunch with our friend Michael and spent the afternoon at the Portland Archives.

And today I received my contributor’s copies of the June Analog, including my novelette “Citizen-Astronaut” (which won second prize in the Jim Baen Memorial Writing Contest) and my Biolog and photo. Reading over the story, I feel I ought to mention that although it was inspired by my experiences in Utah, this story is fiction and none of the awful things that happen to my protagonist in the story actually happened to me at MDRS. In particular, I must point out that my entire MDRS crew and the fine volunteers at the Mars Society were a lot nicer and more cooperative than the people in the story who give my protagonist so many problems, and we didn’t have to face nearly the same level of equipment failure that my protagonist does.

Even though his name is Gary Shu.