Category: Life

  • Anniversary…of sorts

    I dug up an old diary a few months ago.  From time to time I’ve tried to keep one of these, sometimes going so far as to try for journal status, but I just can’t seem to sustain it.  So there are these relics lying about that occasionally unearth that give me a glimpse into what daily weirdness I was into back in 19—

    The 20th Century.   That’s when I did a great deal of this sort of thing.  I suppose ultimately that my own life bores me while I’m living it.  Or maybe I’m too busy living it to record it.  Whatever.  But this one is from 1988, which was a Very Important Year for me.

    Here is the entry for February 20.

    Paul’s Books—Billy Budd, DesCartes, ets.  Gravois Bootery.  Gym,

    Well, well, well!  Call me a red-tailed gibbon!  Clarion—the fools—accepted me.  They have no idea what they’re letting themselves in for.  Nor do I.

    Twenty-one years ago (yesterday, technically, but I didn’t have time to write this till today) I received my acceptance from Clarion.  As you may see from the link, they’re in San Diego now, but then it was in Michigan, MSU specifically, in East Lansing.  It was a very nerve-wracking time.  I’d sold exactly four short stories up till then, one of which had been to a pro magazine, fetching a handsome check, but never saw publication because the magazine went belly-up.  (Actually, the story was eventually published in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, but in an altered version.)  I was getting desperate.  I didn’t know why I couldn’t sell.  So I applied to Clarion, figuring that if they rejected me I’d give up.

    They took me.  I went, I learned, I started selling stories.  Now it is 21 years later.

    I’ve just finished a substantial rewrite on a novella, per request.  It’s such a thorough rewrite that it might as well be a new story.  If the editors in question take it, it will be my first new sale in a few years.  But working on it has served to remind me, viscerally, why I like writing so much.  So I’m jazzed again.  I’ll try to maintain it through more stories and a new novel or two.

    So happy anniversary to me.  Clarion made a difference.  It’s a good date.

  • New Words

    I’ve been working on a novella lately and this past week I found myself fully immersed in it.  I found the groove, so to speak, and have been barreling ahead with considerable glee.  It’s the thing about writing I most love and the thing that hasn’t been there for several months, not since I finished my historical and mailed it off in May.  Even before that it was sporadic.

    But I’ve slipped into the stream on this one and I owe it to a couple of perceptive editorial remarks from the people to whom I’d like to sell it.  That part I haven’t had for years now.  The last time I receive decent editorial feedback was from the folks at BenBella, who published Remains.  They did a thorough and remarkable job editing that book and made it better than my original.

    I haven’t placed much of anything in the last few years.  My numbers really suck for most of my novels and because of the tracking system now in place everyone knows it.  I’m thinking that one of these months I will pass into the oblivion of being deleted from the system, so I might get a fresh start.  But I am running out of patience for that.

    One of the things I’ve had enormous difficulty with since about 2004 is short fiction.  Just haven’t been able to finish a short story.  My hope with this novella is that the block will break and I can start doing short stories again.

    I tend to think in Big Ideas, and generally a short story doesn’t have the carrying capacity for them, so they kind of wallow and sink before I can bring them into dock.  This novella does has a Big Idea, but at 25,000 words it had the size to carry it.  I hope so, anyway.  I have half a dozen short stories at least in various stages of completion and I would like to have the mental space to finish them and get them out.

    But for the moment, I’m having fun with a new story.  Stayed tuned.

  • No, um, well, You Know What Over 18!!

    I have said for years that the convulsions of the Religious Right over abortion has less to do with fetuses than with sex.  Now that we have proof over time that Abstinence Only education DOES NOT WORK, these folks have decided that rather than recant they will go on an even wilder offensive by attacking university level programs.

    All I can do anymore is shake my head and wonder  “Just what is it with these people?”

    But what really annoys me are the many politicoes who go along with this nonsense and can’t seem to muster the nerve to tell them to, well, fuck off.  I mean, really—they can’t honestly be that numerous.

    Or can they?

  • Reading On The Rise

    According to this report, reading is on the rise in America for the first time in a quarter century.  It’s difficult for me to express how pleased this makes me.

    Civilization and its discontents have been in the back of my mind since I became aware of how little reading most people do.  To go into a house—a nice house,well-furnished, a place of some affluence—and see no books at all has always given me a chill, espeically if there are children in the house.  Over the last 30 years, since I’ve been paying attention to the issue, I’ve found a bewildering array of excuses among people across all walks of life as to why they never read.  I can understand fatigue, certainly—it is easier to just flip on the tube and veg out to canned dramas—but in many of these instances, reading has simply never been important.  To someone for whom reading has been the great salvation, this is simply baffling.

    Reading, I believe, is the best way we have to gain access to the world short of physically immersing ourselves in different places and cultures.  Even for those who have the opportunity and resource to travel that extensively, reading provides a necessary background for the many places that will be otherwise inaccessibly alien to our sensibilities.

    A book is a significant encoding of someone’s mind.  A life, if you will, which is why I tend to see bookburning as a form of homicide (euphemistically, mind you, but that’s about how strongly I feel about it).  When you read a book—and in this instance I mean a book of fiction or memoir or essay, something written in response to a desire or need to communicate something of the self (as opposed to instruction manuels or the like)—and comprehend what is there, you are sharing something profound with another human being whom you may never—can never, sometimes—meet.  The characters live when you let them, they walk around in the imagination, they show you things and take you places and teach.

    Oh, yes, they teach.  They give us the opportunity to know different kinds of human being, in different ways, and while we might not embrace those ways or people or wish to emulate them, we can know them.  Deep reading opens the world for us.

    Movies and television do not do this.  Not that they can’t, mind you, but because we are passive receptors to what passes pre-digested before us, our participation—our active interrogation of the text, if you will—is barely brought into play.  Where in reading we must participate by “decoding” what is on the page and partner with the author is bringing the images to life in our own imaginations, film does all that for us.

    For those who are deeply read or deeply sensitive, what can be derived from film and theater can certainly be rich in its own way, but I have found over time that those who read as much as they watch have richer reactions to what passes on the screen, have better conversations about what they have just seen, have more to bring to the piece than those who do not read.

    Reading builds intellectual muscle in ways that cannot be done by other media.

    This is, perhaps, mere personal prejudice, but I think not.  I think the broad, multifaceted internal lives developed by the habit of reading over time makes us better able to understand more of the world around us.

    Granted, one could spend one’s life reading nothing but one kind of thing, being stuck in a rut with a single strand of literature, and thus trapping the very process which reading ought to enable…

    But to not read at all seems to me a self impoverishment.  A tragedy.

    So for me this NEA report is nothing but excellent news. For the first time as a reader and writer and an advocate of reading, I am hopeful that I will not be continually in a shrinking minority.

    It’s a good day.

  • Attic Thoughts

    Doing the Shelfari thing has been both fun and frustrating.  I always prided myself on my memory, but it amazes me to discover just how porous it really is.  Titles keep occurring to me at odd moments now that I’ve got my hard drive working on all this recall.  Plus the annoyance of remembering titles but being unable to recall having actually read the book.

    For instance, there is a host of books which were required reading in high school that I may well have gotten out of reading because I had read so much other material that the extra credit book reports forgave my lapses re the syllabus.  A Separate Peace for instance.  I know there was a session on it my sophomore year, but I don’t think I actually read it.  There are others.  And many of them I do not own anymore, so I can’t browse them (at least at the moment) to see if that triggers the memory.

    Then there are novels I know very well I read but don’t have a single line from them.  Most of these are in the “classics” category.  For example, I know I read Madame Bovary but…and I have that one and as I go through it, my mind is a blank.  Willa Cather is the same way.

    On the one hand, this is kind of thrilling, because it means I can reread those novels as if they were brand new to my experience.  On the other hand, do I really want to?  I have read Henry James, I know I have.  Turn of the Screw to be sure, but only the wispiest traces remain in memory.  I was left with such a foul taste from him, though, that I doubt I would want to revisit him.  There are others in that category.  Gogol.  Dostoevsky.  Solzhenitzin.  The Russians are less because I found them impenetrable than simply bleak and depressing.

    On still another hand, I’ve been recalling books I had totally forgotten about until I put my mind to remembering them.  The Mary Stewart Merlin trilogy, for one thing, which I remember now with great fondness, but which hadn’t crossed my mind in 25 years.

    The shelf is now over 1600.  I’ll probably ardently pursue titles until I hit 2000, then lay off for a time.  Even that would leave a great deal unremarked.  I don’t find that too shabby at all.

    But perusing the lists, it is so clear where my preference lay.  It is predominantly science fiction.  No surprise, really.  But there are some classics of SF that I haven’t read, either.  A Canticle For Liebowitz, Alas, Babylon, The Left Hand of Darkness…these books are now or once were on my physical book shelf, but I simply never got around to reading them.

    So much to look forward to.  I can’t afford to die till I’m a hundred at this rate.

  • Face Book

    Busy morning.  I like it when I find myself working in a groove that doesn’t give me time to think about what isn’t working.  Not today.

    Over a foot of snow is now lying like a serene comforter over everything outside.  Fluffly, white, very beautiful—if you don’t have to go out in it.  I am a snow humbug.  After learning to drive and struggling through a few winters way back then, I quickly lost my love of snow.  Pain in the ass.  Would be nice to look at, but go out in it?

    Anyway, yesterday I had a snow day from work.  So I took care of a lot of pending stuff, including laundry.  This morning I’m finishing up the pending stuff.  I wrote a new book review and emailed it off to my editor.  And I am busily building a…

    FACEBOOK PAGE!

    Yes, indeed.  One more bit of distraction to make the writing of great literature a bit more difficult to get to.

    Not really.  Once the shiny wears off, it’ll be much like the other online pages I now have, like my MySpace Page and my Shelfari Page and my LinkedIn Page…

    I’d been told, though, that all the “serious” people were on Facebook, as opposed to MySpace, and I must admit that so far that seems to be true.  I’ve found many more of the sorts of folks I’d wanted to link to on MySpace but couldn’t, because they weren’t there, here on Facebook.  So cool.

    I really should just sit back now, though, and see how many friend invites I actually get.  I’ve cast my net to many and sundry and various to at least establish a friend list, but I ought to go write some fiction and let this thing churn.

    On another front, I finished a couple of new books for review.  Jack McDevitt, who is a very nice man and a reliably entertaining writer, had Ace send me his most recent, The Devil’s Eye.  It was a quick, enjoyable read, smart people’s SF, and I intend to do a few paragraphs for the Post.

    I finished Ian McDonald’s collection Cyberbad Days last week.  I already wrote two reviews of it and sent one off.  I’ll add it to the one I do for Jack.  I need one more for the roundup…

    Have to go to work today.  The sun in shining, it’s a tad warmer.

    I’m rambling here.  But what the hell.  Last night we watched episode #2 of Lie To Me, the new series with Tim Roth as a specialist in lying.  All the scientific acumen of his cinsiderable gifts are applied each week to determine who is lying and, more importantly, what about.  I can’t help wondering how much grief this show might cause among people who, after a few episodes, will start applying some of these techniques in their own lives.  Calling someone out for a lie can be a dicey proposition.  Even when we know they’re lying, how often do we know why?  And how often would calling them on it do the slightest bit of good?

    I don’t know.  I’ve wrestled with this one for decades.  But it’s an amusing show.

    The thing about these new shows—and there are several of them that all rely on the heightened experience of a trained observer, like Bones, The Mentalist, Eleventh Hour, House—is that while I applaud the foregrounding of rational observation and and a hardnosed skeptical approach to life these series embody, you have to realize that the degree of observational skill these characters bring to the task is the equivalent of an expert martial artist.  Most people are not that observant.  And even when they are, how many people know how to correctly interpret what they’re observing?  It’s the thing that made Sherlock Holmes both fascinating and alienating.  Holmes explained early on in the series that he refused to remember any detail that did not directly bear on his chosen pursuit—which meant he was, in this instance, unaware that the Earth moved around the Sun and, now that Watson had told him so, he intended to forget it as quickly as possible.  It made him strange, weird, offputting, and Conan Doyle played on that skillfully.  It’s the one thing the Basil Rathbone portrayals got wrong and expunged and the thing that Jeremy Brett brought to the forefront, which makes the Brett portrayal superior.

    In the case of House, who is in many ways a direct copy, it just makes him obnoxious.

    And not really a very good doctor…

  • In This Corner…

    Recently I engaged in yet another cycle of debate with someone who insists that science is a religion.

    This is a tiresome argument on one level because it is one with all sorts of things that fall under the category of “I know it when I see it.”  But on another level, it’s a rather interesting question.  Not that science itself, as practiced by people who understand it or appreciated by those who don’t practice it but at least have a grasp of its nature, is a religion, but certainly people make religions out of all sorts of things.  So the question arises, what are the necessary and sufficient constituent elements of religion?  And which of those constituent elements does science (a) possess or (b) lack?

    On the one hand, I’d like to be able to shut down the folks that blithely,without thought, make that allegation, that science is a religion.  On the other hand, I am interested in the psychology of religious adherence.

    It would be easy to say the one element both share is Faith.  One has to believe that something is efficacious in order to base one’s thoughts, ideas, or life on the principles embodied by a given discipline.

    I dismiss this out of hand because a lifetime of rubbing up against religious folk has convinced me that, for many (especially those who make this particular argument) faith alone is not sufficient.  It’s not enough that you express a belief in a religious philosophy, you have to demonstrate it.  You can’t sit at home on Sunday and be a good believer, you have to show up where the others can see you being a believer, and mouth the words they all mouth, and show them that you believe.  Ironically, of course, this is proof of a sort, something faith is supposed to do without.

    Faith wavers, but that alone does not make it unreal, so it is clear that people put their faith in many things—family, friends, money, political ideologies, the Lottery, the fact that the sun will appear in the morning—but these things do not constitute religions.  (One can jokingly make a case for any of them, but there are no churches associated with most of them except by the longest stretch.  I’ve made the case before that sports constitutes a religion—people get passionate about it, build great cathedrals for the practice of it, attend services regularly, and argue doctrine [designated hitter, college basketball ranking for the finals, etc]—but obviously, though some folks treat it that way, they do not believe regular observance at football or baseball games will get them to heaven after death.)

    Religious faith is supposed to stand regardless of challenge.  The kind of faith science engenders requires that adherents be willing to ditch a belief if it is proven wrong.  Semantics aside, that’s a clear difference.

    But religion embodies things other than faith and that’s where it gets thorny.  Why isn’t science a religion?

    Does it have a priesthood?  You could make a case for that.

    Does it have associated ritual?  Yes, certainly—peer review if nothing else.

    Does it have worshipers?  Fans, certainly, and I suppose you could say that any collection of amateur devotees can be said to worship something if they go far enough.

    Does it demand worshipers?  Ah, well, depending who you ask….

    To what end would the worship of science lead?

    Do worshipers derive the same sort of warm comfort from science as they might from religion?

    We’re getting into questions of sociology now.  Which leads to a question of intent.

    Do scientists actively seek to build a community of worshipers?  I would say not.  Supporters, yes, but they prefer supporters who understand what they’re supporting.

    Do scientists insist that the trappings of science be inculcated in daily life?  Like, for instance, rosaries or St. Anthony medallions, crucifixes on bedroom walls, a Bible in the house?  Do they argue over which trappings are important?

    We get into a fairly complex arena of interchangeable motifs.  Anything can be retasked for a purpose for which it was not originally intended.  So you might argue that while a religion always intended that its trappings be seen and used as objects in support of worship, this is not the case in science.  If people subsequently embue such things with an aura of religious potency, this is clearly a mis-use per the original intent.

    So is it the continuation of original intent, allowing for slight modification over time, that informs a religion with its particular identity?  Perhaps.  This can also be seen as a transmission of ideas over time, which certainly science relies on as well.

    We reach a point, again, where just about anything can be described functionally as a religion if we deconstruct it sufficiently.  By the same token, we can do the reverse, and argue that anything is merely a manifestation of community involvement in matters of importance to that community, which renders even religion as nothing more than a kind of tribal custom, meaningless outside the context of a given community, no different at all from politics, music, theater, art…or science.

    Those who claim that science is a religion are not making anthropological observations.  They are engaging in an attempt to bring science to a level with religion, make it the same as religion, and thereby stripping science of any special capacity to challenge religious claims.  The fact that it really does get difficult to state a necessary and sufficient condition for what constitutes a religion makes it equally difficult to debate the point clearly for lay people.

    The one element I have not mentioned is god.  (Forgive me, I always spell that with a small G because it is not, to my mind, a proper name.  It is a designation of a concept.  Which god?  Zeus?  Queztelcoatl?  Odin?  Vishnu?  They are all proper names for gods.  By the same token, I tend not to capitalize “human” for much the same reason.  It is a category.  Over time, the plethora of gods have gradually been subsumed into a concept, at least by many people, of one god, and yet…it is a category.)  The inclusion of god (or gods) into the make-up of all the foregoing descriptors inevitably characterizes those agglomerations of doctrine and ritual and architecture as religions.

    There is no god in the necessary and sufficient descriptors of science or scientific practice.

    Metaphorically, much literature alludes to false gods—money, power, certain idols, celebrity, etc.  But in all these it is implicit that the objects in question are not gods, but are only seen as such by those who are being judged as worshipers by those who disapprove of that worship.  Fair turnabout would then argue that if a religious person making that argument really believed that the bestowal of godhood onto one of these objects is sufficient to define it as a religion, albeit a false one, then you must admit that it is only such bestowal of godhood on the accuser’s object of worship that makes it a god as well—hence no actual deity, only the assertion of a believer.  Not wanting to open that particular can of worms, I think most religious people who condemn false gods admit, at least to themselves, that really the objects in question aren’t gods even to those who seem to be worshiping them.  At most they are distractions.

    No, it is the assertion that there is an actual deity that separates the concepts.

    But it does pose a most interesting question—is god real if no one believes in it?

    The religious will say yes, absolutely.

    The scientist will likely say probably not.  The scientist will say Show me proof.  If none is forthcoming, belief is not so much denied as never credited.

    Functionally, then, we come to a clear difference.

    And yet, the argument continues.  Why?  Because there is strife between them.  They both represent differing views of the Real.  Religion seems incapable, as a discipline, of regarding any challenge to its hegemony as anything other than a religion.  Religion can only be legitimately displaced by another religion.

    It cannot be ignored.  It cannot be sidestepped as irrelevant.  It cannot be seen as obsolete.

    Which it is not.  But for those who insist on categorizing science as a competing religion, there is very little traction out of their own extinction.  In my opinion, they have missed the point of both religion and science and have been conscientiously digging a rut for themselves ever deeper.

    For the benefit of both, I believe, a sound distinction should be found.  Perhaps there is one that answers all the questions I’ve put forth here.  I am one of those who basically “knows it when I see it” and find it difficult to succinctly characterize the differences.  If it is, indeed, simply the inclusion of god in the mix, then there ought to be no argument between the two.  But it seems to me that there is something much closer to home embodied in the question.  There is an issue of consequence inherent.

    By that I mean that the acceptance of one or the other discipline as a guiding principle is seen to have consequences in morality and ethics and, for one side, in the afterlife.  Setting aside the extremist position that so-called godlessness leads to rampant immorality (it is a hard thing to prove as no regime  has ever succeeded in stamping out belief in god, only particular manifestations of worship), the larger question is simply this: is the belief in other things not included or inculcated by religious practice (the universe as revealed through scientific inquiry) de facto counter-religious?  In other words, is the practice of science inevitably destructive of religious expression?  Conversely, is religious observance inevitably destructive of scientific inquiry?

    If both are indeed religions, then the answer is likely yes. That would make them competitors, with contrary agendas.

    But if there is a sound distinction (which I suspect there is), then the answer is no.

    Given all these questions, I invite discussion.  I am curious.

  • 2009

    We begin with some quotes…

    It is always an impertinence to claim to write about a community.                Bikha Parekh

    The solitary creator, dreaming his or her dream, unaided, seems to me to be the only artist we can trust.                                                                Harlan Ellison, forward to The City On The Edge of Forever

    …it was not logic that carried me on; as well one say that the quicksilver in the barometer changes the weather.  It is the concrete being that reasons; pass a number of years, and I find my mind in a new place; how? the whole man moves; paper logic is but the record of it.                                               John Henry Newman, Apologia

    Good luck to all.

  • Roddenberry

    JANUARY 4, 2009Public Memorial Service for the Late “First Lady of Star Trek” Majel Barrett Roddenberry

    Cast Members and Fans Come Out to Celebrate and Remember Roddenberry’s Life

    WHO:
    Eugene “Rod” Roddenberry, son of Gene & Majel Roddenberry and CEO of Roddenberry Productions, will host cast members, family, friends and fans to celebrate the life of his late mother. Fans are invited to come and pay their respects with the family and share their fondest memories of the late Trek icon.

    WHAT:
    Eugene “Rod” Roddenberry will hold a public memorial service for his late mother. Family, cast members, friends and fans will have an opportunity to remember the legendary “First Lady of Star Trek.” Fans are encouraged to share their favorite memory of Majel from her numerous roles in Star Trek. Expected to attend include members of Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Next Generation and many others.

    WHERE:
    Forest Lawn, Hollywood Hills
    6300 Forest Lawn Drive
    Los Angeles, CA 90068

    WHEN:
    Sunday, January 4, 2009
    9:00 a.m. Press Check-in
    10:00 a.m. Memorial to start

    CONTACT:
    Sean Rossall
    BWR Public Relations
    310.210.7586
    srossall@bwr-la.com

    The above is the public announcement from BWR Public Relations.

    This is not new news that Majel Barret Roddenberry passed away recently after fighting Leukemia.  Like other icons of my youth, the original Star Trek cast and crew are passing on.  We have a new movie about to premier and after four decades of it, Star Trek has gone from movement to myth to parody to cliche and back again.

    I liked the idea of Number One, the original “emotionless” crew member of the Enterprise Majel Barret played in the first pilot, The Cage.  (I thought she looked better as a brunette, too.)  I would have liked to see that.  Television history says the studio told Roddenberry to get rid of her because they couldn’t buy the idea of a woman being second in command of a starship.  Perhaps some of them felt it was too close to home, where undoubtedly many of them found themselves in marriages with women who were not only second in command, but often in charge in fact if not name.  But I don’t buy that story.  The studio after all was DesiLu, which was run by a woman (Lucille Ball) who would very well have known better.  Maybe even she decided that the general public wouldn’t buy it, but I would have bet she’d have taken the chance to try it, especially on a “sci-fi show” that no one was supposed to take seriously anyway.

    No, what I believe is that no one could buy the idea of an emotionally in-control, intellectually oriented woman who was suppsoed to have more brains than even the captain.  That I believe the studio execs might have balked at.  Maybe if Gene had suggested that she had a thing for the captain, he could have sold it.

    But that would have been a cop-out.

    Below is an essay I wrote about Gene Roddenberry and Star Trek in the wake of Gene’s death.  I believe it bears repeating, if for no other reason than Majel was integral to the ultimate success of what he started.

    The world can be a very off-putting place, especially to a kid who can’t seem to catch on to the rules.  Rules are very important.  We’re impressed with that fact from infancy.  If you don’t follow the rules, bad things happen.  If you can’t because you don’t know what they are…well, as the saying goes, ignorance is no excuse: bad things happen.  Not only that, but it’s all your fault.  Something is wrong with you.  Everybody else seems to know the rules, why don’t you?

    For that kid—and there are many more such kids than we’re willing to admit—the world is a baffling, often malignant place.  Sometimes stepping outside of it is the only way to start to make sense of it.  Science fiction is very good at enabling that process.  Through the medium of extrapolatory fictions, future worlds, alien vistas, and an implicit faith that things ought to and can make sense, this world can be made less confusing, brought into some perspective that eluded us before, enabling us to cope a little bit better.

    Gene Roddenberry was one of the most visible practitioners of this process.  For millions of kids—of all ages, 3 to 83—he was a sensible voice speaking in the midst of chaos.  Now that he is gone we wait to see if his voice will continue its patient plea for reason and optimism, whether he meant anything more than a source of entertainment for the masses and profits for the corporations.

    Millions of words have by now been written about Star Trek—what it is, how it evolved, why it works.  The attention it has elicited seems disproportionate for “mere” entertainment.  What was it, after all, but a clever revamping of television westerns in a science fiction guise?  The Frontier (the final one, we are told), the Federation (law and order), and the marshal and his deputies (Kirk, Spock, McCoy).  What was the big deal?  There were other sf series that never came close to having the impact Star Trek did.  We had Lost In Space, Time Tunnel, Voyage To The Bottom of the Sea, Land of the Giants, The Invaders—many of them had longer runs than Star Trek, but not one of them produced the cultural impact Roddenberry’s little “wagon train to the stars” achieved.  Why?

    Among the thousands of different reasons, all of which came together in the years since the series aired, there are a few important ones, reasons without which the show would have been just another sci-fi series, like all the rest, assigned to the trash heap of discarded images from our pasts.
    Roddenberry designed his show for adults.  Regardless how individual episodes came across, there was an underlying maturity to the concept that came across even through the most turgidly asinine scripts.  If there is any proof to this, look at the success of the new series.  The basic architecture Roddenberry cobbled together originally has not changed, yet it still supports itself admirably.  In fact it works better in support of the more intellectual scripts.  It worked in the original series, it worked in the films, and it is working in the new show.  None of the other television SF shows were so designed.  All of them were fairly standard Hollywood concepts that targeted the seven year old, even though disguised in formats apparently for adults.  The kids weren’t fooled and the adult audiences, while entertained, found nothing of lasting value.  Star Trek was designed to appeal to the adult in all of us, and Roddenberry did not underestimate the intellect of his audience —of any age.

    The universe of Star Trek is a functioning model.  You watch the show, you know without being told that somewhere people are getting up, going to work, building homes, carrying on their lives, all in a world that hangs together with the same kind of cohesion as the one we inhabit.  This is art.  This is a level of communication hard to achieve even in shows set in the here and now.  As a result, the series might well have been set anywhere in the Federation, on any ship, on a station, a world, with any array of characters, and it would have worked.  Watching, you knew that.  Kirk, Spock, and McCoy did not comprise the universe of Star Trek, they inhabited it.  Compare that to any of the other sci-fi offerings of Hollywood.  The characters comprised the universe, laws unto themselves, with no connection to a larger universe.  Oh, perhaps a line or two referring to such a universe, but all sense of casuistry was utterly ignored.  Such series offered escapism without rationale, with nothing to believe in.  Empty.

    Which leads to one of the most significant aspects of the phenomenon.  One of the hallmarks of a truly fine work of art, especially literature and by extension drama, is its ability to take us out of ourselves and transport us elsewhere in such a way that, while we’re on the ride, we do not question the mode of travel.  This is the escapist quality of stories.  Great art does this without severing the connection with the given world.  In fact great art gives us a new perspective to bring back to this world when we’ve finished the ride.  It enables us to see our world in a way we had not or could not before.  The best science fiction does this in a marvelously unique way.  Star Trek does this.  It is this that sets it apart.

    I will not argue that any one episode of Star Trek is great art, although a few might be so described.  Several are quite definitely pretty shoddy.  But as a body of work it achieves the status of great art.

    None of this was particularly meaningful to me as a boy watching the first voyages of the Enterprise.  I was eleven when the show premiered.  I had an interest in science fiction, but not a passion.  I was as much enamored of cowboys and soldiers as of spacemen.  I liked the collection of sf series then available, but I also liked the westerns and a couple of police shows and the war series.  I was also a boy scout, I took music lessons, and had various other interests.

    I was also one of those kids who had an inordinate amount of difficulty making sense of the world around me.  I didn’t know the rules, I didn’t function well within my peer group.  I suppose you might have described me as awkward.  That’s the term used most often about adolescents who, because of hormonal changes and the subsequent shift of social expectations, clumsily stagger through high school to early adulthood.  But there are many who are awkward because they just don’t know what is expected.  They watch those around them and see the ones who learn the rules and acquire the enviable ability to integrate with their social circle with little or no clumsiness and pain and wonder what secret formula is involved, what set of passwords one evokes, and where to go to learn this arcane data.  They have difficulty socializing.  Some manage anyway, eventually achieving an adeptness at it even though they may not quite understand what is actually going on.  Others never quite get the hang of it, but as they grows up it becomes less and less an issue.  Some never fit in.  During these awkward periods, most of them are loners.  I was one of those.

    I didn’t like sports.  I didn’t understand much about cars.  In 1967 I didn’t care much for pop music, including the Beatles.  I had trouble talking to other boys my age, it was impossible to talk to girls.  As a result my social interactions were limited and progressively more difficult to understand.  I also didn’t like school, although I was a bookworm.  While I had friends, they were not close and they as often regarded me as alien, the way I regarded them.
    To me this was normal.  Confusion was just something you lived with.  Nothing made sense.  It is very difficult to convey the impact something like Star Trek had on someone like me.  I know I had trouble explaining it to anyone.  But Star Trek took hold of my imagination immediately.  Here was a world that made sense.  Things happened here for reasons and the reasons were discoverable and understandable.  It didn’t matter that it was a fantasy, it was the process that was important.  Star Trek ultimately taught me that the world has a rationale.

    No big surprise, that conclusion.  But I wasn’t learning it from any other source, not in a way that made any difference.  Not in a way that suggested the future would be better.

    And for many people the entire phenomenon must have appeared utterly bizarre.  I know in my case my father never quite understood.  After one season he had a son who was, for all appearances, a cult convert to a tv show.  I was one of those who went door to door in ’68 with a petition to NBC to forestall its cancellation.  I couldn’t explain it to him any better than I could explain it to my peers.  I didn’t understand it myself.

    When Star Trek was cancelled I was in high school.  Other things vied for my attention and Star Trek took a back seat to the balance of my adolescence.
    Except…

    I went to one of the first Trek conventions in St. Louis.  It wasn’t like the present day ones.  It was a few hours in an auditorium listening to Roddenberry and George Takei speak about the show and about the future and an airing of the uncut pilot, The Cage.  I remember Roddenberry telling us that we were impatient for the future, that we were ready for the 23rd Century Now.  I felt that was true.

    When the rumors of a film began circulating I tried my hand at a script.  It even went off in the mail.  I never heard back, but I didn’t know how such things worked then.

    When the first movie did come out I stood in line in the cold to see it.
    My own writing, while not in the Star Trek mold, has certainly been influenced by it.  I think I would have become a science fiction writer anyway, but probably not the same sort.  Because Roddenberry had done such a good job constructing his universe (stealing from the best), Star Trek taught me some very basic concepts of interconnectedness, taught in a way that provided a key to the understanding of how fiction works as examination of the human condition.

    In terms of understanding how the world works, well…I still don’t understand it.  But that’s all right now.  I understand why I don’t, and that’s enough to be at peace with myself at least.  I understand more than I did and I credit the difference in perspective sf provides with enabling me to understand and providing me the tool—my writing—to keep exploring.  Star Trek, as a world, as a concept, as a way of hoping and dreaming and planning, gave me that.
    That’s a hell of a gift to give someone.

    It seems hard to believe sometimes that the original Star Trek was canceled because it simply didn’t have the ratings.  Yes, the networks killed it.  In these days of cable and Tivo, it’s hard to realize how important time slots were back then.  When they moved the series from Thursday night to Friday night, it was a deathknell.  You couldn’t time-shift your viewing then.  Friday nights, everyone knew, were the nights most people went out to dinner or movies or nightclubs or anywhere.  Friday nights were for dating, not watching SF on tv.

    So the year ends with another tall ship being set to sail out into the bay, to be torched from arrows shot by those left behind, a Viking funeral at least in imagination for one of those who gave us a future to believe in.  Over the top?  Maybe.  But we build the worlds we dream.  We should have good dreams.  Majel Barret Roddenberry gave us some.

  • Daryl Gregory

    Hey, it seems that a buddy of mine is going to have an interview in January’s Locus Magazine.

    Daryl Gregory.

    We attended Clarion together, lo some 20 years ago, and Daryl was one of the ones I thought would catapult to the top of the field.  He has the gift, the ability to rivet the reader, and get under your skin.  I highly recommend his first novel, Pandemonium —first-rate stuff, keeps you thinking.  Damned impressive first novel.

    Daryl took many years off to raise his kids, but a few years ago I noticed his short stories appearing here and there.  Now the novel.  High Fives and kudoes to Daryl.  I wish him well in the coming year.

    Myself, I’m contemplating going back into photography in a serious way.  I just photoshopped my first image here at home.  Not much, not a lot of sophisticated stuff, just cleaning up and a little contrast control and such.  With a little outlay for new equipment I suppose I could get back into it.  Maybe.