The best ideas always seem obvious afterwards

I've been trying not to mention things like this, but then I just stopped and thought... why?

I don't like blogs which seem to pimp other blogs in some kind of blog circle-jerk--which is an horrific image and I'm sorry to inflict it on you (erm, but apparently not sorry enough to go back an delete it)--but hey, when you've got a great resource, why keep it to yourself?

I'll just let the title and byline speak for itself:
How To Kill Your Imaginary Friends--a writer's guide to diseases and injuries, and how to use them effectively in fiction.

It's run by Dr Grasshopper, who is an actual real-life doctor earning his money saving lives.  That means he's got an amazingly hectic life and if you ask him a question, you might not get an answer before your deadline.  But hey, if it's a good question, you'll get an answer. 

As someone with an unhealthy addiction to research, I have to be careful:  His posts tend to be to me what crack is to crack addicts. 

I mean, look at this:

Heme has a good affinity for oxygen for the purposes of oxygen transport: It binds oxygen tightly enough to carry it around, but loosely enough to let it go when it arrives at its proper destination. (This “oxygen + hemoglobin” combination is called “oxyhemoglobin.)

Enter carbon monoxide. Carbon monoxide is made up of one carbon atom and one oxygen atom. (The name tells you that, if you break it down.) Carbon monoxide also likes to bind to heme, in the same spot where oxygen likes to bind, right in the “pocket”.

Problem is, it binds WAY TOO TIGHTLY to the pocket, and is very difficult to release.

And that's why people die of carbon monoxide poisoning.  The molecules which make up our blood are able to hold onto oxygen just lose enough for us to exist.  And they hold onto other molecules far tighter.  Is there a more efficient system?  Could you use blood cells to transport tiny packets of molecules which hold data?  What would that feel like?  Why are our bodies seemingly looking for a chance to kill us?  Could you kill someone with carbon monoxide poisoning, and then oxygenate their blood to remove all traces of it?  What's so great about oxygen anyway--I mean, why do we need oxygen and not, I dunno, nitrogen?

One day, I'm just going to take a month of his posts and turn them into a story.  You know, just to get it out my system.

Bagsy bagsy bagsy!

While swimming in the gym yesterday, I was idly contemplating the Bambi stories.  Trying to think of an umbrella name for them.  In Bambi’s world, there are humans as we know them today, humans grown in factories and enhanced with technology, and machines put together in factories and enhanced with organics.  The latter two have, until now, been referred to as ‘post-organics’.   In the pool it struck me--I should call them techno sapiens!  I was over-whelmed with my genius for a good few minutes.  While I was in the shower afterwards, it occurred to me it’s so bloody obvious I’m not going to be the first to think of it.  Turns out I’m not, but there are only a couple of noteworthy hits on Google; mostly Google turns up usernames and record labels and things.  So, I’m claiming it!  It’s mine.  Mine mine mine! 

Actually (and in all seriousness), it’s kind of helpful.  You get post-organics which are sentient, and those which are a bit too simple to be sentient (they’re called bots, like spam bots).  I can use post-organics as an umbrella term for things from the factories, and techno sapiens for those with sentience.  (Sapien coming Latin, meaning ‘wise’, or ‘thinking’.  Thank you, Wikipedia.)

Terribly dull I’m sure, all this ‘writer’s stuff’.  Like the tiny cogs of any craft, fascinating to the maker, dull as Dilbert to the rest of the world.

That said, here’s some more...

I’ve been playing around with a new idea over the past few days.  I thought I’d post something up here about it, because that’s not normally something I do.  I normally scribble everything into a notebook and save it for no one’s eyes but mine.  I won’t go into details, but here’s the basic idea:

I’m calling it Stormy Weather.  I know that name’s taken and I need to look into that.  It’s set in a city--maybe Brighton, because I used to live there--and the main character is Emily Swan, who’s an old roleplay character of mine I’ve been keeping in deep freeze for a while.  She has a deaf dog, and Alsatian called Benito Mussolini, or Beni for sort, and she’s a talented drummer.  The basic idea with the story is that every day or so, at night, it rains heavy and hard.  Thanks to some technobable, the rains wipe everyone’s memories.  So almost every day, the entire population wake up not knowing who they are, why they’re there, what they’re doing.  They have to figure things out the best they can based on where they are, what they’re wearing, who they wake up with.  Sometimes memories linger, but they’re like dreams.  Be interesting to see how people live like that, I think.

If it comes to anything, I’ll see if I can post up some more about it. 

A £10 Bid for Freedom

Well, the start of next month--this Saturday--marks the start of what is being colloquially called ‘Fuck Food Month’.

This idea was born out of a rant I had one day in Scotland.  Flush with the cleansing feeling brought about by the lack of TV and internet, the fact I hadn’t even wound my watch since we’d arrived, deciding what to do that day when we woke up and congregated in the living room, I started looking around at the rest of my life.  What did I find?  Food.

You see, from before we’re born with indoctrinated with the idea that food matters.  What we eat, what we don’t eat, how much we eat, where we buy things from, how the things we buy are produced, how they’re transported... the list goes on.  Just a quick look around shows you how obsessed our society is with food.  Count how many food shops there are in your town--supermarkets, restaurants, fast food places, bakers, butchers...  How many adverts on the TV are about food?  How many shows are there about food?  Magazines?  Billboards?  People are even more obsessed over food than they are over sex, and that’s saying something.

Food aid charities keep running adverts saying, ‘£10 will feed a family for a month...’, or whatever.  Well, clearly then food is a choice, not a necessity.  When we’re eating, we’re sustaining our bodies and our brains.  Strip everything away, and that’s what you’re left with.  Anything above and beyond that is an indulgence in the experience of food.  In the taste, the texture, the preparation, the art and sensation of it.  When you look at the food you eat every day, and the way you eat it, it seems as if we’re being stiffed a bit.  The supermarkets have convinced us that choice of food is a human necessity, and have consistently lowered the standards of the foods offered, masked by an increase in choice.

I’ve decided that I’m not going to play any more.  For all of August, I’m going to be sustaining my body and my brain, not worrying about food and getting on with far more important things life has to offer.  I’m going to be breaking my psychological addiction to food.  I must have made some sense, because Allegra has decided to join me in the experiment.  Using the same tables and charts the food charities use, she has worked out our diet for the coming month.  Per day:
200 grams of rice;
250 grams of chickpeas;
150 grams of nuts;
to be supplemented with fresh fruit as and when we can.

I have high hopes, to be honest.  By the end of the month, I hope to have cleared away another chunk of the blinding smog society forces into our psyches without us even realising it.

I’ve already given up alcohol and meat.  That’s pretty mundane and, on the surface, makes me look a bit boring (or religious...).  I’m hoping I can eliminate more and more of this institutional smog my brain is so choked with.  I’m also hoping that if I eliminate enough, I will pass through ‘boring’ and into the eccentric side of ‘interesting’.

Surgery and Hacking

Just so you know, I’ve been working on Bambi VI recently. By working, I really mean ‘re-working’. I may even mean ‘re-writing’. How many words from the original work need to be left for it to be counted as the same piece? I’m taking out one half of the main story, putting in another one, putting in four extra characters who weren’t there before, changing the relationships between all the main characters... oh, yes, and tearing the whole world apart. Which includes the slaughter of millions of avatars--people who live solely in the digital world. They have souls, so they’re people. But, more significant than that, Bambi goes from tricking her mother into killing herself to convincing her to choose life and sacrifice her pedigree. That’s kind of like getting Jerry to save Tom’s soul.

Tomorrow, Allegra, ngaio and I are off to Chester for a barbeque with the 1816 Society, being the S.T.E.A.M.C.R.E.W. It’s a chance for us Steampunks in the North West to get dressed up, talk about reshaping society and who would win in a fist fight between Darwin and H.G. Wells, and eat corn cobs and sweet potatoes. And, of course, have the odd beverage and cup of tea. I made a Battenberg for the occasion. I hope it goes down well.

Maybe I can find some more converts for my ‘Steampunk Quantum Leap’ pet project. It has to be done, and it will be awesome. By ‘pet project’ I mean, of course, idea I like to get heated and rant incoherently about. Alfonse--Al--will be ‘magic lantern’ 2D projection onto flat surfaces and will chomp on a pipe, and he will communicate with the project’s difference engine ‘Bierce’ through his walnut hand communicator which gives off the occasional hiss of steam. Alfonse: “Samuel, Bierce says that there’s a 96.4% chance that you’re here to ensure Miss Feathering-Smithe attends the passing out ball on Tuesday... as the timeline currently rests, she sprains her ankle and misses the ball, and never meets Jonathan, her husband and inventor of the clockwork match-striker--which was inspired by his wife!”...and, Samuel: “I’ve leapt into the body of Charles Darwin... Egads!”

The London Adventure

London was a different world to me.  There was such a huge variety of people all doing their own thing.  Almost half of them were plugged into their phones, Nintendo DS, mp3 player...  The other half stared blankly into space, into books or at the person with them.  Everyone was going somewhere, and only worried about arriving. 

The thing which struck me most were the smells of London.  I’d start off at one end of a street with beer and cigarette smoke, and pass through grilled meat, perfume, cars, buses, spices and a whole host of other things I couldn’t identify.  And what is it that the Tube trains smell of?  There’s some grease around the edges of it, maybe some copper, something with hints of rubber and something sharp...  The Tube smells like the Tube. 

I spent my time on the trains and the streets like a kitten in a catnip patch.  I guess the locals can be as angry at me as I get with the tourists who amble down the Welsh roads at 20 m.p.h. while they stare stupidly at the mountains.


Castlevania and Crossbones

Out in Finchley, it smelt of rain and hedgerows.  We had a twenty minute walk to the arcade through tree-lined avenues and the occasional passing car, only to find that the machine was long-gone.  It was a shame, but Allegra took it very well.  We played on the Silent Hill shooter instead, pumping pound coins into the machine as Pyramid Head killed us.

That left the evening free to visit Crossbones.  It was a haunting experience.  The gates were tightly shut but covered in flowers, epitaphs, ribbons, candles and photographs that other people had left for the dead.  Ordinarily, I don’t think the dead can hear.  When they’re close, though, my conviction slips away.  Allegra and I borrowed a pair of ngaio’s nail scissors, (eventually) drew some blood with them and left it at the gates.  I don’t have an explanation for why I did that.


The Espresso Book Machine

Before we left, the EBM had me excited.  With the machine, a publisher no longer has to commit to huge print runs.  You can go into the shop, pick the book you want, have it printed and then leave with it.  I had the idea of shelves being stacked, not with books, but with flashcards showing the front and back covers, the bookshop resembling a Blockbuster more than a library.

My whole experience was terribly British.  I picked out the book I wanted before leaving, and had a map to the store.  I went in, Allegra found the machine and I waited patiently for someone to serve me.  Eventually, I hunted someone down who told me that the someone I needed was on their break, but she’d find him for me.  Ten minutes later, he came back from his break, checked the EBM library and told my assistant--who then told me--that they couldn’t print the book I wanted and did I want to order it instead.  Rather defeated the point, I thought.  I could do that at home.

And that’s what I left thinking.  I go to a bookshop to smell the books, hold them, flick through the pages and be snagged by the covers.  If I want a specific book... I go to Amazon, or eBay, or Play, or Google Shopping, or anywhere else on-line.  The only advantage the EBM seems to have over other print-on-demand is that you have to go to the store to pick up your book.  That's a real... um... pain in the arse?  I think the EBM is going to be an odd side-track on the evolution of publishing rather than the linotype I thought it was going to be.


Natural History Museum

The Natural History Museum was great.  I secretly liked Museums when I was a kid.  Every display I walk past, I read and am fascinated by.  I slowly made my way through the human body exhibit, then the dinosaurs, then the natural world and then the restless Earth.  The human body exhibit hadn’t changed since I saw it in around 1992, when I thought Terminator 2 was the best thing in the world, ever.  I walked over the dinosaur skeletons and watched the arms of a iguanodon shake like it was still alive.  The natural world told me a bunch of stuff about global warming I knew already, and the restless Earth showed me how rocks are made and how the planet’s core is mainly iron. 

When we look out to the horizon, the Earth looks flat.  Time’s like that, I think.  Things seem static and set, but only because we’re too small to see the curvature of time’s arc.   Like Eratosthenes, we can prove time’s curve but we can’t observe it.  Maybe one day, we will be able to. 


The Ballet

The ballet was interesting.  The dancers twisted and contorted like creatures from Silent Hill.  I didn’t know humans could move like that without being possessed by forces of evil.  The dance itself explored the evolution of imagination, mathematics, relationships and the space they exist in as they touched each other.  Interesting, but I think I still prefer Giselle.

We were pushed for time, but needed to eat before the performance.  We found an Indian buffet, and I filled up a plate with food, ate it, polished of half of ngaio’s and left within ten minutes.  Yes, I am proud of myself.


Docklands and Doughnuts

On Sunday morning we sat on the Docklands Light Railway from Bank station to the train’s terminus, and then rode it back again.  I watched the houses, apartments, warehouses, gardens, office blocks and rivers go by my window.  I gawked at the Isle of Dogs as it jutted out of London like Superman’s Fortress of Solitude.  This random mash of new developments, history and organic human cultural growth is what London has always been for me.  The HSBC building, stations with names like Heron’s Quay and Mudchute, an old abandoned boat lying in the low tide and covered in plants, rows of Victorian terraced houses with their satellite dishes and washing in the gardens, gaudy new apartment blocks full of city boy wankers and DKNYs...  The DLR ride was definitely a high-light.

Waiting in London Victoria for the train back, we visited the Krispy Kreme stall and picked up doughnuts for the office.  All in, I think we ended up buying five dozen, not counting the few single ones we brought.  The people who served us--Martin and Leena--were wonderful and gave us free tea and coffee.

And the rest...

The falafel place was indeed fantastic and well-worth seeking out.  Opposite it, ngaio found a shop selling specialist loose-leaf teas and coffee.  Yes, it was Heaven and of course I spent money I shouldn't.  The Bridge Cafe lost out to time, unfortunately.

Now I’m utterly skint, but very glad I went.

Bubbles

Not the monkey.

Anyone else remember the dot-com bubble? How it popped and everyone ended up with bubble juice on their faces?

Now the housing market bubble is bursting. Negative equity is being handed out like swine 'flu at Scotland Yard (...because, you know, police, pigs... see what I did there?). Then there was the South Sea Bubble.

I'm reading this article by the Really-Grand-Pointy-Hat Archdruid of the Incredibly Ancient Order of Druids in American who Really are a Real Religion Honest (founded 1980). I'm only about a third of the way through, but he's made the point that when we run out of fossil fuels we're going to have to abandon our motorways and trains. When they're gone, we're going to have to turn back to canals and other 19th century technologies.

Maybe we're in a fossil fuel bubble. Artificially inflated and due to pop soon, with all the normal wailing and gnashing of teeth and bubble juice going everywhere.

Bubbles always pop. It’s in their nature.

I don’t feel so bad about the end of the carbon-eating world now. It’s just another cycle running its course.

The government will know everything about you

Allegra (my SO) and I were driving home from a long, lovely day of Beltine celebrations yesterday, and my mind was wandering:

ME: They should make cars with plug sockets in them. I mean, on a long trip I’d have my sat. nav.--if I had one--plugged into my cigarette light, my mp3 player plugged into my cigarette lighter, my mp3 player charger plugged into my cigarette lighter... I should have little plugs on the dashboard where I can just have them all plugged in.

ALLEGRA: Yeah, but they’re not going to do that. They’d just have a particular spot to plug your iPod in.

ME: Oh, Gods, you’re right. Ford will enter into an unholy alliance with Apple. If you drive a Ford, you’ll need to own an iPod, a Mac, use iTunes... it’s terrifying because it’s true.

But it goes beyond that. When you take your Ford in to be repaired, they’ll ask for your iPod because the car downloads diagnostic info to it. Don’t have an iPod? Sorry sir, can’t service your car.

And it would make so much sense to have your iPod talk to Google Maps and Google Traffic (give it a few months). Of course, you won’t be able to turn off the traffic announcements any more than you can when they come through the damned car radio. And then, of course, your iPod will talk to Twitter. It can automatically upload your location, your speed and what song you’re listening to. You’ll be able to search Twitter for useful info: ‘between junctions 9 and 10 on the M25, the most popular song at the moment is Chris Rea’s, ‘Road to Hell’. Amazon will be listening to Twitter and looking for patterns. ‘People who like this roundabout also liked... Do you want to download these songs?’

It won’t be long before you can run some other random car your stuck behind’s number plate through your magical iPod, find out what song they’re listening to, where their going and how long they’ve been going there, and Tweet insulting messages to them.

The future: combining road rage and flame wars. Coming to a motorway near you soon!

On another note, check out DM of the Rings. It’s wonderful. It’s amazing. It’s hilarious. It's the entire trilogy as a D&D game. There's no room for fail in that equation.

On My Lunch, I Lay By the Lake and Listened to the Birds

Permanence is the problem.

We want things to last. When we have a good day, we want it to last forever. We want the good things in our life to always be there. That leads us to wanting to expel the bad things. And that leads us to want to control, and believing we can control.

We want the friend we make today to be a friend tomorrow. We want the lover we take today to love us tomorrow.

I had a moment, about three minutes’ worth, when I thought about a world where we didn’t crave permanence. Where we just took what life was offering us right here, right now, and made the most of it.

The lover we take today may be indifferent to us tomorrow. They may be someone else’s lover, and why would we worry about that? I was walking down the road, kicking a pine cone. There were birds singing, and cars passing a street away. The sun was shining, but the wind had a chill. A few spots of rain had fallen on me.

The lover we take today may wake up with us tomorrow, and we can fall in love all over again. The enemy we made yesterday can be the shoulder we cry on today.

And everyone’s okay with this, everyone expects this and everyone understands this, so why should there be any problems?

Then I got back into work, and sat down at my desk. Some days I love work, and some days I hate it. I just put on my work persona and it doesn’t matter.

But maybe, the secret me can discover coffee for the first time. Maybe he can appreciate the kindness of a co-worker without qualms, without history and without suspicion. It’s a big ask, but when I was kicking my pine cone I was quite content. There was me, the cone, the sounds and the sun, we all had our place and it was all good. ‘Content’ is a way station I would very much like to reach.

The Cold Hand of Evolution

Myostatin-related muscle hypertrophy... It's a genetic condition which gives sufferers 40% more muscle mass, with no negative side effects.

I sometimes worry that human kind is stagnating itself, declaring anything outside accepted norms a 'deformity' and treating it into extinction. With seven billion people in the world, one-in-a-billion chances happen occasionally. Eugenics is probably a step too far, but we should be seizing these opportunities.

Of course, the masses rule and turkeys wouldn't vote for Christmas. I just thought it was interesting and worth remembering. There's a thought experiment which might lead to a story in there somewhere...