This will be the first time in a very long time that I’ve had a blog I can (probably) post fiction thoughts in. (And reviews of fiction thingies.)
Ever since I turned over Spontaneous Derivation to writing and blogging, I’ve not really had a space for fiction, and the entries I do write over there are odd and don’t really fit in with the blog theme anymore. They also distract me, which is not a good thing.
Eventually I’ll move those articles to here, but until then, here are links to articles I’ve written, on Sd and elsewhere, that are about writing fiction in particular.
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Four Important Lessons I Learned From Writing Serials |
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6 Pieces of Fiction Writing Advice Often Ignored |
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What I Learned About Synopses: What They Aren’t, and the 8-Fold Path to a Synopsis’ Soul |
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Story Cookies: Seeding the Beginning |
| Writing is an Apprenticeship Art: 6 Strange Ideas People Have About Learning the Craft | |
| Blogs by Writers for Writers (a series recommending writing-relevant blogs for fiction writers) |
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| Photography by luchilu, DerrickT, neotint, and tankawho. | |
And because my muse won’t let me f’ing sleep, here’s the Aito Nakamura and Nina Ten Review Star Wars in normal story format, rather than film script. Third person omniscient, present tense. The former is really hard to pull off correctly without driving people nuts. And so is the latter.
Nina Ten’s room, currently empty, resembles an aluminum box: sterile brushed metal. Personal touches, usually present in other quarters, are absent, because Nina Ten does not often sleep here, study here, or meditate here. Her particular occupation in the Academy does not really allow for it.
All that’s here is a gray metallic table, which looks like a knock-off from the local Ikea, but probably cost the Militaria Academia $15,000 UPD. A grey chair that doesn’t even spin stands nearby.
A still life of a room that no one lives in. Of someone to whom the idea of a private life is alien.
In the deadness of the room, a hatch slides open, next to the table end jutting the wall. A robotic hand, all jointed metal skeleton, pushes a red mug of steaming hot cocoa onto the matte surface. The splash of color is surprising, like the deep red rose an officer leaves on the small shelf next to the memorial plaque of a beloved friend, lost in battle.
The hand retracts, the hatch closes. Steam from the cocoa wafts in the air, the only movement here.
Presently the door to the room slides open.
Lieutenant 910 enters in full military bearing, even at a time when no one supposedly is watching.
(Sometimes the civilians, in search of a name for the sake of casual conversation, call her Nina Ten.
The pun makes her frown severely, which is her version of laughing, although she suspects no one understands that. She is perfectly fine with their impressions of her as a humorless automaton.
She moves through life like a bluefin shark cutting through the waters of humanity. She moves that way now.)
Strains of “The Imperial March” from Star Wars IV: A New Hope burst forth from the room walls. She stops, blinking for a moment. Then she glares upwards.
“Aito. Cut it out. I’m not in the mood.”
The room answers her, although the Imperial March does not let up. “You never are after one of the more disturbing debriefings. You really need to loosen up.”
The irony of addressing Building 2′s AI by a pun name wore off what feels like an age ago, to Nina Ten.
“What I need is for you to shut up.”
The Imperial March fades out, with a hurdy-gurdy effect.
Nina relaxes. “Thank you.” She sits down at the table, and realizes her preoccupation is worse than usual. Only just now does she notice the mug. She picks it up and sniffs it.
“Aito, I thought your ilk had routines that prevented you from sniping through personnel files. This is mint vanilla chai cocoa… with a hint of hazelnut.”
“You really think that sort of information is in your files? You’re sadly mistaken.”
If Aito were wearing a holographic display at the moment, he knows he would be smiling. So he does not. Nina would not appreciate it. Nevertheless, distraction is necessary, he thinks. This particular super-thread of the building consciousness must be concerned about the sanity of the people inside his building. For various reasons, no other routine would think of calling itself Aito.
“So now I’m supposed to be comforted by the fact that instead you’re stalking me?” In spite of herself, Nina sips the cocoa.
It’s infuriating, thinks Aito, how she doesn’t smile when she smiles, and she smiles when she doesn’t smile, and she doesn’t smile when she doesn’t smile.
“I was kind of hoping you’d find it cute.”
“I don’t need a pet AI.” Another sip; her eyes closing.
Aito imagines Nina as a young girl in training, sipping cocoa provided by C9, the personnel assistance thread popularly installed on the non-graduate complexes. Aito’s thoughts stray towards wondering if she ever had a crush on a personnel assistance hologram, and quickly pushes them away. Processing too much anime on his spare time, he supposes.
“Well, nobody else seems to care about your needs.”
Nina opens her eyes, tensing again. Aito curses ruining the mood. “This is a military facility. Aito,” she says, putting down the mug with a metallic thud, “what the hell do you want?”
He’s warming up now, getting into routine. Ha ha, Aito thinks, and goes in gung-ho.
“Ha! You’ll never guess in a million nanoseconds.”
“Aito….”
“… you’ll think it’s silly. Maybe this was a bad idea.”
“Don’t play the ‘pity me, the poor shy AI who just wants to be human’ game with me.”
Like a school marm, thinks Aito, and curses the anime again. “You have to admit it’s a game mere human men can’t play.”
“Fine,” says Nina. “I’m going to bed.” She finishes up her cocoa.
“Wait wait wait! I’ll stop playing around, I promise!”
Nina ignores him, wondering why the God-at-war lets a building AI fall in love with her, or whatever the hell its feelings may be called. Why do AI designers let things like that happen? Is it just occupational therapy for the things? She’d heard from someone that neural nets had an annoying tendency to get cranky about being taken for granted.
At the time she’d told him this made no sense, from a safety standpoint, and that he’d been watching too many old science fiction movies. Now she had to deal with a love-sick computer program. Perhaps the next mission couldn’t come too soon.
“I want someone to watch Star Wars with me,” says Aito.
This surprises Nina, though she is practiced with not showing it, and she isn’t preoccupied now. Still, she proceeds with caution, for more than one reason.
“Which one are we talking about?”
“Episode III: Revent of the Sith.”
“Oh hell no.”
“What? Why? You hated it?”
“No, it’s not that. It was just… meh.”
“I cannot parse that.”
Nina glares upwards again as she folds the bunk down from the wall, though she knows this is a ridiculous action to take with a building AI. “Yes, you can. I will say that it’s better than either Episode I or Episode II. But that’s like saying corned beef is slightly better than spam.”
“So… you liked the movie.”
Persistent bastard, she thinks, shaking her head.
“Uh… you sort of liked it? Like-ish?”
“A shade south of ‘neutral’.” Nina frowns slightly, sitting back on the bunk, crossing her arms.
“I am stunned at considering the prospect of someone who doesn’t like Star Wars.”
“Have you seen the movie? Do you call any of that acting? There was about zero chemistry between any of them—nothing between Anakin and Qui-Gon, and in particular nothing between Anakin and his supposed love Amidala! And that ‘disturbing dream’—that was Anakin jerking off. Or was Lucas too immature to realize that?” Nina is surprised at the passion in her voice. Look at what George Lucas has done to me.
“It’s a Star Wars movie,” says Aito in patient tones. “It’s not like Mark Hamill and Harrison Ford were going to win Oscars for A New Hope.”
“No, you listen to me,” says Nina, standing up. “It was abysmal. Everyone was phoning it in—except for perhaps Christopher Lee as Count, and let me try to say this without sounding like a three-year-old, Dooku.”
“… well, Palpatine rocked.”
“Before he changed in about five seconds into wrinkly old obviously evil Emperor Palpatine, at around the 90-minute mark when the screenwriters and directors must have figured out, ‘Crap, we don’t have time to do an episode III.V! Better fit all the backstory in now!’”
“I take it you didn’t like Anakin’s near-instant switch to the dark side.” Aito wishes she could see herself in the wall mirror, unfortunately covered up for the time being.
“I was expecting to see either a lot more angst or a lot more evil. Or a lot more corruption than just ‘nobody will tell me anything’!”
“… the special effects were cool.”
Nina pauses in her pacing. “True. The lava fight was well done, most of the time.”
Aito thinks: hell with it. “The lava fight ending was awesome. The final parting with Obi-Wan when it was too late. The way Anakin got all burned up like that. And then he crawled up, all bald and burnt and missing limbs. And then he became Darth Vader! That had the right amount of pacing, that entire thing.”
“Unlike the rest of the movie.” Nina sits down again. “And the ending with how the twins were split up was unbelievable.”
“What? Like, unbelievable in science fiction movie terms, or unbelievable in Star Wars terms? ‘Cause the two, they’re totally different from each other. And reality.”
“Under any terms. Padme just gave up. I expected more… more reason behind it, but nope; that was it. Just up and left.”
“Mace Windu was cool.”
“Yes, he was. I could have mistaken him for Morpheus in the Matrix at times.”
“Darth Maul was awesome.”
“Jar-Jar Binks?”
“… must you bring him up? At least he had a limited showing in Revenge. On the other hand, leaving him in charge was definitely a conveniently stupid plot thing to do.”
“I notice how you usually focus on the cool aspects and ignore all of the idiotic, boring, and facile parts.”
“It’s the only way to watch a Star Wars movie. It’s just that IV to VI had more cool and less stupid.”
“Ewoks.”
“I said ‘less stupid’. I didn’t say ‘no stupid’.”
“So, anyways, my answer would have to be: no. And ‘meh’.”
“… I’ve got this cool cut of Phantom Menace that turns it into something watchable.”
“… you have got to be kidding me. There’s no way that pile of crap could have been made even barely presentable.”
“It’s called The Phantom Edit and it rocks hard. Well. Okay. It’s better than Revenge of the Sith. On a par with A New Hope.”
Aito waits hopefully.
“I’m going to regret this,” says Nina at last.
“Great! Let me break out the popcorn. Maltese-GEN yak butter on top, right?”
Aito unfolds a screen from the ceiling. Nina rearranges the flat hard pillow. Why do I bother? Then she simply stretches on the bed, hands behind her head, and wonders why she’s unfolding herself. Stress. Not my usual self.
“Yeah, well, could you soundproof the room better this time?” Nina asks, unnerved, hoping conversation will make her forget. Perhaps the movie will be so horrid that she’ll forget anyways. “‘Zero Clue’ next door complained to Supe the last time.”
“Don’t worry about him,” says Aito, hoping he’s smooth. “He’s just found a stash of holo-porn in Engineering 10. He won’t be back for a while.”
Aito wonders if his kind can fall in love. If we can go insane, surely love is just a step down from that. Or is that the anime talking?
“You never stop disturbing me,” says Nina.
“Always willing to serve, ma’am,” says Aito.
