Thee Prodigal Returneth

I suppose I should start by apologizing for being rather scarce, except that I don't know when that's going to change - I might be back from the Epic Visit to Australia, but I'm still juggling the stress balls. At least I'm not having what I not-so-fondly refer to as stress meltdowns on a daily basis.

Anyway.

Here's a little mental exercise for anyone whose mental hasn't been exercised enough lately. Picture a large, busy airport, rather behind on essential maintenance and somewhat grotty. Add a departure lounge area that can handle maybe 300, crammed with something near 1000 tired, harried people. Now imagine 3 gates, all adjacent, all of them showing the same departure time for 3 long-haul (8+ hour) international flights. Garnish with a less than stellar PA system performing rapid-fire updates in several languages, some of them possibly English.

Now imagine Kate, with body claiming that I should have been horizontal several hours ago, standing and trying to wait patiently for the boarding call on the flight that should have boarded 1/2 an hour ago. Notice that Kate is swaying. And looks like collapse is nearby.

And people wonder why I hate to fly?

Anywho, I survived that little trauma, got to Melbourne for WorldCon, and lo and behold, 4 hours to transfer one bag between adjacent terminals is simply not sufficient. So it's exhausted Kate stumbling around looking for something suitable in size beached whale in order to not look like something the cat decided against dragging in because it was just too disreputable.

Once that little problem was dealt with, the con was wonderful, if rather quieter than many of the cons I've been to. I suspect that the huge space of the Melbourne Convention Center plus the lack of any real 'gathering space' had a lot to do with it. The people there kind of rattled in that massive area.

The good: Catching up with assorted friends I know mostly online.
The bad and the ugly: Melbourne Convention Center does not have any water fountains. Not one. What's more, the water in the loos is temperature-controlled to be warm. I ended up getting my water refills at the loo taps, going from basin to basin to get the cooler water. I didn't have the budget for the convention center's overpriced bottled water, so I ended up somewhat dehydrated despite the regular trips to the Ladies for water refills.

It seemed kind of light on publishing folk - perhaps an opportunity for the enterprising? As Dave mentioned on Monday, Aussies read. Despite shamefully high book prices (someone is making out like a bloody pirate there, and it ain't the authors or the readers - when the Aussie dollar was worth about half a US dollar, the prices were kind of reasonable, but they haven't dropped any and the two currencies are pretty close to parity) people buy books.

Then came the blast from the past. Picture an airport terminal. Now throw away the picture and replace it with a warehouse. Insert some rooms and a few counters and the like inside, park some seats in there, and you've got Melbourne's Essenden Airport - the one the light planes use. Security consists of a friendly guy on the counter asking "Have you got anything dangerous in there?" and you answering "Nope." To get on the plane you walk out on the tarmac and climb into a 20 seater (this is the big plane) with no amenities. Just seats and seatbelts.

And at the other end of the hour-long flight, Kate finds Heaven on Earth, otherwise known as Flinders Island. Of course, nothing's perfect - Dave makes me catch my dinner (squid) and food for the cats (wrasse). I recommend this as a relaxation cure - you can even eat what you catch, so long as Dave doesn't make me cook it! (The less said about my cooking the better).

So now I'm back, buggered (to use the Oz vernacular), and periodically removing velcro cats who are quite convinced if they let me out of their sight I'll leave them again. And now that I've splattered you with my travel tale, it's time for yours. What are the best trips you've taken, and why? The worst? The weirdest?

The Best Laid Plans

Appropriate to do this, of course, on a day when I’m late posting. It’s not that I didn’t leave enough time to write last night. I did. My mind just refused to cooperate.

Plans...

I’ve heard no battle plan survives contact with the enemy. With me, no plan seems to survive contact with the real world.

One of the things that amuses me is looking back, say, on my college years. I took a degree in languages and teaching. Now I’ve done many things since leaving college but I only used my degree for about a year and a half and even then a lot of the translation I did was Portuguese to English which I could have done without a degree and German to English, which I could have done after highschool.

Then there was the kid thing. We waited a year before having kids because we were going to have a large family and wanted to have a year for ourselves first. Six years of infertility treatment after that first year, we produced one child. And then we said “That’s it. We’re not having more treatments, so that is our large family.” Four years later, I found out I was six months pregnant. And then we said “Oh, it fixed itself. Now we’ll have one every year.” Do I need to say there’s been no third child?

So, what does this have to do with writing?

Well, plans are particularly funny when they are made about writing. At least for me, they are. Most people I know have some sort of contact between plan and career.

I started writing science fiction. I was going to be a science fiction writer. Twenty years later, I was published in Fantasy, Mystery and Historic Fictionalized Biography with multiple books in each when my first science fiction book (written 13 years before) came out. Now I start when I hear myself called a “science fiction writer.” For years, that’s how I thought of myself, even as everyone else called me a “Fantasy writer”. Now it seems too late.

However at this point I’m not taking any bets. It’s entirely possible that if I should end up being remembered by the future it will be for something I haven’t even yet written. Maybe the future will consider everything I’ve done so far my apprenticeship and will consider me a great writer for ... scripts. YA romance. Techno-pop-Fantasy. Or some other genre yet to be invented.

So, what’s my point with this, other than depressing you?

To tell you not to be depressed. To tell you to give yourself permission to fail, sometimes and to leave enough room in your plan to adapt to the unforeseen. To tell you in the distance view, this will all make sense, even when it doesn’t. And that if you keep trying, something will come of it.

Take the above – when no one would take my science fiction, I could write fantasy because I’d uh... done a couple of novels in it. I could write mystery because I’d read as much as fantasy and science fiction. If I’d refused that early offer on the fantasy novel and said “I’m a science fiction writer” chances are I wouldn’t be published in either today.

I’m not saying sometimes it doesn’t break your heart. I broke my heart over the cancellation of the Musketeer Series. But I took the opportunity to write a contemporary mystery, which seems to be doing well.

Oh, look, I know what it’s like to have plans fail and fail and fail. Did you think I INTENDED to write for nine years before I sold a word of what I wrote? Or to sell a short story four times (and never see it in print, btw) before I sold another? Sometimes it seems as if your heart is so shattered you don’t have a heart anymore. This is what my grandmother called a good time to turn your guts into a heart and forge on.

The thing is, if you read anyone’s bio, you’ll find the same sort of thing. And even if you look at the shelves of your favorite authors’ works, you’ll find there’s some books you don’t care for. If that were the only thing they ever wrote, how would you judge them? Do you realize sometimes those were their own favorite books, the ones they thought would go big? (And sometimes did. You just hate them.)

So, gird your loins (don’t grill them! Well, unless they’re not yours) and start walking down that old glory road. There’s gold in them there hills. Or maybe the other ones a bit to the side. We’ll find out when we get there. Plan but stay ready for serendipity. The way to do this is to plan on what YOU are going to do, not on the response. Don’t say “I’m going to write a bestseller” say “I’m going to write three novels and submit them. And if they don’t sell, I’m going to write three more.” However, keep your mind on the dream, on what you’d LIKE. It’s my firm belief that you’ll get there, if you only keep it in mind and remain flexible and working.

And because at this point you’re not nearly depressed enough, one good way to focus on your long-term dreams, without making them into plans that make you unable to react to here and now is to write your epitaph. Leave out your date of death and – if you wish – manner of death (though amusing ones are welcome) and other personal details, but write what you’d like to be remembered for.

Here is mine – you can write yours when you stop laughing –

Sarah A. Hoyt, aka Sarah D’Almeida, aka Elise Hyatt, aka Nikita Marques, aka Carolina Haute, died yesterday after being nibbled to death by ducks. It appears she ran out of bread and the ducks took revenge.

She is known to fans of fantasy, science fiction, mystery, horror and romance. She will however probably be most remembered for her science fiction. In a career spawning almost sixty years, she created a vivid and compelling “future history” to rival Heinlein’s. (Whom she was always very flattered to find herself compared to, even if it was just “oh, look, they’re both carbon life forms.”) Into that history she wrote men and women of extraordinary courage, who face their world and its changes unafraid, and whose example inspired a generation of men and women. She will be remembered by her husband, children, cats, but mostly by those ducks.

Your turn!

Abandonment

They say writers have difficult families (the bastards. Who are 'they', anyway?). This time, alas, they're right. I've been abandoned. For a kindle.

It arrived at his work address two days ago, all sleek and seductive, and giving him that come-hither page turn flash. He hasn't taken his hands off it for more than a few minutes except for necessity (well, okay, I did get to play with it a little bit). Not only that, he used it to go online and - horrors! - buy books! Imagine it. No more sharing of books. He caresses that kindle as he turns the pages, I swear. And now he wants to buy it things. A leather jacket. Headphones. More books.

I am bereft, I tell you, utterly lost. I can hear the hardcopy books on our shelves weeping as I type.

There is only one answer to this terrible betrayal. I shall have to buy a kindle of my own!

Memory and the single writer-- guest post by Doctor Tedd Roberts

*Doctor Tedd Roberts has agreed to let me do these every now and then. He would also like our readers to come up with questions. He has plans of writing a guide on the brain for writers in the future, and would like to know what our unique questions are. :) So, go ahead, comment and be unique.*


Science for the Mad Genius Writer
By Tedd Roberts


"Mrs. Smith?"

"Yes Doctor?"

"Your husband suffered a terrible head injury. He's in a coma."

"Oh, Doctor, will he be all right?"

"We'll only know once he wakes up."

…

"Ashley? It's me, Melissa!"

"Where am I? Who are you? What happened? Who am I?"

"Oh, no!"

…

It's a familiar theme, amnesia as a plot device. Overused, trite, cliché, yes; but also terribly *mis*-used.

Hi, the bloggers of the Mad Genius Club have asked me to contribute a series on the science behind science fiction/fantasy. I don't claim to be a Mad Genius, nor am I necessarily a Mad Scientist – a bit upset at times, but not truly Mad! Bwahahahaha! (I think we can safely save that label for Dr. Freer.) However, I am a writer, and I have over 70 "stories" in print, although they are all scientific articles in professional journals. My field is neuroscience, the physiology and pharmacology (mechanics and chemicals) of the brain, and I am currently employed as a faculty member at a medical school.



What? Oh, yeah. This is Ratley, an intelligent lab rat. Actually that's LabRat, they insist on the capitals. Ratley and his friends will help me with these blogs.

So, on to today's topic: SF/F clichés regarding the brain with particular emphasis on amnesia.

Amnesia is little understood by the lay public. The most common experience of amnesia is the soap-opera scene with which this column opened. But what is amnesia, and how does it *really* happen?

OK, classroom time.



What? I said, class…



OK, if you insist,*you* tell them.

[Ahem. OK, y'all, I got the stuffy Doc out of the way. As the Doc said, I'm Ratley, and I've *experienced* amnesia in the lab. Let me tell ya, it ain't no picnic. Amnesia means "without memory," and there's two typical types – retrograde amnesia, meaning a loss of memory from the past. The other kind is called anterograde amnesia and it means loss of memory "forward" into the future. I've had 'em both, and they result when a part of the brain that processes memory ain't workin'. ]

Excuse me, Ratley?



Are you going to explain what you mean by "future" memory? Shouldn't you tell them that anterograde amnesia is a lack of ability to make *new* memories?



I will, thanks.

In fact, anterograde amnesia is the most common form of amnesia, even though the retrograde form (poor Ashley, above) is better known. Imagine, trying to remember a phone number but never quite managing it; reading the same newspaper over and over again, never recalling the previous read; or never being able to remember where you'd left your keys, your car, your kids, your wife…

How can this be, how can it happen? Well, let's start by looking at how amnesia happens.

Take Ratley for instance.



Not literally, calm down, please! I'm just giving an example!

When Ratley said he had experienced amnesia, he means that in the lab, scientists use a chemical to temporarily put part of the brain to sleep, causing amnesia – which type depends on the brain area affected. In humans, amnesia usually results from damage to the brain. Oh, but not just any damage! It has to be specific type of damage and specific areas of the brain. Damage can be a traumatic head injury: Ashley's tragic soap-opera car crash, or the angsty teen's headfirst dive into an empty swimming pool. Damage to specific brain areas can also occur due to epilepsy, stroke, tumor, hemorrhage, infection (meningitis or encephalitis) or drug interactions.



Yes, Ratley, just like Ratface. See folks, Ratface did a bit too much LDS in the 60's. He's harmless – really – but not all there.

And what are those brain areas? Well, in scientist language, they are the pre-frontal and frontal cortex (for retrograde amnesia); hippocampus, medial temporal lobe and diencephalon (for anterograde amnesia). Traumatic injury, tumor and stroke can affect any of these areas; infection and hemorrhage are most likely to involve the frontal and prefrontal cortex, while epilepsy and drugs are most likely to affect the hippocampus, temporal lobe and diencephalon.



Yes, I know. Go ahead. Ratley wants to show you how to tell the brain areas apart.

[ Oh, sorry about that. Okay, humans. You've got those big hands with nice opposable thumbs. So, unhand that mouse and keyboard! Now, place your index fingers on your temples, yes, the soft areas at the side of the forehead. Feel that? It is the most direct access to your brain except from the inside. From your fingers to the center of your forehead is frontal cortex. If you draw a line between your forefingers across the top of your head – that's the prefrontal cortex. Move your fingers straight back until they are directly in front of your ears – that's the medial temporal lobe and hippocampus. Move the fingers below and behind the ears – straight in from there at the center, bottom of the brain is the brain stem, also known as the diencephalon.

[What about the other areas, the top of the head, the back, the base of the skull? You humans just *love* to make movies where the bad guy hits the hero on the top or back of the skull with the butt of a gun – he (or she) loses consciousness and wakes up in the hospital with amnesia. Silly humans. Listen to the rat, now: it's not gonna happen that way.

[Next exercise, put your thumbs directly in front of your ears and lace your other fingers over the top of your head. That's the sensory and motor areas – controlling all sense of touch, position and pain, and moving the various muscles of the body. From there to the back of the skull is visual area, responsible not only for sight, but also interpreting what you see. Run your fingers down from top, center of your head, to the very back the skull. Feel that slight dimple? That bony area right below it protects the cerebellum, responsible for coordinating all of the muscles involved in any movement. ]

Thanks, Ratley!

So, in our story brave Ashley foils the terrorist, gets cold-cocked at the base of his skull for his troubles, and wakes up with amnesia, right? Well, no. He might wake up with some coordination problems, blurred vision or possibly "agnosia" a specific type of amnesia for words or faces, but not full scale retrograde amnesia.

What about that mysterious alien parasite that "wraps itself around the cerebral cortex" and takes over its host, leaving total amnesia in its path?



No, Ratley, I know what you're going to say, but I'm *not* talking about Ratfink!

Leaving aside the fact that there is no *room* for such a parasite without sacrificing so much brain tissue that the host is clearly impaired in more than just memory, the description is not specific enough to suggest any particular type of amnesia. No, the more likely result will be pressure on the other parts of the brain causing the hapless host to stop thinking and breathing well before any amnesia could set in.

On the other hand, just about any surgery on the brain carries risk of damage to neighboring area. Anterograde amnesia is a common side effect, although retrograde amnesia is rarer. In fact, to get total retrograde amnesia requires trauma – massive infection, crushing injury to the central-to-frontal part of the skull, concussive blast injury. Anything less is unlikely to give total amnesia. Oh, sure, falling off a horse and hitting your head on a curb will likely cause a bit of amnesia – certainly for the 10 minutes or so immediately preceding the injury – but not the total "Who am I?" kind. Typically the amnesia lasts as long as the brain swelling that accompanies the concussion (about 24-48 hours) but usually only extends to memories from a few hours to a few months prior to the accident.

So, how *do* you incorporate brain damage and/or amnesia into a plot? Ratley?

[First, keep it simple. If the big dumb hero takes a glancing blow to the head, he's not gonna have total amnesia and lead a complete second life for 20 years. Keep it simple, and keep it short. Give the big dummy amnesia for the day leading up to the accident, and only lasting a few days to a week. However, you *can* leave the actual events of the accident permanently forgotten.

[Second, avoid the obvious. Instead of giving the dude full amnesia, consider an alternative.

[Doc?]

Right, Ratley. Alternatives to amnesia might be: (1) agnosia– inability to remember faces or the names of common objects, (2) aphasia - the inability to speak certain words or names (we also call this the "tip of the tongue" phenomenon), or (3) neglect – an apparent inability to consciously notice objects that occur in particular places in our field of vision.

Back to you, Ratley.

[Thanks, Doc.

[Third, remember that total retrograde amnesia is *rare*. Instead of amnesia, give your character vision, hearing or coordination problems. There's a bunchaton of other stuff that happens after head injury.

[Fourth, keep in mind the differences in those different types of amnesia: give a human anterograde amnesia and they may not remember that they had the exact same conversation 15 minutes ago, but they can still remember the name of their 10th grade crush. Likewise, retrograde amnesia still leaves the ability to make new memories.

[Ah, excuse me a sec…

[HEY RATFACE! The cheese is over THERE!

[Ah, sorry about that, maybe Doc needs to finish this while I go help Ratface.]

So, folks, Ratley's final point is to keep the perspective. Amnesia typically means loss of memory for facts. Skills such as reading, riding a bike, speaking a foreign language, complex logic puzzles – those memories are processed and stored in a different manner and not subject to the same injuries as amnesia. Just like Ratface can't remember where he left the cheese just now, he still remembers how to run mazes and get under Ratley's fur.

Finally, don't be too stuck on the rules (or clichés). Try something new, or figure out a way to let your protagonist function with just a partial injury. If you want help, don't hesitate to contact an expert –



- Or a LabRat! In fact, many scientists would be flattered to help out an author.

Until next time, be kind to your brain; for now, it's the only one you have!

Writing Time: Be Selfish

Dave's post and Rowena's comment reminded me of the constant struggle to protect my writing time. It's so easy and so common for others to take for granted that if a writer is at home all day, s/he must also be available all day, to gossip, run errands, etc. People who are used to the cultural norm of the "day job" tend to forget that for a writer, writing is a job and requires time and attention.

I have to protect my writing time from myself, too. It's amazing how when I've hit a tough patch on the WIP, suddenly housework becomes very appealing. Or I have to update my blog. Or, or, or...

So here are a few tips for protecting that precious writing time. Not everything works for everyone, but this may give you some ideas.

Establish Boundaries

My friends know that when I'm writing, I ignore the phone. I let them know when I usually write, and they call at other times of day, or better yet send me email that I can answer when I'm ready to connect to the Internet.

Speaking of that the World's Worst Waster-of-time, I disconnect from the Web when I'm writing. I have a separate computer (laptop) and a separate chair for writing. The desk is for business. The writing chair is for writing. My incredibly patient, supportive, and understanding spouse knows that when I'm sitting in the writing chair, I don't want to be disturbed.

Say When

Planning when to write helps. I prefer as few distractions as possible, so I like to write while the spouse is away at work. I need a fairly long stretch of time, preferably a couple of hours at least, when I can work uninterrupted if I'm going to make good progress. If I'm going to have to jump up and do something in fifteen minutes, I'm probably not going to be able to concentrate on writing.


Set Goals

For those whose lives are especially full of outside demands, though, fifteen minutes at a time may be all they get. In this case I'd suggest considering the charming and delightful late Roger Zelazney's method of writing. He would sit down four times a day, and each time he'd write three sentences. Doesn't sound like much, but it adds up.

Roger's objective and hope was that at least one of those four times, he'd get caught up and write more. But even if twelve sentences a day—every day—is all you can manage, it adds up to a book in a surprisingly short amount of time.

Writers tend to be either tortoises (slow, steady, every-day workers) or hares (sprinters). I'm a tortoise, though I can sprint when I need to. But a technique that I've found very helpful for me is to commit to writing 500 words a day, every day, rain or shine. Some days—most days, in fact—I write more. But I've got a long streak of daily writing going and the desire to keep it going is a great incentive.

Telling others about your goal helps you keep it, too. Dean Wesley Smith is currently tracking streaks for a bunch of writers. If you're curious about that, visit Dean's "Streaks" page .

Some writers prefer not to set word count goals, but instead designate a block of time for writing, as Dave mentioned. Whatever works. Just having a plan helps a lot.

Fear of getting sick

Posted by Jennifer Stevenson

Every writer who relies on their writing income worries about illness stopping them from writing. I’m one of those lucky people who can write when I’m sick, sore, overtired, dead asleep, cranky, or under the influence. But I do fear illness, if for no other reason than it makes me suck at roller derby practice.

This winter smacked everyone I know with a combination sinus infection, head cold, ear infection, sore throat, and cough. It got me two weeks ago, and I’m finally beating it. I got stupid for only five days, but it did stop me from writing those five days.

Things that helped kill it, and things that helped it kill me:

Killed it: Garlic shooters. Garlic is antibiotic, antiviral, and anti-inflammatory. Smash a fresh clove of garlic. Put it into ¼ cup of water. Shoot it past your tongue & down your throat. (The Very Butch can chew their garlic—I can’t.) Chase with more water. FYI, garlic pills don’t work. The good stuff in garlic dies ten minutes after crushing, and you have to crush it to release the good stuff in the first place.

Killed me: Going to speed skating practice with half a dozen rug rats—all of whom, btw, smoked my shorts on their in-lines. Children are a recognized source of germs. They trade them at school like Magic cards. If you can’t avoid children when your health is vulnerable, then double up on all your defenses.

Killed it: Sleep. There is no substitute.

Killed me: Eating sugary foods—Superbowl Sunday, oops! Invasive infections love sugar. (As does cancer, did you know that?) One of the best ways to kill your cold fast is to cut out all sugar. Instead, load up on veggies in your chicken soup. Yes, carrots and onions are a weak palliative when you’re craving the hard stuff, but they will starve out your disease.

Killed it: Gargling with salt water. In this department I will add nasal irrigation with the netti pot. I use two versions: plain hot salt water and salt water with an eyedropper of tincture of goldenseal, another natural antibiotic.

Killed me: Alcohol. See Superbowl Sunday and sugar. Drink water instead. Not soda, not tea, not sports “water,” not coffee. A gallon of water a day will work miracles.

Killed it: New stealth weapon against colds that involve the sinuses, throat, or ears: Floss well and then rinse with mouthwash and/or hydrogen peroxide. Your mouth breeds germs because it’s full of germ food (sugar). Other people’s germs often enter your system through your mouth. Kill off the bacteria in your mouth two or three times a day, and you’ll get better faster. You might not even get sick.

Take care of yourselves. Winter’s not over yet.

Promo Comes in Unexpectedly Handy

Recently I had one of those rare and glorious days when a check comes in from the publisher. After enjoying the glow, I dashed off to the bank to deposit it.

Since writers receive checks rarely, and in my case the checks are usually (alas) larger than the bank account balance, bankers look askance at such deposits. They like to place holds on the funds, just in case you were making it up or something. What, you getting a big check from Major Publisher, Inc.? A likely story!

Therefore I wasn't surprised when the teller started yakking at me about the check. Since I couldn't hear her over the drive-up speaker, I went inside, and in the spirit of self-promotion (and because I still have some to give away), I took a couple of my Ælven calendars in with me.

As I'd suspected, she was concerned about the check from Major Publisher. Had I written a book for them or something?

"Why, yes!" quoth I, and handed her the calendars. "This book."

Suddenly all was well, my check was deposited, my funds unrestrained. My investment in promotional materials justified.

Maybe she'll even think about buying the book.