Posts tagged ‘science fiction’
NEED A BEACH READ?
Need that book for the beach you won’t be able to put down?
Give New Moon Rising a try!
Here’s a taste.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Pasadena
A phone ringing in the early morning hours is seldom a harbinger of good news. When Wade’s phone rang at two thirty-five in the morning, he came out of a peaceful sleep and with dread, reached for the receiver.
“Wade, this is Jeff at the lab.” The excitement in the young graduate student’s voice spoke of disaster before he revealed the reason for his early morning call. “It may have started. We have seismic activity along the whole Hawaiian chain. We have earthquake activity measuring 8.6 on the Richter scale. It’s the strangest earthquake, associated with the islands, anyone here has seen. The earthquake occurred at 4:20PM Hawaiian time. We cannot pinpoint the origin. It’s a series of earthquakes occurring simultaneously beneath the whole island chain. There have already been reports of tsunamis from Midway Island, the Marshall Islands, and the Samoan Islands. New Zealand, Australia, Central America, and China are all bracing for a giant wave. No one knows if the tsunami will be as bad as 2004.”
Jeff responded, “This is amazing! Earthquakes like this have never been described before. No one will know what to expect.”
“Jeff, try to calm down. Juliet and I will be at the lab as soon as we can.
Have the proper authorities been notified?”
“Are you kidding? Every lab in the world recorded this event. Damage reports are already coming in from Hawaii and the damage is widespread.”
“We are also getting signs of volcanic activity around the dormant volcano you instrumented on the island of Hawaii. There have been reports of ash spewing from several volcanoes on some of the islands that haven’t had activity for hundreds, or in some cases, thousands of years.
Wade’s thoughts instantly went to Foster on Oahu. “Is there any report of activity of Oahu?”
“Koolau volcano on Oahu is reported to be putting out ash and smoke.” Wade finished by saying, “We’re on our way, Jeff.”
Wade tried to control his own emotions as he turned toward Juliet. She had propped up her pillow and was listening to the conversation. Just from hearing Wade’s end, she knew that the news was not good.
With fear in his voice, he said, “It looks like it’s begun.” He went on to tell her all that he knew from Jeff as they hurriedly dressed and set out for the lab.
As they approached the Geology Building, every window was illuminated. Wade noticed that the parking lot was already half full as they pulled into his
organized and assigned specific tasks.
A group was told to keep track of earthquake damage and aftershocks. Another was told to track tsunamis, and a third group was told to monitor the Hawaiian Islands for volcanic activity. Constant contact was established with labs in Australia, New Zealand and their colleagues in Japan. There was an attempt made to contact the lab in Hilo at the University of Hawaii—but the lines were out.
With all the phones and computers manned, order began to emerge from the chaos. Wade had a chance to inspect the seismic tracings from the earthquake beneath the Hawaiian Islands. They represented not a single quake, but a long series of overlapping quakes. The location was difficult to determine. The earthquakes occurred at a series of points beneath the Pacific Ocean surrounding the Hawaiian Islands. The character of these quakes fit into the scenario along with the other events that occurred, supporting Professor Humphries’ theory. They were unprecedented in modern time.
Wade stood in the lab, holding the tracings, and wondered about his brother and all the rest of the population of Hawaii, people in love with their paradise. So in love were the residents, that it may have cost countless lives to enjoy heaven on Earth just a little longer.
* * * *
Oahu
Foster continued to work at the surf shop and Heather at the bed and breakfast although each had little to do. Heather took her baby to work with her and found time to feed and care for him while she accomplished her tasks. The working conditions were ideal for caring for the baby. In fact, Lulu gave him so much attention, that if it weren’t for the fact Heather was breast-feeding; he would need no care at all.
Although life went on, there was a pall hanging over the islands knowing that its days might be numbered. Foster had become close friends with most of the surfers who congregated on the beach and shopped at the store. A few that were originally from the mainland returned home but all the native surfers chose to stay. For the most part, they were young men who loved the surf and sun and little else. When asked about their future, almost to a man, they talked about quality of life—not quantity.
Foster was working behind the counter one day while Joe was grabbing some lunch when his friend Rich Loana entered the shop.
“What can I do for you, Rich?”
“Just wanted to see if you’d be interested in doing some surfing later this afternoon. The waves are supposed to be great today.”
“I should be able to get away around four. I’ll meet you on the beach in back of the shop.”
“Sounds like a plan, Foster. I’ll see you then.”
After Rich left, Foster thought about a conversation he had with Rich months earlier, when the news of what might happen to Hawaii was released.
He had had similar conversations with a lot of the surfers he had gotten to know. One conversation with Rich stuck in his mind.
He’d asked Rich, “What will you do now, Rich?” “What do you mean—I’m going to surf.”
“No, you know what I’m talking about. When are you leaving?” “I’m not.”
“You can’t stay here, it’s not safe.”
“Listen Foster, I was born on this island, it’s my home, the only place I’ve ever lived. And surfing is the only thing I know how to do. I don’t have an education. I don’t have a skill. If I moved to the mainland, what would I do? I’d be a bum the rest of my life. I’m a bum here, but at least I have a chance to do what I love. If this theory is wrong – no harm done. If its right, I’ll be doing what I love doing right to the end.”
Foster found that most of the native-born Hawaiian surfers he talked to had a similar attitude. They were determined to embrace their ‘hang loose’ attitude of life right to the end.
* * * *
Traffic through the shop was light, had been for months. Three-thirty arrived and Foster told Joe he was thinking of riding some waves until Heather came home. “I don’t think I’ll be able to handle this crowd all alone,” Joe said as he looked around the empty store. “Go ahead; get your butt on the beach.”
Foster got a couple good rides before Rich showed up. They rode together for a while until Rich caught a wave that Foster missed. Foster paddled back out to deeper water turned toward the beach and was preparing to get up on his board
It was 4:20.
He could see Rich on the beach taking a breather, when his friend suddenly fell to the sand. Foster thought to himself, “What the hell is he doing now?” Then he noticed branches falling from the palm trees. In quick succession, the roof of the shop caved in leaving a pile of rubble where the shop and apartment had been. He quickly paddled to shore, and as soon as his feet made contact with the sand, he fell to his knees in the shallow water. He looked up and down the beach and the few people still standing were holding onto a tree or other stabilizing object with looks of shock and disbelief on their faces.
The trembling lasted minutes, but it seemed like hours. Time slowed as the Earth shook. The violent shaking subsided, settling down to series of lesser and lesser ripples of movement. Foster ran around front and found Joe sitting on the grass clutching a blood-soaked towel to his head.
“Is this what we’ve been waiting for?” asked Joe. Foster pointed to the south. “What’s that Joe, a fire?” “If it is, it’s one hell of a fire.”
Then they noticed pillars of smoke dotting the horizon.
“I think some of our dead volcanoes have come to life. Come on, we need to get to the B&B. Although the trembling had ceased, the trembling of both
men had not. A mixture of adrenaline, fear, and awe fed emotions waiting for months to be released. Both men knew in their hearts THIS WAS IT.
They hopped into Joe’s jeep and began the short drive to the bed and breakfast. A drive that should have taken minutes, took nearly an hour. The narrow road was littered with tree branches and debris from collapsed buildings and clogged with people walking, stumbling in a state of shock, and not knowing where to go or what to do. Screams could be heard from some of the partially collapsed structures, but for now, aid was nonexistent.
Joe could see the column of smoke issuing to the sky before his business came into view. As they turned the last bend in the road, there stood the B&B, or at least what was left of it, engulfed in flames. The men felt relief when they saw Lulu and Heather standing in the parking lot holding the baby. Their clothes were torn and they were both covered in soot, but they were safe.
They parked the jeep a safe distance from the fire and approached the women. Lulu was in hysterics, sobbing and could not be consoled.
“Thank God you’re all safe. It’s only a building,” Joe said as he embraced his frantic wife.
All Lulu could say over and over was, “Oh no, no, no.”
Foster noticed Heather was also crying. He hugged her and his son. Through choked-back tears, she explained what had happened. “Lulu and I were in the kitchen. Thank God we had the baby with us. We were preparing tomorrow’s breakfast when everything began to shake. Things fell off the shelves and the ceiling started coming down. We made it out just in time before the whole place came crashing down and began to burn.”
Lulu stood listening, clutching herself and moaning.
“A few hours ago we had the first guests we’ve had in a long time check in, a young couple from California, along with their five year old son. They went upstairs to get some rest before they began their tour of the island. They never came out.”
They all watched the burning structure as it caved in further. As the flames singed the nearby palms, they knew it was also a funeral pyre. Both women sobbed as the men stood helpless. Oahu and the rest of the Hawaiian Islands were also helpless, caught in the grasp of a power that was no longer a theory.
Here’s where you can buy it.
Thanks.
http://www.melange-books.com/authors/walttrizna/triznanewmoonrising.html
A NEW GENRE
While reading the May, 19 issue of Time over breakfast this morning, I came across an article which proved quite exciting for me. The article discussed movies released or soon to be such as Godzilla, Into the Storm and Snowpiercer.
In discussing these movies, a new genre was mentioned, at least new to me, cli-fi. This is a story of science fiction or fantasy dealing with a climate or environmental factor.
My novel, The Beast Awaits, which I sure you are all getting sick of hearing about, is about stem cell research gone bad leading to global warming. Is that a fit or what?
I plan to start working on a new query letter and will share it with you soon to see what you think.
THE BEAST AWAITS, AN UPDATE, SORT OF
Still sucking up library WiFi.
In reference to the last piece, The Beast Awaits, a novel I often refer to is written and already made the rounds to agents with a 100% rate of rejection, so far.
I had one publisher show interest in publishing the novel but, upon doing my homework, found they did not have a good reputation, so I declined.
You have to watch your ass, no one else will.
DISASTER IN REAL-TIME
In my novel, The Beast Awaits, I try to convey the atmosphere of impending doom which exits for populations thousands of mile away from the initial incident. As with everything I write it needs editing. I find that even to be true with work I have published. The process never stops. I recently had an experience which brought to mind the atmosphere I tried to create. I must go back and see if I can now find better words.
The incident I am referring to is the recent rash of tornadoes our country has experienced. I’ve always been a weather junkie and during the tornado outbreak I tuned to the Weather Channel. The meteorologists were following the storms in real-time, analyzing the radar and issuing warnings. A strange feeling crept over me as they recorded evidence of debris circulating in the air picked up by the tornado. These debris clouds were people’s lives being changed forever, perhaps the people themselves being destroyed, all as it actually happened.
Occasionally they would have people on the ground right after the storm passed and, together with the residents, survey the damage left behind. I sat in the comfort of my family room watching up to the minute changes in people’s lives.
In The Beast Awaits, I deal with events such as this and the emotions they create, the ‘I’m glad it’s not me’ feeling and try to convey the atmosphere that ‘your turn is coming soon’.
Car accidents also come to mind, how everyone slows down to survey the damage, mostly I’m sure glad with the ‘glad it’s not me’ feeling. In The Beast Awaits that emotion is short-lived, for just down the road will be your turn.
MY WRITING STYLE
Presently, I’m in a quandary about the subject of this piece, my writing style.
Every writer has his or her own style, the way of expressing in word the thoughts they are trying to convey. How does this characteristic of the author originate? Is it some deep-seated voice that represents your essence, or is it merely a manufacture of all the authors whose works you have read?
My reason for pondering this question is that I am in the process of editing my novel, Sweet Depression, and in this endeavor I am attempting to cure what others have pointed out to me as a major fault – my brevity. I tend to concentrate on the core of the story and leave out details that would give the story more life. But where is the line you must be careful not to cross when that life would morph into a boring existence?
Take a look at your bookshelves. If you’re as voracious a reader as I and share my fault of not being able to part with a book once read, those shelves are overflowing. Science fiction and horror are my writing genres, but lately some of my stories have spilled into the murky boundaries of the thriller. But back to science fiction. I look at the science fiction novels of fifty or more years ago and those of today and see a distinct difference. Older science fiction is more concise, more to the point. Of course, you have the epic series Dune written by Frank Herbert and continued by his son which are massive in length, tomes of a complex series. But I look at H.G. Wells’ War of the Worlds which is little more than a novella and see the more typical length of science fiction of a bygone era.
Recently I have talked to writers whose work are massive and needed to be cut for publication. My work doe not require deletion but rather addition. But how much to add without diluting down the story or slowing the action, that’s the quandary.
While thinking this piece through I may have come up with the answer to my problem. It is not the length that is important, rather the content and the skill of the writer. Talent is the bottom line. The writer must take the readers by the hand and lead them down a path without detours causing them to lose their way. And when the readers reach the end of that path, if the writer has been successful, they are left with a treasure.
THE STARS MY DESTINATION by ALFRED BESTER
I’m trying to include in my science fiction reading some of the classic works by some past authors in the genre. Science fiction has been with us long enough that it has a history we can follow and chart the progress of the genre incorporating prediction of the future and science fact, observing when fact becomes fact.
The book I presently wish to discuss is The Stars My Destination by Alfred Bester copyrighted in 1956.
In this work we find the main character, Gully Foyle, marooned on a derelict spaceship, its sole survivor. He thinks he is about to be saved when he spies an approaching spacecraft. He signals, but they just pass him by. Able to read the name of the craft, Vorga – T – 1339, his mind is consumed with the desire to revenge this abandonment. This becomes the overwhelming theme of the book.
Through the remainder of the book he survives by the twists and turns of fate and ultimately discovers why the spacecraft passed him by. The ship was about to dump 600 refuges into the blackness of space on the orders of the woman he falls in love with once he returns to earth, not knowing that she was the cause of his abandonment.
An interesting process introduced in this work is ‘jaunting’. This is the ability to think yourself to another location discovered by an individual caught in a precarious situation. He thinks of the safety of another location and suddenly finds himself there much to his surprise. However, this ability is limited by the fact that you must know the coordinates of the location you want to go to. You cannot go to the unknown, but Foyle somehow can.
THE GREEN BRAIN by FRANK HERBERT
The Green Brain another science fiction novel by one of the giants of the genre.
This novel deals with a subject overly used today, many times in the guise of making a profit. Right or wrong, that is my opinion. The subject Herbert deals with long before it was in vogue is the environment.
My paperback copy was published in 1966, with part of the story appearing in 1965 in Amazing Stories as a novelette, Greenslaves.
The story begins with the world wanting to protect the production of food from destruction by insects. Countries begin to eliminate all insects in farm areas and then populate the land with genetically altered bees. China is at the forefront of this effort and one of its scientists, Chen Lhu, travels to Brazil to assist in insect elimination. What he doesn’t reveal until far into the story is that the process does not work. This revelation only comes to light after he and other scientists are trapped in the jungle by strange insect populations. These insects, along with other bizarre occurrences are put into play by the green brain. This intelligence has the ability to manipulate insects and much more.
Herbert’s novel predates real world efforts to manipulate the environment with nonnative plant and animal species in order to control some condition in the habitat that man finds troublesome. More times than not the cure is worse than the problem.
One interesting sideline not pursued to a great extent but mentioned is the existence of a group of environmentalists called Carsonites.
Rachel Carson published Silent Spring in 1962.
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