Unwritten Novels

Over the last several months, things have moved, publishing-wise, that have given me some optimism about the future.  I can’t talk about them yet, since I do not yet know how it will all come out, but I am not sanguine. I’ve stumbled over too many obstacles over the last 35 years to start celebrating before the check has cleared, so to speak.

This morning, as I write this, I am about as unmotivated as I’ve ever been. It will pass, I’ve been here before: a combination of disappointment, weariness, and frankly disinterest. I have projects, certainly, but I just can’t muster the energy to give a damn.

There are novels sitting here, in my files, waiting for an opportunity to be published. Let me see….seven, I believe, all complete and ready to go. From time to time I have to deal with the possibility that they will never see the light of day. But what I want to talk about here, now, are the novels that might have been, ought to have been, written had The Career gone in a better direction.

When the first publisher of my Secantis Sequence went under back in 2005 or so, we had been discussing the next book after Peace & Memory. I was enthused, I felt flush with ideas, and I wanted to do a direct sequel to that one, called Motion & Silence. I had ambitions.  There was also talk of doing a short story collection of tales set in the Secant, the anchor of which was a novella I had been working on which later I developed into a complete novel (one of those now sitting in a file). At that time I expected to continue writing in that universe for at least half-a-dozen or ten novels. Then the bottom fell out. I won’t go into details, those involved know the story, but it pretty much, as it turns out, buried my chances of having any kind of major breakout.

I had a few notes for Motion & Silence, but I got pulled away from the Secant by other projects, most of which never materialized. There was an element of desperation attendant upon all this which muddied my thinking. I was casting about for some way to salvage something from the wreckage. I made a few poor choices. One of the goals at the time was to reach a point where my writing could support my working from home. Alas, I couldn’t manage it and had to continue working a day-job to pay the bills. Now, as you may know, this was not all bad, as I landed at Left Bank Books and spent a decade at one of the best jobs I ever had.

But it cuts into your time, day-jobs. Anyway, I had projects and made the time to write them. As well, I continued trying to find an agent.

But it is those unwritten projects that sometimes haunt me. I had a large-scale one way back, a historical thriller, jut barely SF, set during the Reconstruction Era. As originally conceived it would have been huge, six or seven hundred pages, and I duly set myself to acquiring the knowledge base to write it. Unfortunately, I burned out on the research before chapter one was done, but that novel continues to haunt me. I will write it.

I’d still like to write Motion & Silence, but as time passes and the Secantis Sequence recedes into the fog of  might-have-beens, the devil of “what would be the point?” natters at me.

There is a historical quasi-fantasy I wanted to do, set in ten or twelve thousand B.C.E. That one is still just a vague set of ideas.

I have, somewhere, about eight-thousand words of a dark contemporary mystery about the occult I wanted to do. Also, a contemporary love story built around music.

I also have an idea for the next novel following the alternate history trilogy that is sitting in the files.

And now, possibly, I’m looking at having to write the sequel to one of ones that has been waiting in those files.

For the first time in my life I am troubled by the idea of having too little time. No, there’s nothing wrong with me, I’m in ridiculously good health for my age—hell, for any age—but that’s just it. My age. I’m 69. Realistically, I might manage ten more really good years. I’m looking at the list of unwritten novels and starting to do a kind of calculus.

I published my first historical novel last year, a bit more than 12 months ago,  Granger’s Crossing. When I wrote that—more than a decade ago—I conceived a series of perhaps ten novels, covering a specific historical period.  Then it seemed very doable. Now? Do I have time to write nearly a million words, along with all the rest? Frankly, whether I even try or not hinges on how well the first one does. Assuming it does well enough for my publisher to ask for the next one, what about the others?

And then there’s the short fiction. I’m just shy of 80 published stories. I decided a few years ago to stop working on novels and concentrate on short fiction, and that has worked well. I declared my desire to publish 100 short stories before I can’t write anymore. So, 20 or so to go. It’s doable.

But is it doable along with the novels?

I have no idea. I decided to lay this all out so I can look at it in one piece and try to assess. With a little encouragement, I think I can manage it, but lately I seem to be struggling uphill against…myself.

And those unwritten novels tease me. I think about them and how cool they could be.

Thank you for indulging me. I needed to get some of this out of my head so I could clear the air and maybe see where and how to go next.

Meantime, the battlecry of all writers bids you assist: BUY MY BOOKS!

Be well, everyone. I’ll let you know what happens.

Freedom and Its Contingencies, Part One

Many words get thrown around with too little regard for their actual meaning and intent. Love, friend, truth…a long list. There are two languages, it seems, operating most of the time. One we could call Colloquial Usage, which basically is the common application of a blanket term to cover all possible manifestations of a subject. Friend is a case in point. we blithely label everyone with whom we have more than casual acquaintance of a positive nature a friend. We do this without thought, mainly because it’s easier than teasing apart the various components of what A Friend may really be. A friend is more than someone you might be glad to attend a barbecue with. A friend is someone with whom a complex lattice of support, sufferance, and deep connection makes them vital to one’s sense of self and well-being. You would go to the mat for a friend, walk (metaphorically or otherwise) over broken glass to help. Most people we label “friend” do not rise to that level, nor should we expect them to. A friend is special.

But language is what we make of it. It’s handy to have one word for a convenience when the nature of something might require a chapter in book to really explain—or even a whole book.

Such a word, it seems to me, is Freedom.

I grew up during a time when that word ramified in its applicable meanings in too many ways to codify. The cry of Freedom during the Sixties covered everything from the Civil Rights movements to the Sexual Revolution to the Cold War to Intellectual Revisionism to rejections of community expectation and onward. What it meant to Be Free for one group was occasionally anathema to another, yet the demand seemed the same across all forms. A prominent, if not necessarily widespread, meaning was to be completely without constraint of any kind. As a rejection of social conformism, one could see the source of this demand, but it reached a point where the very means by which such a condition was sought imposed different sets of constraints which resulted in a loss of viable action.

One of the more useful definitions I heard back then was the “responsible use of form.” This is a useful axiom. Unpacking it yields a myriad of conditions and leads to configurations of what we might mean by freedom that apply across diverse expectations.

We have first to understand those instances when a parochial expectation is at work that displaces a more universal application, and in this we must be concerned with the tension between Expectation and Application. It is in this where we find the failures of manifestation that plague history.

I recall seeing an interview with a Mujahideen fighter during the Russian occupation of Afghanistan. He was talking about his reasons for fighting and he said “We fight because we love freedom so much.” I was puzzled. Any cursory look at the society from which he came at once shows that what he meant by freedom was certainly not what I understand as freedom. For himself, it may have meant what he claimed, but as a country? What about the women? (And I don’t even mean the tragic malaise that descended on them once the Taliban took over.) And even in the aftermath, I’m sure you could ask those now in charge if they believe they are free and they would likely say yes. The apparent contradiction brings you to the assertion that freedom is a constrained thing that rejects acts regarded as outside the reasonable expectations of what freedom means.

But that’s there. What about here? It does not require much observation to see that different definitions are at play. What is freedom for one is anarchy for another.

How to square this circle?

Immediately we must accept, from example, that the concept is highly individualized. Freedom is a subjective concept. 

Or is it? Clearly, many species exhibit an innate urge to be free of constraint. Escape is a common response to captivity. Perhaps we can attribute this impulse to some Darwinian imperative to maximize opportunity to reproduce (which captivity would severely hamper), but it’s impossible to know what other factors feed into this response.

So if it is based on a freedom from constraint, then the next question is, why do we then seek to constrain others? If it is a shared impulse, why do we in so many instances fail to recognize it as such? Is it a failure to recognize alternative expressions?

Or is it more a question of adaptation? These are the circumstances we have come to maturity within and because we are comfortable with these delineations we define living in those conditions with freedom. Change in those parameters increases a level of discomfort and if the changes are significant enough we begin to chafe and the talk of loss of freedom begins.

The question then is, are these changes actually oppressive or are they more unsettling? It makes a big difference, I think. Take for instance the current assertion among certain evangelicals that they are being oppressed. It is legitimate to expect an explanation as to how. Are there new laws in place that bar them from practicing their religion? Or is it just that they find the shifts in common practice unsettling? If their next door neighbor stops going to church and then puts a political sign on their lawn supporting someone who is seen as a secularist, how is that oppressive? 

Within their own conception of freedom, living in a community that privileges their faith, which allows an expectation that they are part of a culturally dominant ideology, it may well appear that the scaffolding of those expectations is being dismantled and leaving them without a previously unexamined support. In other words, more and more it appears that, in this particular instance, they’re on their own.

Again, is this oppression?

Assuming the support you have till now enjoyed was built in by fiat—a community declared privilege which required support from all members of that community, regardless of personal disposition—and now that support is being withdrawn, then perhaps an argument can be made. If, on the other hand, what support there had been was simply assumed, without any codified commitment to back it up, then its loss is less a matter of conscious oppression than it is evidence of a shift in common priority. Naturally, this will upset many people who based their conceptions of living within that community on the erroneous assumption that their perspective was a fundamental right. 

Let’s move this example to a different (though in many ways related) area. Women living independently of so-called traditional family structures.

In this we have competing claims of oppression and demands for freedom. 

If we accept that “freedom” is based on an assumed right and ability for action within a given form, then it becomes clear that when a group, for whatever reason, is denied an opportunity for said action by another group, we may plausible label such denial oppression. If such denial of action is done for the presumed benefit of the dominant group, then we can see how oppression can edge into a deeper form, even slavery, especially if the benefit claimed is the justification for the continued oppression. 

Now we have a basis on which to evaluate claims of oppression. Range of available action combined with the comfort of assumed privileges constitute the rough parameters of a particular claim of freedom.  The constraint of said actions for the maintenance of said privileges for a dominant group constitutes oppression. We have a term that usefully sums up the net result.

Denial of agency.

What do we mean by “agent”? I will refer to a definition, from the Oxford Guide to Philosophy.

Agent: a person (or other being) who is the subject when there is action. …the property of an agent is (i) possessing a capacity to choose between options and (ii) being able to do what one chooses. Agency is then treated as a causal power. 

This is fairly neutral. When applied, the question is who can act and who cannot. It follows then to ask why one who cannot act cannot do so.

A further question relevant to this discussion then is: does one agent’s freedom to act require the curtailment of another’s equal freedom? If it does, then it must be asked if the former is asserting a legitimate claim for freedom.

Being inconvenienced is not oppression.

People who are not used to being inconvenienced unsettle easily.

When confronted with a claim that “my freedom is being taken away” it is always necessary to ask how? Basically, what can’t you do now that you could before [fill in the changes being challenged] occurred. If the response is that one’s assumption of dominance is being constrained, then perhaps it’s not “freedom” being taken away but privilege.

Still, freedom is in this sense a very personal thing, a feeling perhaps more than a set of objective conditions. To say one is free when that sense of being encumbered unfairly occludes clear assessment is difficult to get past. To this extent, we construct (or yield to) our own internal metrics.

But this is a problem of preference. Choosing the metrics by which you claim freedom or lack of freedom would suggest, since they are your own and you can choose them, you are, to that extent, free. The question then is, why doesn’t this contribute to your sense of freedom?

It may seem that this is playing games with the idea, that deconstructing the parameters in order to change a perspective which may or may not be valid is insincere. But I refer back to that statement by the Mujahideen fighter, who was clearly self-defining, on some level, his own metrics of what freedom meant. The consequences for his view prevailing may well have validated his sense of freedom, but by broader standards it did nothing for those bound to his view who did not meet his criteria.

There are two elements involved, one metaphysical, the other political. They are entangled, of course, but for many people the differences present no distinction. Metaphysically, though, we are dealing with determinism. Questions of Free Will stem from questions of what aspects of our apparent will to choose are in fact matters of unfettered choice and which are defined by all the other factors which constitute lived reality. In other words, what does it mean to Be Free when we are not able to choose actions closed to us by virtue of being both inconceivable and undoable. We might wish to choose to fly without artificial assistance, but we have neither the biology or the environment to do so. It becomes a matter of wishful thinking. A question of whether we are free to fly on our own is meaningless outside the imagination. Further, we may wish to transcend our mental limitations, but without knowing what that might look like, how that might manifest, it is a choice without a conceivable goal. Again, in the realm of imagination, we might come up with a variety of scenarios in which the consequences of such transcendence might be imagined, but the core transcendence itself is too incoherent to “see.” Likewise “interdimensional” travel. We have the term and popularly might imagine it much like moving from one room to another, but we have no basis for knowing what it would look like to actually do so.

We can spin scenarios endlessly, but I think the point is made. (Note though that conceiving the ideas can result eventually in some manifestation that conforms to our expectations—hence airplanes, subatomic physics, AI…)

Setting that aside for now, we come back to the question of what it means to be free to do what we want in a world where what we want is not doable. Are we not free, then?

While this kind of thing can be fun as a game, it is a good way to lose the point of the question. Besides, we are here more interested in the political aspect of the question. They are, however, conjoined. In that sense it comes down to a question of what criteria does one use to define freedom and are such criteria legitimate?

To an extent, this can become an inversion of the previous state of being unable to do what is inconceivable, wherein one establishes what cannot be done (or, in many instances, what is not allowed to be done) and then using that as justification for claiming a loss of freedom. The question slips back and forth between legitimate restrictions and imagined constraints. And of course the paradox arises when we ask whether or not we are free to imagine whatever we like. 

To a great extent, it’s a silly question. How can anyone stop us? But at some point the freedom to do so bleeds over into actions. Are we free to act on anything we conceive?

It is within those two states—conception and action—that all political questions of freedom reside. (Perhaps, as an amusement, it might be fun to compare this to the above notion of interdimensional travel.) 

Clearly, we are not free to act on just anything we might conceive. There are many reasons, both metaphysical and concrete, but the chief one is that we must be mindful of how such actions impact and impede others.

Which brings us back to the question of form. The responsible use of form. This goes to the question of determinism in key ways, but basically it is the ground upon which a social contingency to enable the optimum manifestation of freedom may be constructed. Insofar as it impinges on Agency, the question is one of compromise before all else based on a recognition of Other Minds. In other words, room must be made to accommodate others who have the same interest in finding a field of action consistent with a sense of freedom.

I’ll leave this for now and come back later. For now, some things for consideration.

Note The Date

May 30th, Donald Jay Trump is found guilty of 34 counts of felony fraud for covering up moneys spent to affect the election. People (some) will think this was for sleeping with a porn star, but it was not. It was for the crime of defrauding an election by way of illegal payments to muzzle someone.

Conspiracy is very difficult to prove because one must demonstrate intent. New York state prosecutors managed to do just that and 12 jurors came back after 9 and 1/2 hours with unanimous guilty verdicts.

This is historic, certainly. The first time a former president has been so convicted.

The concern now is manifold. Big picture, will this make a martyr of him? That could redound to his benefit. Secondly, will the other trials now move forward with more alacrity? It seems to me that certain courts have been dragging their feet, waiting to see how this would play out, especially in Florida. Now that the first one has gone down, perhaps the others will decide to act and proceed. Thirdly, while there is no Constitutional bar to his running, how will this affect more state ballots?

On another level, the question must be asked, how safe are those jurors? Or the judge? Trump has a cadre of zealots who (clearly) think nothing of employing intimidation to serve their idol. I hope steps have been taken to protect these people till after the election at least. Maybe longer. Trump made a show of eye-balling them after conviction, the method of gangsters and bullies. That he is a bully has been apparent for a long time. We’re learning more about that from his time on The Apprentice, but anyone not swayed by his “charms” has seen it for decades.

Why this does not matter to those who buy into his messianic p.r. will baffle many of us forever. Just as a matter of taste, his cult is repulsive. But it is what it is, so we must act on other metrics.

Those who are claiming this has been a sham and despicable are pleading on his behalf. It must be said, no convicted felon ever has accepted that the trial was fair. But it was done by the numbers, according to the law, professionally and in detail. It transpires that Michael Cohen, who has been a problematic element in all this because of his track record as a proven liar, was not key to the outcome. Too much evidence merely corroborated his testimony. He was icing on the cake, so to speak. To be found guilty on 34 counts required far more than simple word-of-mouth.

Trump has played this game since he appeared on the scene as a “tycoon” and it has caught up with him. This has been a pattern. He thought, probably, that he could treat the presidency as if it were just another real estate deal. (This is one reason the assertion that “a businessman would make a better president” is bullshit. The office requires a statesman, which is a whole other set of skills most business people lack, not because they couldn’t be but because the job of running a business doesn’t require it in the same way nor does it allow time to learn it. For one, you have to be somewhat selfless. Anyway.) He was all about making deals. He thought he could play international politics the same way and he not only lost the respect of the majority of allied leaders but our enemies took advantage and played him.

He was a bad president.

He would be a classic dictator.

But for now, we can breathe a little easier knowing that he will not always get his way.

For a little while. This is just the first one. We have an election coming up,

And what do we see, once again? The one doing the work, which is not reducible to soundbites, is not “sexy”, is longterm on a road filled with potholes and obstruction, is being derided for not being a “savior” and the one in the clown car is getting all the press and making claims that have no substance but play well on television. The test here is how gullible the electorate is.

If we want to put this to rest, Trump must lose unequivocally. No narrow margins. We the People must make it clear as can be that he is rejected. It is not just Trunp. It is his backers, and by that I mean the moneyed interests and the fascist wannabes  behind him. This includes his enablers in Congress. Trump is a fool, but if we give him the precedent, the next will not be and we can kiss our institutions good-bye.

Yes, this is a very partisan statement on my part, but it is not party partisan. I am concerned about my country.

But for now, celebrate if you’re so inclined. Then next week get back into it and see the task through. Thank you for your time.

Images

The one skill I acquired from my stint at my last lab job was color printing. I’d never been interested before. My few attempts in my own lab had been frustrating and unsatisfying. But I had to do it for the job. I learned. But.

But I will always be fond of black & white. I value good b&w more than color (with certain narrow exceptions).

So I’ve been playing a bit. Here, for your pleasure, are some recent results.

 

Hope Projected

An idea occurred to me recently while reading a history of the early christian church (a very good one, I might add). I have little patience with the absolutes advocated by religious sentiment, the whole idea that one must, above all, believe. That to “have faith” is the most important thing. The materialist in me always come back to the same question: in what? That is the shoal upon which any ship of faith I might board runs aground. And without a clear What, the rest splinters and sinks.

But while I have a firm distrust of calls to faith—likewise demands for belief, for loyalty, for boundless commitment to causes for which I may be sympathetic even if unwilling to suspend all critical analysis of them—I cannot deny at least a set of habits that draw me to it. Historically, we see examples of faith empowering people to do amazing things.

I have not for many decades been able to “put my faith” into anything I cannot define. Further, just defining the thing is insufficient. There must be some basis in accepting its reality. I do not believe in gods.

But I do accept an idea of the numinous.

Recently, while listening to To The Best Of Our Knowledge, during an episode about hope, it occurred to me that we may have the whole idea of faith backwards. Humans have a habit of projecting concepts onto externalities. We attribute qualities to all sorts of things that cannot, in many instances, possess them of themselves. We do this across the spectrum. People, cars, boats, books, buildings, money. Luck is a prominent one. Public figures provide endless opportunity for us to project our desires, our preconceptions, our dislikes and prejudices, our sense of self worth.

I have always conceded, at least intellectually, that Faith (with a capital F) goes beyond concepts like trust, relying upon, dependence. All those are conditional.  Faith is supposed to be absolute, unconditional, ever reliable. Faith defies reason. Faith asserts infallibility.

And I realized that there is one thing we carry inside that fits all that, to varying degrees, which most often we take for granted, but occasionally elevate to supernatural status given the right circumstances. Hope.

Hope is a mercurial idea. Part optimism, part fantasy, part will, it is a view of the world that our place in it will be acknowledged and rewarded. To hope is to choose the positive outcome, no mater how unlikely, over the despair resulting from surrender. It is, in fact, one of the factors in getting out of bed in the morning feeling that the day will come out all right. It operates often without evidence. In short, it exhibits all the characteristics of Faith with one exception—it is entirely self-generated. In fact, there is one thing that faith supposedly provides that hope does not: comfort.

Or does it?

My conclusion is that faith is only hope projected. We put it on an external something then attribute that something as the source and then proceed to believe in it as if it actually existed. (Now, it may be that we do this to another person, in which case it is concerned with something—someone—that exists, but there is still that confusion as to the actual source.) The much-vaunted “faith in god/providence/the supernatural/etc is usually what is meant when we talk about Faith.  Also, because so many people have difficulty investing ideas with loyalty, at least in any sustained manner, we personify the idea and make into…

The question always comes back to, “do you have faith?” I have hope. I may be unable to do anything about that, it comes with the equipment. But I know the source, and curiously that gives me comfort.

It also makes me responsible for any misconceptions I might have about matters of…well…faith.

Chicago

The first week of April, we boarded a train and headed to Chicago. The train ended up behind a freight train, which slowed us down a bit, so we arrived later than intended. Still, after navigating the construction blocks around Union Station, we summoned a cab and got to our hotel. Famished, we asked what was open this late and were directed to an Italian place three blocks away, which served good pizza.

It was raining when we arrived and continued most of the week to be one degree of wet or another, but it did not deter us.

We met up with friends, ate great good, wandered around the central district around Michigan Avenue, toured some smaller museums, and had a great time.

Chicago is a bit of a joke for us. Not the city but the fact that in 44 years together we have only managed to get there twice. The last time was 24 years ago, for a Worldcon. That one happened 20 years after we met and talked about running up to Chicago. After all, it’s not that far away…

Well, what can I say? Other places, other people got in the way, and we just lacked either the time or the money. Hopefully, that will not be a problem going forward. I’d like to visit once a year at least.

We stayed at a 21C Museum hotel, which was hosting an exhibit which proved to be excellent. Some fine pieces of work, thematically to do with family relations,  both parent-child and siblings.

The restaurant in the hotel, Lure Fishbar, was a marvel. It was the main reason we picked that hotel, as the son of a good friend works there. As one might guess, it specializes in seafood, especially sushi. I’m not myself a big seafood fan, but this was all wonderful. (If you go, ask for Andrew.) And then, the special deal, Donna was able to indulge her love of smoked salmon for breakfast.

The only odd thing was, this is the first hotel room we’ve had since the 1980s that lacked a coffeemaker in the room. Otherwise, comfortable.

And it was almost ideally located for easy access to a lot more of downtown Chicago than we indulged. Did I mention it was wet? One morning is even snowed, but none of it stuck. We went forth, braving the blech weather, and walked quite bit. The highlights include the Museum of Medieval Torture, the American Writers Museum, the Chicago Architecture Center, and the Driehaus mansion, one of those Gilded Age monstrosities that have since been turned into a museum and, in this case, a venue for new art.

And I got to indulge one of my favorite things, which is photography. I count a trip at least partially a success if I get some good images. For instance:

 

 

Chicago is a very photogenic town.

We returned on the train Friday. Neither of us are used to just walking around like that, so we both felt it, but in a good way. Next time we will visit during a bit more temperate weather, something with more sunshine?

Chicago feels like someplace in our backyard, which may be one of the unconscious reasons we haven’t been there more. That has to change. (We did zero shopping, and we were two blocks from Michigan Avenue!) We have friends there, we have no real excuse.

But for now, we had a very good time. Just sharing.