One thing I can say about my recent health scare is that it has gotten me writing again.  I started on a new novel which at the moment is mix of ideas.  I started with the concept of an lesbian vampire novel, (yes, I know that not original, but what is?) and setting in Richmond, with a secret centuries old anti-vampire, anti-gay group  called the LAW [the Lord's Army of Watchmen] based on a real life Baltic group,  and I notice violence against LGBT persons is disturbingly similar to violence again other people and even fantasy beings like vampires and werewolves. [Yes, I know it sounds like Dan Brown meets Bram Stoker, but it could be worse, believe me.] If one can understand the horrible monstrous things people have done out of the fear of the Other, or through a simply lack of compassion for others,  then it can be easier to purge demons from your past.  And by deliberate basing some characters on people I know, it's also helped me understand their own issues.  It was either the Roman poet Terrence or Oscar Wilde who said,  "Nothing human is alien to me."  Even though I'm a straight male, I realized I have had (and still have) a lot of gay and lesbian friends over the years, and I draw on them for the characters as well as tales told mainly by my late first wife and my having to deal with her bipolar disorder.   I had forgotten what a remarkable woman she was and drawing from her past as background for the main character,  I'm finding my own feelings about her.   By changing the protagonist's sexual orientation it also offers me some distance as well.  And a good writer--hell, simply a good human being--learns what empathizing with another person, even one whose course through your life was reckless and painful,  broadens your understanding of the human condition.

Maybe I'm being presumptuous, but in some ways it's much easier to create a character of a different race, gender, or sexual orientation that it is to create alien races, or strange beings or monsters from our ids.  I'd already been working on an idea for a vampire police detective in Oklahoma City and drawing on some real life horrific murders in the city.  But I think the characters in this project are a little fuller, and more real to me, and I think because I'm drawing on my own experiences with friends and my knowledge of events in ex-wife's life that I suddenly knew that this was a good idea.  Like a lot of writers, I'm reluctant to draw on my own emotions and experiences, but this way I can do just that as well as keeping a mental distance that's healthy and objective.  I don't know if it'll work, but it jumpstarted me and that is the best thing of all.  So far I've gotten a few scenes written and have worked on developing the secondary characters and the members of LAW--sometimes baddies are lot easier to create than good guys, perhaps because it is easier to believe villain's motivations.  So much simpler that our own--unless, of course, we are evil ourselves.  No title yet, and I'd like to avoid anything too "bloody" but that's not on my mind just yet.  But if you have a idea for a title or have a scene you'd like to see in someone's book somewhere sometime, let me know.  The worst I can say is "It stinks," which is a criticism we all faced in our infancy, and there's no getting over that.

To keep you updated on my health, i have an ultrasound on my kidneys tomorrow to check out a cyst on one that cam eup in a CAT scane, and then I'm meeting with my cardiologist and a vascular surgon. With luck, medication will control a lot of this, just as an new, additional blood pressure medication is helping with my hypertension.  All of these issue run on my mother's side of the family, so I suppose I should get made at my genes.  It's the hand I was dealt, but I don't intend to fold anytime soon.
What other choice do I have?
Till next time.

On Sunday last I was just sitting at my laptop writing when I had a spasm in my jaw.  That’s not unusual as I have TMJ, the result of a bicycle accident back when I was  in college in which I went over the handlebars and landed on my chin.  Over the years this has been controlled through wearing night-guards fitted to my upper jaw, but I have also had spasms in that jaw at times.  Usually they’re triggered by sinus congestion or stress.  They come on suddenly and the pain is horrible for about ten to twenty minutes.

This time, however, the pain went down into my neck and across my shoulders.  I even felt it in my elbow joints.

That had never happened before.  Clearly something was wrong.

I drove myself to the emergency room and was checked in, had blood drawn, a blood pressure cuff put on, and was given a nitroglycerin jell patch—as a vaso-dilator to increase blood flow.  “This may cause a headache,” the nurse informed me.

It didn’t.  I seem to almost always not have the symptoms from medications that someone tells me I will have.

 After blood work was done, nothing seemed wrong,  except that my ProTime level (associated with Coumadin, which I’ve taken since I had heart surgery in 2002) was high at 4.0 instead of between 2.0 and 3.0.  I’d had it test about a two weeks earlier and it was perfect at 2.5. 

Then, after a second test, I had a minimally elevated troponin level, with an emphasis on “minimal.”  Troponin, however, is nothing to sneeze at, as it’s often the post-event sign of a heart attack.

My family apparently has a history of heart issues.  I had surgery to deal with an aortal aneurysm—a not uncommon condition that can lead to aortal dissection and death—and ended up with an artificial heart valve and a single by-pass.  Aneurysms are an issue on my mother ‘s side of the family, as my mom and an uncle in England both had surgeries for them.

This time things were far from clear.  I was kept overnight and the next day I had a CAT scan and an echo-cardiogram, neither of which apparently showed anything senior. So I spent a second night in the hospital and the next day was injected with radio-active tracer and had a gamma ray camera take shots of my heart.  It’s hard to describe the experience of lying flat on your back, arms over your head, and being raised to within an inch or so of the massive camera, and then waiting as the camera moves slowly over you, making various mechanical sounds.  Those were the “before” shots.  I then was given a drug that simulates what happens on a treadmill (without the endorphin high that exercise gives you.)   After that, it was back to the camera, then to my hospital room to wait for the Dr. Chu, the cardiologist.

When he arrived, he gave me one of those ambivalent diagnoses:  “Your tests are normal, just not normal enough.”

Ah, the absoluteness of uncertainty.

So that meant a heart catheterization and possibly angioplasty and a stint.

It also meant a long wait.  The procedure was roughly set for 7 a.m., but was then rescheduled for 1 p.m.  So there I was, waiting and worrying, but at least I was writing in my journal, something I once did virtually religiously for about ten years, but haven’t done so for more than ten.  Naturally I wrote about an incident in my teens when my dad nearly drove us into a freight train.  Ah, nothing helps you cope with a scary, dangerous situation than recalling an ever more dangerous, potentially deadlier incident from your past.  The impeding crisis pales in comparison as a result and makes it somehow easier to deal with.

When I was at last wheeled down for the catheterization, it was almost 1 p.m.  Fortunately I’d been given valium and Benadryl^®.  By now I had grown use to being wheeled on a gurney all around the hospital—actually, just a section called the “Tower.”

It was much colder in cath lab than the rest of the hospital.  So the nurses covered me in a nice warm blanket.  The last time that had happened was when I was being prepped for surgery in 2002.

I’d had a catheterization before, as a preliminary to the heart surgery I had in 2002.  That was in the femoral artery in my groin, but this time the cardiologist, Dr. Chu, went in through my left wrist.  So there I was, flat on my back, my left arm stretched out and covered with the all the neat surgical stuff to focus the physician’s concentration.

The I was given a local anesthetic in the wrist, and a television monitor was brought over my head so I could see the procedure—although as I stared at the dark line that separated the top and bottom halves of the image I could only think how much it looked like the red line at center ice on a hockey rink.

After that, although was awake through the procedure, I can recall nothing, as I was given an amnesial through my IV tube.  Then the next thing I know I’m fully awake and alert and being told the procedure was complete, and that I didn’t get a tint because I didn’t need one.  Instead, it was to best treat with changes in my medications. 

Great news, I suppose, but it didn’t explain my jaw pain.  The cardiologist said he didn’t think it was angina, but the hospitaler (doctor connected to my PCP) thought it was.  In either case, my new meds were now to include\sublingual nitroglycerin.

At this point I was certain I would get to go home.  Except the air-filled plastic cuff on my wrist had to be carefully removed by first using a syringe to remove the air in increments 20 minutes apart.  But when the cuff was finally removed, a hematoma began to form at the incision site.  So the nurse put pressure on it, which meant the cuff had to be refitted and refilled and the whole process started all over again.   That added another couple of hours to my stay.

Nancy had come up to stay with me, despite her still having a “boot” for her broken ankle.  She’s hoped we’d get to go home together, but no go.  So Nancy had the friend who brought her up to the hospital take her home.

I, however, had to stay put.  In the crook of my arm I still had the IV, which was extraordinarily painful.

Almost as pain were the sticky backed electrodes stuck to my hairy chest so the transistor radio sized heart monitor hanging around my neck could send data to the nurses’ station terminals.  I have a very hairy chest.  The sticky on some of the electrodes often did not stick well to my skin, but extraordinarily well to the hairs themselves.  Those that did not stick initially were held down by strips of surgical tape.

Having them yanked off of my chest reminded of Steve Carrell getting his chest waxed in “The 40-Year Old Virgin.”

Over the four days I had had many of these stickers removed with a yank—mainly because no one seems to use the same leads on their heart monitors and that required replacing the incompatible electrodes with other, compatible ones.  These were usually larger and stronger adhesive.  Often at night they would be painfully torn off when I rolled over in the hospital bed.  The agony brought me rudely awake and invariably set off an alert to the nurses’ station telling them one of electrode leads was no longer connected.  The nurses then came in and used medical tape to hold the stickers back in place and place more chest hairs in peril.

Let me say that no torture, not even water boarding, equals the pain of having chest  (and arm) hairs ripped off repeatedly—and unexpectedly—several times a day.

On the plus side, it meant the nurses didn’t have to wake me up to give me my medications as I was already alert.  One positive aspect of being in the hospital was making friends with a really sweet Korean nursing assistant and with the phlebotomist, a bespectacled, talkative blonde from Colorado.  She told me about the new needles the hospital was using for blood extraction, and before I knew it she had drawn the several vials she needed and I hadn't feel a thing.  In fact, all the nurses went out of their way to be nice and friendly.  Sort of made me feel handsome and attractive. 

Finally, about midnight, the wrist incision was closed, the IV cannula and the electrodes were removed, I got dressed, picked up my things, and waited for a taxi, which the hospital kindly provided me with a voucher for.

Fifteen minutes later, I was inside my house and greeted by Nancy and the dogs, and I was able to sleep in my own bed.  Ecstasy.  In the morning I could make the arrangements to check in with the cardiologist and my primary care physician  and get my new meds.  And now I had good reason to blog about my travails.

Also, check out my review of Karen Halttunen's Confidence Men and Painted Ladies on GoodReads at <<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/692438.Confidence_Men_and_Painted_Women" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px"><img alt="Confidence Men and Painted Women: A Study of Middle-class Culture in America, 1830-1870" border="0" src="https://d202m5krfqbpi5.cloudfront.net/books/1177291588m/692438.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/692438.Confidence_Men_and_Painted_Women">Confidence Men and Painted Women: A Study of Middle-class Culture in America, 1830-1870</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/321910.Karen_Halttunen">Karen Halttunen</a><br/>

My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/695912224">5 of 5 stars</a><br /><br />

A fascinating and well argued book, Halttunen's work examines not just the attitudes, but the behaviors, of a critical generation in American history.  She argues how the industrial and market revolutions and burgeoning new cities placed tremendous stress on American society and rather than accept or embrace these changes, many groups tried to adapt older views to maintain their older but increasing irrelevant values.  <br /><br />While Haltunnen limits her study largely to the antebellum era, her ideas have fascinating implications for the rest of the nineteenth century and well into the twentieth.  What she describes is an America that was essentially a nation of strangers where trust of others was essential, yet where it was also undermined because appearances dominated and the constant reinventing of one's self was a requirement for success.  To counter the change, advice books appeared to advise rural youth on to recognize swindlers and jezebel,  These volumes on building character and achieving material success while maintaining traditional virtues were precursors to "self-help books like Napoleon Hill's "Think and Grew Rich" and   Dale Carnegies "How to Winn Friends," although with a stronger and more explicit Protestant moral veneer.<br /><br />Haltunnen also argues that while supposedly educating people on moral behavior, it also was being undermined by a society where success involved have some of the very con-men characteristics the books warn about.<br /><br />What is interesting to me, though, is how those advice books also eventually become virtual instruction manuals on how to impersonate the moral and virtuous person in order to better con your victims. 

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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/list/21099612-nigel-sellars">View all my reviews</a>

It's been far too long since I've posted.  Partly, because I suffer from depression  (more on that later).  And my wife, having broken her elbow a year and a half ago, broke her ankle in May and had surgery.  She was confined to bed and a wheelchair, but know has on a heavy metal boot and can use a walker.  My big problem, however, has been struggling with writer's block.  Goodness knows I have plenty of unfinished projects to complete.  But getting down to it is more difficult.  So I'm forcing myself to write what I can.

Which leads me to this, basically a book review but of a book blending several of my interests, such as history, science fiction, pop culture, and more.  So I give you my review of:

Ray Palmer has always been an important figure in the creation of modern science fiction, but few historians of the field give him quite as much credit as he deserves and others have effectively written him out of that history or, at best, given him a cameo appearance at the edges of the story.

This is in part because Palmer was also the man whom many SF fans believed had killed science fiction, both through the "Shaver Mystery" stories and from Palmer's championing of flying saucer and occult phenomena.

Fred Nadis' biography is a welcome book as it restores Palmer to his rightful place in the creation story of modern SF but also as the man who invented flying saucers and developed many of the conspiracy theories so near and dear to the hearts of the Far Right, especially the "Tea Party" movement.

With access to otherwise obscure material and with the help of Palmer's children, Nadis ably recreates the world of the bright young man whose horrific collision with a wagon wheel would leave him crippled and hunchbacked.  Those injuries, however, led Palmer to become a voracious reader.  Eventually they also directed Palmer both to the world of science fiction fandom, where he found acceptance despite his disabilities and his short, slightly dwarfish physique, and then to the world of the paranormal.

Nardis also catalogs the series of painful episodes in Palmer's life that shaped him psychologically, including the death of his beloved old brother during the Battle of the Bulge.  Palmer later claimed have a vision of his brother's death, including an apparently accurate description of the fatal wounds.

What emerges is the portrait of a man who over time carried on the vision of Hugo Gernsback by editing Gernsback's pioneering  Amazing Stories after the major Chicago magazine publishers Ziff-Davis acquired the magazine but didn't know what to do with it.

Palmer brought the publication back to life with a mix of clever hucksterism, promotion, and hard work.  While John W. Campbell and Astounding are often presented as the source of modern science fiction as a serious literary form, it is all too often forgotten that Palmer published the first stories by a number of those "Golden Age" writers, most notably Isaac Asimov.  And Palmer too both pushed space opera into the wings and developed, with Campbell, a form of "science fantasy" that went beyond the gothic style of Weird Tales and produced magazines like Unknown Worlds and Amazing's companion magazine Fantastic.

On the other hand, Palmer also perpetrated the infamous Shaver Mystery when in the 1940s he published the rantings--though edited and rewritten by Palmer--of Richard Shaver, a former mental patient.  Shaver's tales of how two competing ancient races, working in caverns beneath the Earth's surface, both created misery and joy, good and evil.  Soon these tales of deros (detrimental robots) and teros (integrative robots) came to dominate the pages of Amazing.

It remains unclear--mainly thanks to Palmer himself--whether the Shaver stories were meant to appeal to readers who believed them to be "true," or if they were simply a sensationalistic publicity stunt by Palmer to increase Amazing's  news stand sales.  And it certainly did achieve the latter.

Naris spends a great deal of time telling the tale of Palmer and Shaver, who became close friends, yet this is in some ways one of the least interesting parts of Naris' book.    In many ways the Shaver mystery is well known to science fiction fans, although Naris manages successfully to portray the sad and tragic side of Shaver as well as the genuine friendship he shared with Palmer, who often went out of his way to help Shaver financially.

Yet at the same time Palmer was setting up his own publishing firm devoted to his non-fiction interest.  Soon Palmer's Fate, Search, and Mystic appeared to promote Palmer's interest in the paranormal and the occult, rather in the fashion of old dime museums and pseudoscientific investigation.  Later, Palmer established the science fiction magazine Other World, as well as Flying Saucers and Space World.  In addition, Palmer also hired a young man names James Oberg as his associate editor.  The far more skeptical Oberg went on to be perhaps the most important chronicler and historian of both the American and Soviet space programs.

In addition to flying saucers and the paranormal, Palmer turned his attention tot the political, especially conspiracy theories about One-World Government conspiracies and the like.  Nadirs points out that Palmer coined many terms like  "flying saucer”, “men in black", associated with Ufology, and carried them over into the right-wing conspiracy theories he promoted in his newsletter, the Forum.  In an odd way, Palmer invented, revived or was midwife most of the fringe beliefs in modern society.  So one of the fathers of modern science fiction was also the creator or inventor of UFO investigations,  religions and cults and may have set the ground work for political groups like the modern "Tea Party."

Yet Palmer was also sympathetic to the hippie movement, in part because of its willingness to explore many of the subjects that intrigued Palmer himself.  He also endorsed the sexual revolution and the anti-war movement.  As Nadis points out, Palmer might well have been the only support of Barry Goldwater and George Wallace who knew and loved all the lyrics to "The Age of Aquarius" from the musical "Hair."

By the end of his life Palmer was promoting—and debunking—many of his own ideas, lik the idea that flying saucers come from inside the Earth, which is actually donut shaped and open at a both poles.  As always, one can’t be certain of what Palmer actually believed or what he saw, in the tradition of P. T. Barnum, as pure bunkum that nonetheless wer extremely popular.  Many of these ideas and beliefs Palmer both promoted and championed, and also went to great lengths to debunk.

Ultimately, Nadis has succeeded in giving up a portrait of a very American character who encompassed many of the contradictions and paradoxes of post-WW II Cold War America and largely either created, or was a mid-wife to, and promoted many of outlier movements and fringe ideologies.  Hunchback, gnome-like Ray Palmer, in the final analysis, remains as much of a paradox now as when he was alive, but that may have more  to do with the worlds he help create rather than his own complex and frustrating persona.

A Good Reason to Write ( & epublish, too)

It’s been a while since I’ve added a new entry on my blog, but I’m remedying that right now. 

Since I last wrote,  I’ve published a couple of things on Smashwords.  This is the first time I’ve done this, but the reasons are pretty much my own.  One is a humor piece I first started years ago about the world’s worst pulp writer, Edgar Rice Krispies.  I was inspired in part by Peter Schickele’s PDQ Bach and the fake horror writer M. M. Moamrath, created by a number of writers, but most notably Steven Utley (I confess, he’s actually the only one whose name I remember.) I had it kicking around for a few years and actually published a shortened version (severely shortened) in Amazing Adventures, a semi-prozine.

Over time I had planned to do something else with it, but mostly I collected old photos and wrote funny captions for them.  I also accumulated some funny—to me, at least—pseudo-biographical and pseudo-historical details, mostly involving Krispies’ involvement in causing the First World War.  I really hadn’t looked at it for a while, but it seemed about time to get it out there.  Smashwords simply offered what I saw as the best venue for a piece I realized was unlikely to have wide-spread appeal beyond science fiction or pulp magazine fans.

Putting everything together was actually easy.  It was mostly a cut and paste operating with MS Word and the program’s tables and frames apps.  Then I had to format it to meet Shashwords’ requirement, which mostly depended on my using smaller d.p.i. images than I had initially use.  So, it’s up, listed at $2.99, offered in several ebook formats, and while it’s not a bestseller—hell, I don’t think I’ve sold a single copy yet.  I did set up a Facebook page for it and got the news out to my fandom friends there, but I can’t say it’s done anything positive,  Like most writers, I really bad at self-promotion.

Still, I’m pleased to at last have it out there.  I’ve always liked it and it still makes me laugh.  Perhaps someday someone will stumble across it, realize its genius, and help make it a cult classic (yeah, sure). 

The other book is a children’s book, “Stacey and the Monkey King,” which I wrote about twenty years ago as a Christmas present for my niece Stacey Franklin.  She was six at the time.  Later her family moved to Kansas, where, after a soccer injury, she developed Reflexive Sympathetic Dystrophy in one arm.  RSD, which has a number other names, is mostly notable for cause intense horrible pain and making the affected limb twitch.  Over time it seems to spread to other parts of the body, and the pain can become unbearable.  At one point, she was actually on methadone to handle the pain.  By then, she was mostly wheelchair and home-bound, unable to attend school or do much else.

Two years ago, Stacey had gall bladder surgery.  During the surgery, her blood/oxygen level dropped dangerously.  As she recovered, she had to be on oxygen when she slept.  One night, she apparently accidentally knocked off her oxygen mask.  Her parents found her the next morning.   Her body was already cold.

I had long tried unsuccessfully to get “Stacey and the Monkey King” published, but getting a childrens’ book accepted is almost impossible unless you’re a celebrity.  I had considered having it make as an e-book and I even went so far as to create illustrations for the story.  Again, Smashwords  offered the solution.  Once it was available, I knew Stacey would be essentially immortal.  How could I resist that?

That’s one reason why I write--to cheat Death in about the only I know how.

If anyone is interested, you can find “Stacey and the Monkey King” at Smashwords.  It’s a Christmas story and a damn good one, too, I think.  Personally, I don’t like the holidays.  Too dark too long during the day, and I’ve got seasonal affective disorder, too.  But knowing that my story added a little cheer to someone’s Christmas would make me feel better.

Stacey & the Monkey King

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/247428

Edgar Rice Krispies: Mangler of Adventure

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/246502

 

Friends of Mine are past and gone. But not forgotten

It's been a while since I've updated my blog.  Too many commitments, projects (new & overdue both), illnesses of loved ones, all take a toll.  Which brings me to my subject:

The death of writer Nora Ephron on Tuesday night made me realize that I've been thinking a lot about death recently.  Not mine, but that of friends and people I respect and admire.  Comes with age, I suppose, and I'm in that arena, though not too deeply, I hope.  I suppose it also may be tied to some writing I'm doing on a new novel.  A night-club fire and a tornado play prominent roles in the story.  I'm a stickler for details (being a historian and former journalist) so I was learning about what fire and storms do to the human body and how damn frail and flimsy we humans are.

While I was doing the research and writing the scenes, however, I also learned a dear old friend of mine, Cathy Ball, was in home hospice care in Oklahoma, suffering from terminal cancer.   I heard about this from another friend, and subsequently I wrote yet another friend for information.  She told me Cathy had taken a turn for the worse two weeks ago.  She told me the news was a shock, as Cathy had been able to visit my friend and her husband,  mainly to see if her cat McGee was compatible with their cat. (The reason for cat-compatibility should be obvious, unfortunately.)  Even then, Cathy's sister Barbie had to bring Cathy in a wheelchair.  Apparently Barbie and her other siblings are taking turns stay with her to work on legal and related matters.  My friend said that that when she has called Cathy, Cathy has sometimes been coherent and other times not.  She attributed that to the medication Cathy has been on.

At that same time, I learned that Cathy's husband, Jim Brazell, had died of cancer and complications of diabetes in December 2011, and that Cathy had neglected her own health while nursing Jim.  There's a picture of them together at Conestoga 10 at Tulsa in 2006.  It's on the MidAmericon website, and I hope the photographer,  Keith Stokes, will not mind my including it here.

Copyright 2008 Keith Stokes

A larger version is at <http://www.midamericon.org/photoarchive/06cona10.htm>

   
I find it hard to use the past tense when writing about Cathy because she's not dead yet-at least not at 11 pm Eastern Time, as I write this. being a Monty Python fan, she no doubt would enjoy the irony of that.  Still what she has done remains important, so the tense be damned.  I'm an historian, and for me everything is the past  and should be venerated.

Cathy was one of earliest members of NOSFA and, having discovered fandom first in Britain, was beloved by fandom on both sides of the Atlantic.  Cathy was a tough, no-nonsense woman who spent four years in the US Air Force as an MP.  She was a driving force in creating the early NOSFA fanzine "Red Dust," as well as her own "Under the Influence."  She was a prime mover in NOSFA's early SF conventions one of the leaders in creating our earliest conventions, such as "Norman Conquest."  Cathy was active in so many other areas of fandom, including chairing "RestCon."   Also served her time working at a local used bookstore before going to B. Dalton's.  After that chain closed, she found her own store, "Ball's Books," a great place to find all sorts of odd and interesting volumes.  She later sold the store to concentrate on her own writing, but the store (with a different name) is still there as far as I know.  

Cathy was also a writer.  Her story "Bodybag" was one of three stories ("Going Gentle" and "Greenhouse" are the other two) she wrote that appeared in the now defunct  Tomorrow SF magazine in the early 1990s. Her best-known piece, the satirical "Love's Prurient Interest" first appeared in a fanzine, but was reprinted in Shaggy B. E. M Stories, a limited edition anthology edited by Mike Resnick and published in conjunction with NOLACon in New Orleans.  It was reprinted just last September in another Resnick anthology, Bug-Eyed Monsters and Bimbos: A Hilarious Collection of Parodies by Some of the Greatest Writers of Science Fiction, which you can find on Amazon and other bookstore sites. 

More important, she was always supportive of the writing efforts of others, as many of her friends can confirm.  She was especially supportive of  Cary Osborne's (aka Devin Cary) early works such as Iroshi and The Winter Queen. and of Kim Pugh, another good friend of mine who died too young.   I think she and both regretted that none of Kim's works saw the light of day in the greater world.  His funeral I was the first and only time I'd ever seen her cry.

So I'm feeling sad. powerless, and depressed right now, since I now live 1,500 miles away.  I really have only these words to offer her.  Her illness has reminded me of other members of NOSFA who've died much too young.  Jim Brazell, Kim Pugh, Ed Howard, Paul Cherry, and Nancy Peay, I promise to never forget you, and I won't forget Cathy, either.  I can't forget her, and I know no one who knew her will either.  

I can only say that I and many others love Cathy and care about her.   The numbers of folk who entered fandom because of her are immeasurable, but the impact of her actions remains immense. In the end, I suppose, that's all any of us really have.  But what a magnificent legacy that is.  And with luck, future generations will discover her works and at least get a glimpse of what a great and special person she was.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to take some time with my own little pity-pot to grieve.

The Plot Thickens or Sickens, It Depends

Most writers struggle with plots, or, rather, with storylines. Some people can generate Byzantine plots that aren't a story, while others construct elaborate stories with the thinnest of plots.  Supposedly there are only 14 to 20 plots, such as: 1. "Boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy builds girl" 2. "Hero has treasure, loses treasures, regains treasure." Having said that, I admit I've never seen a list of those fourteen to twenty plots.        In most cases, there is confusion between a plot, a plot-line, and a story.  If any story is broken down to bare, really bare bones, there are probably many plots and subplots, but really just one story.  We think of the events within a story as a plot, when actually it's much simpler than that.  The story is actually the characters, setting, and the series of missteps, accidents, misadventures, and disasters that occur to stretch the plot out into a story.   The plot is easy, sort of, but the story is hard. The story emerges when you add in characters, themes, settings, etc.  Plots aren't so simple, even in microfiction. These days there are loads of so-called “plot generators” online.  Most are meant for a laugh or to act as a prompt.  But to be accurate, the plot generators really only generate a premise.  A premise is where a plot, and then a story, develops.  Once you've generated some of those weird plot ideas, you can see the difference between a plot and a story.   Most of the plot generators are not going to create the next bestseller.  I’m not even sure it can generate even a basic, straightforward story. I must confess, however, that it might create a bizarro or Monty Python-esque story.  For example, I recently generated enough pieces, that when I put them together and edited the repetitive bits  that I could actually compose a bizarro pulp parody, "Iowa Million and the Raters of the Lost Auk." Now this is a "supposedly lost story" by the not-so-great Edgar Rice Krispies, a fictional really bad writer I created a while back and have since created all sorts of silly stuff about him.  About twenty years ago I actually published a non-fact article about ERK in a old issue of the defunct semi-pro Amazing Adventures. Plot generators are certainly an interesting thing to play around with, though.  Some brief plots I generated on Seventh Sanctum (or maybe Warp Core, can’t recall which) include these: 1. The action begins in a underwater bunker. A light-fingered writer and an alcoholic warlord are attracted to each other. But she is enslaved by another species. Eventually they are united in death. 2.  The action begins in an icy planet. A lithe outcast and an old musician are betrothed. But their people are at war with each other. Finally they wonder what they could have been thinking. 3. A businesswoman is turned into a snake.  Can she convince a rogue astral traveller to restore her? **** A zombie site, whose name I can’t remember off-hand, gave me these two ‘plot’ ideas: 1.A dyslexic zombie and a Navy seal go on a date. 2. A Puerto Rican zombie gets stood up by the ex-husband of a novelist in virtual reality. **** My favorite, however, may well be Plot Generator, a UK-based site.  It’s the most fun because it offers five categories in which to generate plots and you get to decide what items go into it.  You can generate Romance, Crime, Mystery, Teen Vampire, and Bronte Sisters plots, and each comes with a simulated paperback cover.  Now, in truth, what is being generated is not so much a plot as it is jacket-flap copy, included "selected" endorsements from various sources.  But it doesn't mean it's not fun. Here for example is a teenage vampire story it generated.  Stephanie Myers, beware!

Vampire in Elkhorn, a teen vampire story by Sally Grubb There's a funny new girl in Elkhorn and she has everybody talking. Stunningly buxom and devastatingly plump, all the girls want her.  However, Sarah Mittle has a secret - she's an impulsive vampire. Camille LeFanu is an even-tempered, lanky girl who enjoys stamp collecting. She becomes fascinated by Sarah, who can stop a  sledgehammer with her bare hands.

But she doesn't understand why Sarah's so stand-offish. Her bestfriend, a kind golem called Harvey, helps Camille begin to piece together the puzzle. Together, they discover the ultimate anti-vampire weapon - a smooth, hard stilleto. When bodies start turning up all over Elkhorn, Camille begins to fear the worst. The golem urges her to report Sarah to the police and she knows she should, so what's stopping her? She may resist Sarah's bite, but can she resist her charms? Will she be caught wrestling with the vampire? **** Maybe I'd even read this next one myself.

Transmission Investigates a crime thriller     by N.S. Anthony Mangled fingers have been turning up all over Berlin and the inhabitants are scared. Ten murders in ten weeks, all committed with a samurai sword, and still nobody has a clue who the egotistical killer is. Manuel Transmission is a heavy set and single-minded art teacher with a fondness for absinthe. He doesn't know it yet but he is the only one who can stop the narcissistic killer.  When his dominatrix, Natalie Dressed, is kidnapped, Transmission finds himself thrown into the centre of the investigation.His only clue is a massive dildo. He enlists the help of a passionate chemist named Crimea River.  Can River help Transmission overcome his absinthe addiction and find the answers before the deceitful killer and his deadly samurai sword strike again?

**** And what literature major wouldn't want to read the lost collaboration of all three Bronte sisters, the immortal The Humid Moors?

The Humid Moors By the Three Brontes Harold Angel is a gentle and calm orphan raised by a brash and egotistical stockbroker. Eventually he gets a job working as a psychiatrist for the determined Lady Leventhal of Leventhal Condo.  The unlikely couple rapidly succumb to a obsessive passion. On the day of their wedding, a rude hockey player escapes from the attic of Leventhal Condo and starts a fire. Believing that Lady Leventhal is dead, Harold flees from the church and wanders the humid moors for days until he is rescued by a collected janitor. However, although Lady Leventhal is blinded by the fire, she still breathes. Without Harold she becomes selfish and boastful. She turns to alcohol for comfort. The ghost of the hockey player from the attic haunts her.  Meanwhile, thinking Lady Leventhal is dead, Harold accepts a marriage proposal from his saviour, the janitor. However, one night he believes he can hear Lady Leventhal calling, "Harold, where are you? Harold come home!" and he returns to Leventhal Condo. On Harold's return, he finds Lady Leventhal drunk and without sight. Mistaking him for the ghost of the rude hockey player, she attacks him with a bowie knife and Harold Angel dies. As she attends to the body, Lady Leventhal realises what she has done. Driven mad with guilt, she hatches a plan to destroy the next generation, but there is no next generation and she dies of consumption two weeks later.

**** Here are just a few of the plot-lines I generated on Warpcore. [I think it’s “Warpcore.”  I can’t keep them all straight, actually.]

1.  A unscrupulous warlord is being pursued in a heavily monitored mountain. His sister is driven mad by a foul time traveller. With the help of a smart mutant, he must raise an army in order to avert disaster and save his family. 2. A lonely pilot is facing death in a post-apocalyptic brothel. His planet is destroyed by a small meteor. With the help of a charming robot, he must make the ultimate sacrifice in order to save his future. 3. An optimistic primitive is causing a disturbance in a windswept moon. His leaders are destroyed by a deadly earthquake. With the help of an athletic alien, he must destroy a predatory alien in order to save his friends.

Who’s That Shady Character? I should point out that  Seventh Sanctum also has a character generator that actually may be really useful.  For example, some of the characters it generated for me were:

1. He is a 146 year old werebeast with yellow skin and bushy fur.  Born to criminals during a famine, he was taught to hold a gun as a child the war broke out.  He is interested in quantum physics and theories of everything and can smell emotions.  He is unconventional, over-friendly and extremist. 2. He is a fairy with ash-grey skin, greasy hair and emerald eyes.  He is 30 years old, young by the standards of his race.  Born to an idiot and a weakling on a brigantine in the Caribbean, he was made to work in the fields when young.  He loves to swim and practices necromancy.  He is unimaginative, attention-seeking and right wing. 3. He is a genetically improved human with alabaster skin, straight, jet hair and ice blue eyes. He is 126 years old.  Born to farmers in a factory, he was sent to boarding school as a child before becoming radicalized. He wields a laser and refuses to touch meat.  He is self-restrained, loving and overconfident. 4. He is a half-elf with alabaster skin, straight, jet hair and ice blue eyes.  He is 144 years old.  Born to a family of pariahs in a slum, he was adopted as a child before happening on a lucky find.  He is a vegetarian and hates getting dirty. He is smart, rude and angry. 5. He is an immortal spirit with a brutal left-hook. He was once a free man. He prefers to live in the plains. 6. She is a 108-year-old werebeast with translucent skin and light fur.  Born to a whore in Norman times, she was ordered to carry out domestic chores when young before marrying and then divorcing a dangerous lunatic. She brews herbal remedies and has a coven of followers.  She is unconventional, nervous around new people and morbid. 7. She is a demon with cold green skin.  She is 510 years old.  Born to a family of pariahs in Norman times, she was left on the streets when young before happening on a lucky find.  She plays the lute inexpertly and keeps a pet snake.  She is picky, an extrovert and moody. 8.  She is a half-elf with alabaster skin, a shaved head and ice blue eyes.  She is 213 years old.  Born to refugees in a castle, she was expected to achieve great things when young before plague ravaged the population. She plays the harp and sleeps too little. She is brave, vicious and self-assured. 9.  She is a human with caramel skin, aged 82. She has straight, white hair and toffee-brown eyes.  Born to a tribe of pirates on a distant planet, she was made to work in a factory as a child before starting a business that failed. She wants to explore the Oort Cloud and speaks Ant and Bee.  She is hard-working, attention-seeking and capricious. 10.  She is a human with tanned skin, aged 33. She has straight blonde hair and blue-grey eyes.  Born to a family of clerics in a small town, she was neglected when young before joining the army. She plays the harp and can smell emotions.  She is driven, over-friendly and naive.           11.  She is a mutant with flaking skin, long, tangled hair and violet eyes. She is 66 years old.  Born to a couple of scientists after the assassination of Queen Victoria, she was apprenticed to a gamekeeper as a child before marrying into money. She wields a sword-cane and is terrified of peculiar things. She is organized, dresses ostentatiously and overconfident.

Some Plot Generators:

So have some fun and if anyone actually writes and publishes a story from a generated premise, please let me know.

WarpCore http://www.warpcoresf.co.uk/scifiplot.php

Hilary DePiano’s Web Page   <http://www.hillarydepiano.com/2010/03/09/random-plot-generators-for-writers-block-a-laugh/>

Script Frenzy <http://www.scriptfrenzy.org/>

Seventh Sanctum <http://www.seventhsanctum.com/generate.php>

Plot Generator  < http://plot-generator.org.uk>