Category: My Fiction

Here are my own stories. Science fiction and fantasy mostly but other things may be added too.

How Do You Concoct a Science Fiction Universe with Plenty of Elbow Room?

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Different science fiction writers have produced every kind of world imaginable and for many different reasons.  A very large chunk of writers did this because they wanted a paycheck and they were told that science fiction was the golden way.  And depending on how talented they were, the stories they wrote were more or less interesting, memorable and coherent.

The earliest of these stories were cobbled together based on an author’s understanding of other genre literature.  So, if the writer wrote cowboy stories previously, then we got Showdown at the Betelgeuse Corral or some such thing.  And in the grand scheme of things that’s not really the worst outcome.  I mean, if our western author is a good story teller then the Showdown may be a very interesting space cowboy story.  And who doesn’t like space cowboys?

But if science fiction should include some world-building that actually has something to do with science then an author should go the next stage and make some kind of hand-waving exercise to justify the technology being used.  You know, warp drive fueled by matter/anti-matter mediated by di-lithium crystals that provide the warpity-warpity part (somehow).  Okay sure.

Now you have the means for a story but why is it?  Who is doing what to whom?  And here is where the cowboy story might be just what you want.  Or maybe it’s the Roman Empire writ large or space Arabia with monstrous spice sandworms or the American Revolution on Luna or Vietnam in space or, or, or.  Whatever gives you a good idea for a story with humans or humans and aliens or just aliens.

And if you want the story to be really worthwhile, well, learn enough about humans to write them somewhat convincingly.  Of course, this is going above and beyond.  There were (and probably are) plenty of writers who apparently have never spoken to or even bumped into living humans.  So, they’re forced to base their characterizations on themselves and thereby end up with some truly weird conversations and interactions.

Now, all of these things are on my to-do list for my foray into sf but I want one more ingredient.  I desire my world building to be the basis for more than one story or even one series.  I’m ambitious.  I think of Heinlein building his “Future History” timeline with its torch ships, terra-forming, social crises and advances in medicine and longevity and the first halting steps to the stars.  Now that’s the way to do it.  Build up a framework that will allow for a whole suite of related but not interlocking stories.  Give yourself some guidelines and parameters but leave plenty of elbow room for different events, characters, locales, times and moods.  I want to make sure I don’t paint myself into any corners so I need some kind of overall outline that I’ve thought through.  That way I’ll be satisfied with whatever restrictions are involved.  For instance, maybe in this universe there isn’t any working star drive and maybe there never will be.  Or maybe the sun is dying and my Earth is working out a crash program to send colonists in suspended animation to every solar system that’s been telescopically identified in the hope that at least some of them will survive.  Or maybe a universe where the aliens found us and have put us in a remedial program to become less stupid and we have an enormous inferiority complex that is causing terminal ennui.  Whatever the setup is I’ll have mentally signed off on it.

So that’s what I’m working on (in a sort of retroactive way).  I want to build a world that my sniper story can be nested into.  I like the idea of our real world being reflected in a story with a way of resolving the problems we have run up against.  But I think I have to put a lot more potential in the story beyond the political conflict.  So, I’m trying to look at the big picture and add as many gee-whiz angles to make it more fun.  I think I may add cold fusion to the mix.  I’ve always liked the idea of some research into some of the heavier metals providing some unhoped-for breakthroughs in advanced physics.  Maybe not as drastic as the E. E. Smith trick that gives his Skylark characters a star drive but definitely limitless and elegant power production.  It’s definitely cheating but I’m thinking about it.

But all this big picture stuff is hurting my head so it’s a tough slog.  But I think it’s the right order of operation.

The Safety Dance – Part 4

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The Safety Dance – Part 3

And once again Jim felt like the mark in a three-card Monty game.  He didn’t put his hand on his wallet but he almost did.  Instead, he shook the hand that Connors proffered and allowed himself to be escorted to a chair at a small table to the side of the huge desk.  The former chauffer took another chair next to him and put on a sheepish grin, “I guess you’re starting to wonder whether the lunatics are running the asylum but I assure you there is a reason for all this.

Jim vented a particularly heavy sigh and said, “Mr. Connors, I think I’m too confused at this point to know what to say.  I think I’d like to head home at this point.  I’m just a regular guy who takes the commuter train back and forth to work and doesn’t expect to have the CEO spying on him on the drive from the airport.  Maybe we should call it a day.”

“I can’t blame you for feeling that way.  But before I send you home, let me try to explain and if what you hear interests you, we can continue.”  Jim nodded his head.  Connors continued, “You know all this is your own fault.  When you called your friend Dave, it triggered all this.  And it wasn’t the fact that he wanted you to interview for the Missouri job that caught our attention.  It was how Dave described you.  As it turns out Dave isn’t your biggest fan.  He kind of thinks you’re an idealist about politics and how the world works, although idealist isn’t the word he uses.  As you probably know Dave is not at all idealistic or even particularly ethical in how he approaches work or even life in general.  Dave works at that office because he works quite well with other people like himself.  And unfortunately, that is valuable more often than we wish it were.  So, he’s a kind of negative standard.  If he says someone is a loser, we assume he means that person is honest.  So that’s why we interviewed you in New York and that’s why you’re here.  Now this job is a technical one and so I needed you to talk to my team.  They think you’d be a good addition to the group.  Your background and your skills are a good match.  So that’s great.

But our organization is extremely unusual in a number of ways.  For instance, the compensation package is completely different from any other company you’ve ever heard of.  And the secrecy agreement is much more stringent than anything this side of the Sicilian Mafia.  So, as you can imagine we take the candidate selection process to extreme lengths.  For instance, we’ve done a background check on you that would make the CIA jealous.  We have access to intelligence sources that are pretty much comprehensive.”

At this point Jim spoke up, “Are you guys working for the US government or some other country?”  Connors shook his head, “Just the opposite.  We do most of all this to avoid the interference of the federal government.  And if Dave’s negative description of you got you that interview in New York, it was your answer to Milo that got you to Wyoming.  Do you remember what he asked you and what you answered?  He asked, “What’s the biggest threat to your family’s long-term well-being?” and you said, “Our own government.”  Well, that was the secret password.  That’s the golden ticket.  This company exists in the form it has because I believe that same thing you said.  Our government is the greatest threat to the future of its citizens that exists on this planet.  More generally it’s the greatest threat to all of humanity because it is so powerful that there is no longer any brake on its power and its mission is no longer tied in a meaningful way to our welfare.”

Connors had now managed to direct Jim’s thoughts away from his own predicament and toward the larger reality of the modern world, something that Jim spent a considerable time thinking about before he became unemployed.  Jim asked, “Well, what could you hope to accomplish against a coordinated and all-pervasive system of control like the feds?”

Connors smiled.  “You’d be surprised.  Or maybe you wouldn’t be.  But the way we do it is to build our own society right out in plain sight.  We’ve formed a tight-knit community of like-minded individuals and their families and we go about our lives looking for all the world like everybody else but like the iceberg the great majority of our organization is hidden from view and provides the opportunity for us to thrive away from the government’s habits of interference.”

Despite his earlier alarm at Connor’s tactics, Jim found himself intrigued by this crazy story of a secret organization hiding from the government in plain sight.  “But surely the IRS and several other federal agencies would detect all this additional commercial activity and come crashing down on you.  Won’t all the excess consumption by your employees trigger alarm bells in those who spend their lives looking for people avoiding taxes?”

Connors countered, “It would if there were excess consumption to detect.  But what my set-up entails is internal capture of all or almost all of the commercial and industrial needs of our communities.  Did you notice the automobile that we drove here in?  That doesn’t come from Detroit or Japan or Korea.  We make them ourselves.  And we also make the gasoline it runs on, at least when we fill it up in town.”

Jim jumped on this statement, “But not having any commerce is just as bad as having too much.  I’m sure the government monitors the apparent economic activity in an area and would notice if a large population like a whole town or several towns didn’t seem to buy or sell anything.”  Connors smiled, “Very true and that is why we very carefully balance our apparent commerce to expectations.  In fact, we have all this down to a science.  But that’s hardly all we do to maintain this masquerade.  I am one of the largest government contractors outside of the defense procurement sector.  My enterprises support a very large lobbying effort in DC and I keep all the most important congressional leaders well-greased.  In addition, I employ another retinue of former government regulators on staff to make sure that we are well regarded by the deep state.  It’s people like these that your friend Dave involves himself with.  The levers of power are lined up in the correct order.  I leave nothing to chance.”

Jim considered these details carefully.  And then said, “But to what end?  Where can this all go?”  Connors replied, “I’m building something that should one day be strong enough to come out in the open and tell our masters, “No more!  We’re free and we’ll stay that way and we’re too strong for you to hold us down.”  That’s the end game.  But in the meantime, we’re a family.  Every family in our organization has the resources and opportunity to thrive and live a great life.  Everyone has the creature comforts of modern life and in addition education is addressed comprehensively and the level of expertise in the faculty rivals what you could expect at MIT or Cal Tech.  Our humanities curriculum isn’t as developed as the technical side but it’s adequate.  And best of all the government is kept at bay.  We live our lives without the interference of Washington bureaucrats telling us what we can and can’t do; what we can and can’t think.”

Then Connors stopped talking and watched Locke.  He was silent for several minutes, looking like he wanted to say something.  “What if I say no?  I know a lot of stuff that you don’t want known.  What would happen?”  Connors looked at him seriously and said, “Do you mean would we kill you or something?  We’re not evil men.  You wouldn’t be here if we didn’t think you were basically a decent man.  If you say no, we send you home and that’s the end of it.  I’ll be very disappointed but we’ll find someone else to take that spot.  If someone went out of his way to make trouble for us with the government, I couldn’t say how it would end up.  We have built up some protective arrangements into our government connections but they are unpleasant and dangerous.  We work with some questionable people in the intelligence agencies and if we told them that you were a security risk, bad things might happen but it wouldn’t be something we would initiate.  Are you telling me you are thinking of informing on us?”

Jim answered quietly, “No I’m just trying to understand how you can allow a safety risk such as myself to threaten your whole operation.”  Connors said, “We’re good people and we’re smart.  We can tell the difference between the trustworthy and the dishonest.  We recognize good people.  When we find them, we treat them fairly and depend on them to treat us the same.  It works.  Are you interested?”

Jim smiled, “You don’t pay your employees money.  So basically, it’s as if I had a sign across my chest that said “WILL ENGINEER FOR FOOD!”  Is there a chance I can get an Amazon gift card for Christmas?”  Connors scowled and said “Why is it always the engineers that think they have a sense of humor?”  Jim laughed, “Because we see the cosmic irony of trying to get anything done by the boss’s schedule.  Will you be driving me home to the airport?  I’ve got to get home and start uprooting my family.”  Now it was Connors’ turn to laugh, “I’ve got more important things to do than that.  Luckily for you we’ve got an airfield on the property.  I just drove you from Bozeman to get a good read on you.  Can never be too sure of the new guys you know.

The Safety Dance – Part 3

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The Safety Dance – Part 2

Faber tapped his left index finger on the table top a couple of times and nodded his head once.  “Mr. Locke, I think we have a reason to continue our discussions further.  I would like you to meet with one of the leaders of our firm.  But he never travels to the Northeast.  At your convenience I’d like to set up a meeting with him at our corporate headquarters in Wyoming.”

Jim thought about this for a few moments.  All of this was so irregular that he was starting to feel like he was being set up for something illegal.  He began thinking of how he could back away from this without appearing to be afraid which, in point of fact, he was.  “Mr. Faber, I’ve just lost my job and I haven’t got the resources right now for airplane trips and mysterious job opportunities.  I’ve got to find a job right away.”

Milo smiled.  “Jim, I realize that this has been a very confusing “job interview.”  But we’re used to how unorthodox our organization appears from the outside so I’m also prepared to provide you with an incentive to entice you to give us a listen.  Here is ten thousand dollars in cash to give you the flexibility to consider talking to us.  All you’re committed to is meeting with us.  After you hear our story, you can walk away and continue your job search with enough money to get you through the next month.”

Jim looked at the bankroll with its crisp one-hundred-dollar bills strapped together.  He was beginning to think he had fallen asleep on the commuter train and would soon be awakened by the conductor and told to move along.  But after a minute or so he picked up the bundle and examined it.  He flipped through the bills and determined that they were all the same denomination.  They looked and felt real.

“Do you guys sell fentanyl?”  And that finally, forced Faber to smile.  “Mr. Locke, here’s my card.  Go home and think about all this.  Talk to your wife and see what she thinks.  If you don’t want to go forward just call me up and arrange to return the money.  Keep a thousand for your trouble.  That’s fair, isn’t it?  All I’m asking is for you to meet with my bosses and find out if we’ve got an opportunity that makes sense for you.  I think you can see we’re serious in our intentions.  Why not hear us out?”

Jim put the bankroll in the breast pocket of his jacket and told Faber he would call him the next day with his answer.  Then he got up from the table walked out of the restaurant and wandered aimlessly around midtown Manhattan for an hour before heading back to Penn Station to go home.  Every few minutes as he pondered what had happened, he found himself saying out loud, “Judy is not gonna like this.”

A week later Jim Locke found himself on a jet headed to Boseman MT.  Once there he was met by a large odd-looking SUV-like truck driven by a non-descript man in sunglasses and a polo shirt.  Not being directed where to sit he took the front passenger seat and prepared for the long ride to the corporate headquarters in Wyoming.  Having never been to the Mountain West Jim was impressed by the view of mountains, prairie and especially by some cattle crossing the road.  So, he engaged the driver whose name was Paul in some discussion about the countryside.  “Yeah, after a while you forget that it’s pretty amazing scenery hereabouts.  You just get used to the view and it just becomes the background to your life.  But every once in a while, you realize just how beautiful it is.”

“Have you lived in this area long?”  “Oh, ever since I came home from Iraq.  So quite a while.”  “Do you work for the company that I’m visiting?”  “Yeah, I’ve been with them for a good long while.”  “What are they like?”  “Well, I hear the guy in charge is a little screwy, but all the people I deal with are pretty decent types.”

After this there was silence for about a half hour.  Then Paul asked Jim, “So what do you do?”  “Well, by training I’m an engineer but what I do mostly is run projects for assembling complicated and expensive machines.  I build a team and then they build the machine.  Then I take the credit (or blame) for the result.”  “Sounds like a very interesting job.”  “Well, that depends on a lot of particulars.”  “Like what?”  “Well, can you find and pay for the right talent for all the disciplines?  Is the budget honest or did they buy the job?  Is the client smart or stupid?”  “You mean if the client is too smart the project will lose money?”  “No.  If the client is too stupid, he won’t believe you when you show him realistic constraints.  How many times have I been confronted with a client who demanded dry water?”  “Oh, I think I see your point.”

After another lull in the conversation Paul asked, “So where are you from?”  “Well, originally I’m from Brooklyn but I live on Long Island now.”  “Would you really move to a place like this?  We don’t have a lot of restaurants and clubs here.  Wouldn’t you be bored?”  “I don’t know.  We spend most of our free time at kids’ soccer games and movies with yellow animated characters.  Do you have those things around here?”  “Yeah, I guess so.  I don’t have any kids so I’m just going by what I’ve seen but yeah, folks around here have lots of kids’ sports teams and sure there are movie theaters though a few of them have gone broke.”

Afterwards, Jim excused himself saying he needed to get in a nap before they arrived.  He woke up as Paul shook him to announce they had arrived at the headquarters.  It was an old storefront converted into an office building.  At the receptionist’s desk he was asked to wait until his hosts came to get him.  When they arrived, there were six men, ages thirty to fifty something.  They brought him into a room filled with computer displays and started peppering him with questions about his previous work and asking him hypothetical questions about how he would approach some projects that seemed to require technologies that as far as he knew did not exist.  He found himself getting excited about the prospect of incorporating these impossible innovations into some of his best designs for industrial equipment.

And his enthusiasm sparked a synergistic energy from his hosts.  A couple of hours in they broke for a meal but it was plain to see that Jim fit in well with these men.  At the lunch, which consisted of ham or turkey sandwiches and decent coffee, Jim tried to pick the minds of his hosts about the company.  Their answers were a mixture of enthusiastic boosterism and a complete lack of details.  They insisted that the company would be a fantastic fit for Jim but they assured him that the details about the contract he would sign had to wait until he met the boss, Mr. Connors.  Apparently, in some senses this was a one-man band.  After they finished lunch, they went back to finish up discussions of some preliminary aspects of the project he would hopefully become involved in.  A half hour in a young man in a suit with a clip board walked in and announced that it was time for the interview with Mr. Connors.  Jim shook hands with the men he had so easily bonded with and ruefully headed off to what was for him, the least favorite aspect of any interview, meeting the head honcho.

He was led down a few corridors to an area of the building that looked more like a corporate office than the rest of the building with polished hardwood paneling and gleaming metal trim.  The kid with the clip board swiped his keycard through the electronic door mechanism and after the chime announced its acceptance Jim was told to let himself in.  Walking through the imposingly tall and broad doors he walked toward the large desk and halfway there he recognized the man behind the desk by his sunglasses and polo shirt.  It was his chauffer, Paul.  Paul saw him enter and jumped up to meet him on his way to the desk and said, “Hey Jim, good to see you again.  I’m Paul Connors.”

The Safety Dance – Part 2

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The Safety Dance – Part 1

Jim Locke was on the 10:30 commuter train headed into Manhattan.  Of course, at that hour it was a local and stopping at every empty platform on the line.  Which suited Jim to a tee.  He was trying to make up his mind whether he should apologize for even setting up this meeting or hear them out.  Last night when he broke the bad news to Judy, she had looked truly scared.  And when he told her about the possible job offer in Missouri she had cried.  It was all happening too fast for her.  Too many things changing at once.  Of course, nothing had been mentioned to the kids but somehow, they seemed nervous, as if they sensed something was wrong.  Or was it his imagination?

By the time they rolled into Penn Station he had made up his mind.  He would listen to the spiel and then “decide” that the job wasn’t for him.  Maybe if he could impress the hiring manager that he was a strong candidate they might remember him for another opening closer to home.  Entering the office building lobby, he found the elevator bank for his floor and headed up to the fortieth floor.

When he got off, he was in a reception area and he announced himself and asked for Dave.  Five minutes later he saw his two hosts walking toward him.  “Jim, how the hell are you?  You look like you haven’t aged a day.  In fact, I think that’s the same suit you were wearing the last time I saw you five years ago.  This is Milo Faber.  He’s the hiring manager for that job I mentioned.  Milo, this is Jim Locke, the guy I told you about who called me out of nowhere yesterday.”  Jim and Milo shook hands and waited for Dave to subside before exchanging a few words of greeting.  “Well, Mr. Locke why don’t we head out for lunch.  I know Dave only has an hour before a meeting but I have a good long opening in my schedule and I’d like to talk with you a good bit about the position I’m looking to fill.  If you’re hungry there’s a very good new restaurant that’s opened up on Park Avenue that everyone says is pretty great.”  Jim was actually pretty hungry because he had missed breakfast while trying to calm his wife’s nerves that morning.  All he’d had was coffee.

During lunch Dave did most of the talking, filling up the silence with somewhat embarrassing stories from his time working with Jim.  In fact, Jim was beginning to think that Dave was somehow intent on sabotaging his chances with Milo.  But there was nothing he could do to end the babbling short of physical violence so he concentrated on the very good plate of food in front of him and chalked up the whole interview as a mistake.  Eventually the lunch hour expired and Dave excused himself to head off to his meeting and told Jim he’d talk to him later and then left.

Milo waited a few minutes while they finished their entrees, then asked if Jim wanted dessert or coffee.  “Milo I’m stuffed but I’ll take a coffee.  He signaled the waiter and gave him their orders and then looked at Jim carefully and said, “Were you and Dave close friends?”  The question caught Jim off balance but he decided for some reason to answer it candidly.  “No, we were casually friendly but Dave and I have somewhat different personalities.  I was somewhat surprised when he recommended me for this interview.”

Milo continued to peer into Jim’s face and said, “So were we.  Dave’s responsibilities with the company are decidedly unrelated to the kind of work involved in the position we have in Missouri.  I’m pretty sure he doesn’t understand the scope of work involved.  And that’s mostly because he isn’t the right fit for that kind of work.  So, if your temperament aligns with Dave’s, the job we’re discussing probably wouldn’t be for you either.”

Now Jim was becoming both confused and intrigued.  This was the strangest interview he’d ever sat for.  What was next?  A scavenger hunt?

“Well Milo, I haven’t a clue as to what kind of job we’re discussing but you’ve got my attention anyway.  What would you like to know?”

During the interval, their coffees had arrived.  Milo took a sip from his coffee and sat back and shifted his gaze back at his guest and asked, “What do you want out of life?  What is most important to you?”

“Alright,” said Jim, “I’ll play along.  First of all, I’ll tell you that “the good of the company” is not my highest priority.  So, if that’s what you want to hear then it’s game over.  My highest priority is keeping my little family in groceries and school tuitions.  My wife and kids are the reason I work.  So, moving them down to Springfield Missouri would require it to be the best environment I can afford to give them which seems kind of unlikely to me.

Faber nodded slightly and displayed the faintest hint of a smile.  “Do you have family connections that would preclude relocating permanently away from the Northeast?”  Jim shook his head.  “No, neither my wife nor I have any close family left.  Our ties to New York are at this point just our personal history.  We’ve been thinking of moving out of the metropolitan area for some time but I haven’t found the right job and location to make it worthwhile yet.”

Faber pushed his coffee away and leaned slightly across the table toward Jim and speaking in a low voice asked, “What do you think is the biggest threat to you family’s long-term well-being?”  Locke tilted his head to one side, opened his mouth slightly and blinked, “Mr. Faber you ask the strangest questions I’ve ever heard from an interviewer.  You sure you’re not recruiting for the CIA?”

Milo looked down at the table and said, “Of that I’m very sure.  But it’s an interesting analogy.  Let’s say secrecy is involved.  But humor me.  What’s the biggest threat to your family’s long-term well-being?”  Jim thought about it for a few seconds and said, “Our own government.”

Debate in Dunwich – Part 4

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BISHOP – Welcome to the third and final 2024 Debate between the candidates running for the office of Dunwich First Selectman.  I’m head moderator Uriah Bishop and tonight we’re here with Great Old One Hastur and unfortunately none of his opponents was willing to show up for this last debate.  Probably this is because he cooked and ate his last opponent, Azathoth at the conclusion of the debate.

HASTUR – Oh boo-hoo.  The big mean monster ate one of the other big mean monsters.  Grow up little pastry.  That is my world.  And that is your world too.  Look around you and observe how things really work.  The big fish eats the little fish.  Or bird or cat or man or monster.  Everything else is just make believe.  The strong survive and the weak go to the wall.

BISHOP – Then what is the point of the weak even trying?

HASTUR – The point is you want to breath that sweet air and feel your blood pulse through your veins for the next minute and the minute after that.  You’ll do whatever you can to keep alive.  And because the strong aren’t all that strong.  If you want something bad enough and work hard enough you can survive.  But just remember not to believe the hype.  Remember who you are dealing with.  Me.

BISHOP – And how are you going to run the show?

HASTUR – I intend to simplify things.  I’m gonna get rid of all the make believe.  I’m strong enough not to need the divide and conquer stuff.  I’ll deal with all of you insects at once.  You’ll all get the same deal from me.  You do what I say and the game goes on.  You get to keep your little lives and hoard your crumbs.  But rock the boat and you’ll get my undivided attention.  Now that’s pretty fair.  You might almost call me a humanitarian.  I love all the little people.  Especially with tabasco sauce.  So don’t rock the boat.

BISHOP – Well folks you heard it here first.  Great Old One Hastur has laid out his agenda for his term as First Selectman of Dunwich.  And in retrospect it is surprisingly close to the policy that dearly departed First Selectman Cthulhu followed.  He tended to eat anyone who forced him to break his routine or questioned his orders.  I’m sure we all will adapt easily to this new management.  Meet the new boss, same as the old boss.

HASTUR – Sure.  When you think about it, it’s a better deal than you’re getting from Washington.  At least I don’t insist that you pretend to like being eaten alive.  Honest tyranny is preferable to fake democracy.  You don’t have to love Big Brother just stay out of Caesar’s way and live to pull a galley slave’s oar another day.  Besides you can dream about a revolt and how you’ll slit the throats of all the masters one day.  Doesn’t that sound like fun?

BISHOP – Yes, your excellency.  What could be better than that.

HASTUR – That’s the spirit Bishop.  You know I’m starting to like you.  How would you like to be my emissary to the humans.  It doesn’t pay much but if you follow orders, I’ll probably eat you last!

BISHOP – That’s an offer no one could refuse.

HASTUR – Literally.

Debate in Dunwich – Part 3

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BISHOP – Welcome to the second 2024 Debate between the candidates running for the office of Dunwich First Selectman.  I’m head moderator Uriah Bishop and I would introduce my four fellow moderators but they were eaten by candidate Hastur during the first debate.  Well, one wasn’t eaten but he started running as soon as the debate ended and by now, he must be somewhere over the Canadian border.  I will be running the debate but we have suspended all rules associated with the candidates’ actions out of naked fear of being ingested.  So, we expect a lively but chaotic night.

Tonight, our candidates are Hastur and Azathoth also known as the “Blind Idiot God,” but in a positive and non-judgmental way.  Seeing as Hastur scares me worst I will open up the debate by turning over the microphone to him.

HASTUR – Very good human, you managed to avoid immediate death.  Keep up the good work.  Well, Azathoth I see you’ve managed to scrape the cosmic barnacles off your face and show up for this debate.  What do you have to say for yourself?

AZATHOTH – Hey, watch that kind of talk.  Why in my day young whippersnappers knew enough to only speak when they were spoken to.  If you can’t keep a civil tongue in your head, I’ll take you out behind the Crab Nebula and teach you some manners, by gum.

HASTUR – Calm down sleepy Joe.  They don’t call you the Blind Idiot God for nothing.  If we squared off, you’d be lucky not to poke your own eye out with one of your claws.  Now let’s cut to the chase and tell the audience of puny humans what we each hope to achieve as “First Selectman.”  For instance, I hope to ban humans from adding artificial sweeteners to their foods and drinks.  All of these additives build up in human cells and always give me a headache if I have more than two or three humans at a meal.  Especially the female humans with their attempts to lose weight to attract a man.

AZATHOTH – Hey, what do you mean by stereotyping women that way?  That’s obviously sexist and it’s fat-shaming too.  What are you?  Some kind of agent of the patriarchy.  Why I oughta haul off and belt you one, you dog-faced pony soldier, you!  And why do you assume a woman is trying to attract a man.  Are you trying to deny the existence of the LGBTQ?

HASTUR – Okay that’s enough.

(Hastur closes with Azathoth and proceeds to dismember him.  First, he snaps off his lobster-like claws and then all of his remaining limbs.)

AZATHOTH – Ahhhhh!  Ahhhh!  You can’t do that to me.  I’m the supreme deity of the Cthulhu Mythos.

HASTUR – Yeah, yeah, yeah.  But you also taste really good baked with some dipping butter on the side.  So, everyone is invited to join me on the beach tonight for a good old seafood bake.  Bring your own bibs and I’ll provide the sides and beer.

BISHOP – Well, there you have it folks.  Hastur has taken to our New England customs and cuisine surprisingly quickly for an invading intergalactic demigod from another dimension.  And I for one applaud his generosity in hosting this party.  But I will not be attending.  There was no talk of what the side dishes would be and I don’t wish to tempt fate by ending up as one of them.  So, until the next debate this is Uriah Bishop wishing you a good night and nightmare free dreams.

Debate in Dunwich – Part 2

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BISHOP – Welcome to the first 2024 Debate between the candidates running for the office of Dunwich First Selectman.  I’m head moderator Uriah Bishop and along with my four fellow moderators I will be running the debate and handling the time clock and microphones.  We randomly selected the two contestants for tonight’s debate.  They are two of the former First Selectman’s closest relatives; his daughter Cthylla and his half-brother Hastur.

Before we get started I will just explain the rules of the debate.  Each candidate will be given two minutes to answer a question.  If the candidate exceeds that time he will have his microphone shut off and will be penalized a minute for the first offense and two minutes for his second offense.  On the third offense he will lose all right to answer questions.

(At this point Hastur moved toward the moderators’ dais and ate one of the officials.)

HASTUR – Now I will explain my rules.  Every time you say something annoying, I will eat some of you.  First offense I will eat one of you, as I just did.  Second offense two of you.  On the third offense I’ll eat all the rest of the moderators and probably most of the spectators.

BISHOP – Those are very convincing rules.  Can I start the questioning?

HASTUR – Certainly, my little dumpling.

BISHOP – Thank you your titanic excellency.  Cthylla, if you are elected First Selectman, what will be your first official act?

CTHYLLA – That’s easy.  I will change the job title to First Select Person!  We’re in the twentieth century here and this patriarchal sexism will be laid to rest!  And after that I intend to change the pronunciation of Dunwich so that you can hear the w.  I will enact a law that anyone pronouncing it “Dunitch” will be fined a hundred dollars.  Oh, and I intend to make rooftop solar panels and electric cars mandatory.  And …

HASTUR – Alright, that’s enough.  Listen you empty-headed boob.  Why should a Great Old One care what humans name their bureaucrats?  Or how they pronounce their absurd place names.  Basically, they’re cattle for us to herd and then devour.  And as for this stupid “election,” I’m doing this for fun.  If these insignificant maggots vote for anyone but me, I’ll flatten half of Dunwich as an object lesson and start eating a dozen of them daily until they come to me, en masse, and beg me to be their “First Selectman.”

CTHYLLA – Hastur, you can’t talk to me that way.  In the words of my favorite philosopher, my future as the leader of Dunwich is unburdened by what has been.

BOTH FEMALE MODERATOR – You go girl!

(Hastur, once again, ambles over to the Moderators’ dais and eats both female moderators.)

HASTUR – That’s two strikes.

BISHOP – Well, I think this concludes the question period of this debate.  I think we’ll proceed to closing arguments and I will ask Hastur to go first.

HASTUR – Cthylla you are a brainless nincompoop.  How my brother ever spawned anything as vacuous as you is inexplicable.  I recommend you spend your time trying to memorize which are your right and left legs and leave running the known universe to beings with the ruthlessness and intelligence needed to succeed.  If you are any indication of what the next generation of Great Old Ones is like then I shudder to think how we will conquer the giant Martian Beetle Men a billion years from now after I retire to R’lyeh.

BISHOP – Well, I think we should end here.  Although both candidates have spoken passionately, I think it’s fair to say that Hastur has driven home his argument, uh, viscerally.  And for that reason he will advance to the next debate when his opponent will be the Azathoth or as he is sometimes known the “Blind Idiot God.”

HASTUR – I like to call him “Sleepy Joe.”

BISHOP – Well said, well said.  Unfortunately, I will not be moderating at that debate due to a schedule conflict that is unavoidable.

HASTUR – You better avoid it or you’ll have an appointment with my alimentary canal.

BISHOP – I’ve just remembered a cancellation.  I’ll be there of course.

Debate in Dunwich – Part 1

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With the death of First Selectman Cthulhu a power vacuum has formed.  But not a metaphorical one.  The disappearance of Cthulhu has caused an actual rip in the fabric of space-time and various Great Old Ones and their allies and servants have been sucked into our space-time and hurled down to Dunwich.

Sighted so far are:

  • Hastur; the polypous, ravenous floating mass endowed with tentacles, drills, and suckers, or more frequently, as the King in Yellow, a humanoid being wearing tattered, yellow clothes and a mask hiding the face. He is said to be Cthulhu’s (half-)brother.
  • Idh-yaa; A gigantic, pale, worm-like horror dwelling beneath the crust of the star Xoth. She has been Cthulhu’s first bride, and with him spawned three sons—Ghatanothoa, Ythogtha, and Zoth-Ommog—and a younger daughter, Cthylla.
  • Yog-Sothoth; The “All-in-One and One-in-All”, co-rules with Azathoth and exists as the incarnation of time in the cosmos, yet is somehow locked outside the mundane universe.
  • Shub-Niggurath; The “Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young”
  • Nyarlathotep; The “Crawling Chaos”, is the avatar of the Outer Gods, existing as the incarnation of space and functions as an intermediary between the deities of the pantheon and their cults.
  • Azathoth; Sometimes referred to as the “Blind Idiot God”, is a dreaming monster who rules the Outer Gods, created them (along with many other worlds) and thus effectively serves as the supreme deity of the Cthulhu Mythos.

With these Great Old Ones wishing to succeed Cthulhu as the leader of storied Dunwich, these demonic beings have each filled out the necessary paperwork and paid the fees to be placed on the November ballot for the office of First Selectman of Dunwich.  The Town Clerk has posted the ballot in the Dunwich Complainer and a series of debates will take place.  But not in the Town Hall as is typical but rather in an open field on Sentinel Hill where the larger Great Old Ones can more easily fit.

Due to the short window for campaigning there was not sufficient time for any of the candidates to obtain the endorsement of either of the two major parties but since the Democrats are rightly considered the sowers of chaos, any monstrous entity would more or less qualify as a Democrat candidate.

When contacted by the Complainer, only Hastur made himself available for comment.  The polypous, ravenous floating mass endowed with tentacles morphed into his King in Yellow, humanoid wearing tattered, yellow clothes and mask hiding his face form.  But before speaking he morphed into a very Trump-like monster.  He was quoted as saying, “These debates will be the greatest debates and all these other Great Old Ones will be shown to be not very great.  In fact, except for me they will all be terrible.  They will all be like Sleepy Joe Biden; very confused and very stupid.  Especially Azathoth who really is the “Blind Idiot God.”  But he’s not really blind.  He’s just pretending to be blind for the sympathy.  Very sad.  By the end of the debate all of them will drop out and I will be first Selectman.  This I guarantee.”

We at the Dunwich Complainer will follow this race diligently and will shamelessly favor whichever candidate pays us the most advertising revenue.  Stay tuned for this titanic struggle.  Winner take Dunwich.

And with Strange Aeons Even Death May Die

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“Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn.

In his house at R’lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.”

 

“That is not dead which can eternal lie,

And with strange aeons even death may die.”

 

After yesterday’s post I received several communications from readers outraged at the manner in which such a venerable and iconic entity as the First Selectman could be allowed to leave this continuum.  Many simply refused to believe the facts such as they are and hang onto hope that Cthulhu lives.  As the quotes above attest there is a tradition that Cthulhu can remain inert for literally billions of years and still reanimate and wreak a terrible vengeance on mankind when the stars align just right (or just wrong).

Well, I will not speculate at this point on the Great Old One’s chances of resuscitation.  As Hamlet very cleverly noted, “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”  And if we add to heaven and earth the depths of hell, then we begin to list the span of infinities where knowledge of the First Selectman can be hiding.  And since I already miss the old villain a little bit, I’ll keep an open mind as to his chances of reintegration.  Let’s leave it there for now.

I have finally completed the herculean task to which I was yoked.  My spirit, such as it is, has rebounded measurably and I look around me to see the state of life in the here and now.  I note the same stale prattle about polls and bickering with the names Trump, Harris, Vance and Walz attached.  Frankly all of this is too tedious to even consider.  Let all of that stew for a while.

The summer wanes and school children are already frozen with existential dread at the approach of Labor Day.  But, this time of year is not without its charms.  I was forced to rise hideously early Tuesday morning and so I was out and about before 4:00 am when I happened to look up at the sky and was struck by the brightness of the stars and planets and their inspiring beauty.  If I had not been on an unavoidable mission, I might have stood there for a quarter hour and marveled at this arresting vision.  At that moment I was reminded of this aspect of reality and how these incomprehensible phenomena we call stars can be both the source of our lives and these beautiful beacons that light up the night sky that we so rarely bother to view.  So out of the most tedious and soul-crushing activities it is possible to experience a moment of primal joy and wonder.

But now I’ll spend a day or two catching up with my various duties.  Bear with me as I take up again the reins of my daily routine and restore order to my life.  I must write and trim some posts and schedule them and I must read up on any “news” I might have missed and try to draw inspiration from my surroundings and the important things that need to be said and done.

So good morning!

What Makes a Good Story?

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An eight-hundred-page book tells the story of a forty-inch-tall man traveling across a semi-mythical world to throw a ring into a volcano.  A famous play is the story of an overly proud king disowning his only loving child for not flattering him and then paying the price for it.  A three-thousand-year-old poem tells the story of a proud warrior being dishonored by a foolish king and the havoc that ensues in a famous war that includes gods and goddesses acting decidedly human.  A boy saves a princess with the help of a space pirate and a mystical monk long, long ago in a galaxy far, far away.  Two almost god-like races, one devoted to peace and truth and the other consumed by war and evil fight a war of extermination in the Milky Way galaxy over the course of billions of years.  A movie tells the story of seven samurai or seven cowboys agreeing to save a town from bandits with glory as the only reward.  A hen-pecked New Jersey grocery store owner sells everything he owns and travels 3,000 miles to California to buy an orange ranch that doesn’t have any oranges on it.  A man drags his wife and young son two thousand miles to an isolated hotel in the Rocky Mountains where they will all be the playthings of ghosts who want to add them to the spectral residents.

What do all of these stories have in common?  Well, almost nothing.  Each of them is a fairly popular work of fiction.  But otherwise, they’re all over the map in terms of plot, characters, genre and the societies they represent.  But what makes them successful stories is their ability to draw the reader (or viewer) into their worlds and spark human empathy.  It’s as simple as that.

We recognize Frodo’s humanity and cheer him on as he pits his tiny strength against titanic forces of evil.  We shake our heads at the pig-headed antics of Achilles and Agamemnon but we nod our heads at the recognition that war will take good men like Hector and make his wife a widow and his son an orphan.  We thrill to the heroics of a small band of warriors pitting their strength and skill against a small army of bandits, knowing full well that most of them will die in the battle.  We laugh at and at the same time see ourselves in a man constantly belittled and frustrated by everyone around him including his overbearing wife and annoying children who then stubbornly heads down the road to ruin only to be saved by fortune and his own indestructible sense that eventually it will have to be his turn.

So, what is the most important aspect?  Plot or character?  I used to think plot.  After all, we all like the quest and the action scenes and all the other hooks that draw us into the story.  But as I get older, I realize that if the characters are mere ciphers, then the hold thing devolves into a video game.  And it can be fun and exciting but on reflection it feels sort of meaningless.  Does it really matter how many monsters he fights if you don’t believe the hero is real?

So that’s the trick for the author.  Somehow you have to invest your heroes and villains with enough humanity to make your reader (or viewer) care.  Breathing life into a stream of words takes a bit of doing.  Usually, you have to take something from your own experience to make it seem real.  But when it’s done right it’s the rewarding part of writing.  Self-satisfaction.