"Nightingale", an interview with David Farland

Shelly: At last. A break from science fiction. And from Derick William Dalton, as he's napping.To be honest (regular honest, not my usual scathing kind), this is one of my favorite posts. I have the privilege of interviewing David Farland, New York Times bestselling author of the Runelords series and Of Mice and Magic. A big to-do in the literary world is his next project, Nightingale, and that's what readers and I want to hear about. Before we discuss that though, Mr. Farland, I can see by your follicular activity and the infrared radiation exuding from your person, you are a mammal. How do you focus and create all these works when you are continually eating and filtering waste and grooming and dealing with such a huge range of emotion?

Dave: Not all of us are fortunate enough to be turtles, of course. The ancient Chinese believed that turtles were the most blessed of creatures, special to the gods, and hence were given the gift of long life.

So, I generally try to do only two or three things at a time. I can brainstorm on a work while filtering waste. If I work hard, I can even brush my follicular activity. But I can’t do too much. I can’t, for example, chew bubble gum while doing all of the above.

Shelly: Were it not for my dermal pigmentation, you'd see that I'm blushing over your Far East wisdom. So, about Nightingale. I hear DWD's kids singing a song about a nightingale. “Sing sweet nightingale, sing sweet nightingale, la la la la guyuguyuguyah.” Makes no sense to me. Must be from some old cartoon. What's your story about, and what was your inspiration?

Dave: The inspiration comes from many sources. My hero in the story was raised in foster care, shipped from home to home, much as my wife was. The ideas about memory transfer came from pondering stories of the Wise Men from the bible, speculation about what they might have really been up to. Combine that with a really cool school for the arts nearby, and my own artistic dreams as a child, and the novel just came together.

Nightingale tells the story of a young man named Bron Jones, who is abandoned at birth. Raised in foster care, he’s shuffled from home to home. At age 16, he’s kind of the ultimate loner, until he’s sent to a new foster home and meets Olivia, a marvelous teacher, who recognizes that Bron is something special, something that her people call a “Nightingale,” a creature that is not quite human.

Suddenly epic forces combine to claim Bron, and he must fight to keep from getting ripped away from the only home, family, and girlfriend that he has ever known. He must risk his life to learn the answers to the mysteries of his birth: “What am I? Where did I come from? Who am I?”

Shelly: How delightfully Guaguin-esque! Now, I heard rumors of a soundtrack. I also understand it contains country music.

Dave: Yes, it has a sound track by the head of the National Composer’s Guild, James Guymon, with a dozen professional musicians and vocalists. Since my hero wants to be the world’s greatest guitarist someday, much of the music contains smoking-hot guitar tracks by Tom Hopkins in the style of Joe Satriani, or the band Pink Floyd. I found it to be surprisingly good, mesmerizing even. We also have some tracks that are done in a middle-Eastern style. Think of the music from Lord of the Rings, but instead of elves singing, imagine that you’re in a market in Baghdad. But we do have a song sung by Bron’s girlfriend at one point, a nice pop country piece.

Shelly: I'll have to get that on my iPod, set it on repeat for my next hibernation. But with that last comment , I'll need to post this interview before DWD sees it. Another bit of excitement is the unusual way the book is being released. What's novel about your novel?

Dave: This is a big project, an enhanced novel with illustrations and animations from half a dozen talented illustrators. We’re releasing the novel in several formats, as an enhanced book, a normal e-book, an audiobook, and as a hardcover—along with that soundtrack, of course.

Shelly: I notice you didn't mention something. On condition of anonymity, I've been told of imbedded metadata code. This reportedly causes Kindle, Nook, and iPad readers, plus Borders' new Flatline monitor, to operate beyond original designs. What can you tell us about the 3D hologram-projection feature?

Dave: Uh, that’s still in beta testing. I’ll bet the marketing department promised it already, right? They’re always promising things that we can’t deliver. Okay, maybe next week I can have it, if we work overtime. . .

Shelly: Last thing – as I know how quickly you mammals burn through your calories and your water and your lives and you're terribly impatient. Reader's want to know: How long do we have to wait for Nightingale?

Dave: We’ve got it now! We had our programmers create a web app so that you can enjoy the book on your computer—read a few chapters, take it for a test drive, or simply buy it for reading online. You’re free to go check out the results at www.nightingalenovel.com. You can order it in any format. The hardcovers won’t come out until December 1, but you can reserve your own signed copy and we’ll ship it right out. If you like it, remember to “Like” us on Facebook. Better yet, re-post our site info and tell your friends on Facebook.

Oh, and while you’re there, check out our short-story contest, where you can win $1000

Shelly: Thank you, Mr. Farland. It's been a pleasure interacting with an intelligent human for a change. I wish you well on Nightingale and your Runelord's theatrical project. I'm about to open a can of worms. Hungry?

Dave: Mmmm. Sounds good! Meal worms, or nightcrawlers?

An Interim Interview - Charles M. Pulsipher

Shelly - A little change-up this week. DWD asked me to interview a friend, one Mr. Charles M. Pulsipher. Despite his name he's not in the British Parliament. Mr. Pulsipher's a cook and woodworker and zombie survivalist. Now he's expanded his skills to that of science fiction author. I have two requests as we begin, Mr. P. I want to call you Chuck, and will you please tell me the premise of Crystal Bridge includes no spaceships. DWD has burned me out on those.

Charles - You can call me Chuck. I mainly go by Charlie, but all my high school friends still insist on Chuck. I'm used to it. There are no space ships at all. My characters travel to another world, but they do it the old fashioned way, walking...I mean wormholes. These aren't the cheesy 80's wormholes either. I worked very hard to make them cool and slightly terrifying.

S - Mmmm. You had me at worms. I understand there is also a character who can read emotion without using words. Now I'm hungry and jealous. Not having to talk to people...

Chuck - Yep. Kaden opens the wormholes. Aren can see memories and read people's souls just by looking at them. Her gift becomes very important in keeping her alive as she gets lost on the other world. She's pretty tough to begin with, but she must learn to be more than that when she's captured by underground dwelling Dwaros.

S - I know you're talking about the Einstein field equation thing, but all I'm hearing is gooey slimy earthy goodness. Enough about me, though. I'm trying to limit my egocentricity. Speaking of tough, independent women with tough shells, requests from readers of the Eveleth Elle and my physics students in the southwest (see previous posts, everyone) were unanimous. "Read us the last page of Crystal Bridge!" So, how about it?

C - Can't do it. The last page gives away the biggest twist I wove into the novel, a secret that will blow minds. I can give you the last line. I like it, despite being a little passive. "He realized he was hungry." Great, huh?

S - Get out! That's not really the line, Chuck. You just made that up to keep me drooling over freshly-unearthed oligochetes. Okay, so we know one of my influences. What about yours? Who or what made you want to write? Kept you motivated when writing was inconvenient or hard? And if you say post-1989 George Lucas I will bite off your toe so help me the Dagobah swamp monster.

C - I can't say George Lucas pre or post-1989 had much to do with my writing. My writing style and voice have definitely been influenced by Orson Scott Card and Tad Williams. Joss Whedon and JJ Abrams have influenced me a bit. Fringe, Alias, Firefly, Angel, and Veronica Mars have become a part of me. Some older stuff too, E.T., The Dark Crystal, Labrynth, Stargate, even Sliders. I find inspiration anywhere I can get it.

S - HMMmmm. Skeksis help Gelfling! Loved that show! Except the end when the Skeksis are unwillingly forced to abandon their ideals, and their culture gets watered down by those hunchbacked hobos. Oh well. Here's the next thing I want to know. Any parts of The Crystal Bridge you wouldn't want read to kids? And by that I mean what page numbers should I memorize or mark with a sticky note?

C - If you managed to watch The Dark Crystal, then my novel will be no problem for you. That movie has some freaky things in it. My novel has a little scene where a man is mauled by a large cat-goat thing, Kaden almost gets swallowed by a dragon, and Rho, the dark god, has a few creepy moments, but the novel is pretty clean and tame. I wrote it for the 14 year-old in me and I think it appeals to anyone from 13 to 45.

S - Oooh! Mild sci-fi violence warning! That will boost the 14-to-whatever male mammal readership. I'm a bit embarrassed now, though. Now everyone knows I'm into bodice-ripping shell-scratching reptile romance novels. The interviewee is the one whose supposed to slip up with too much info. Speaking of awkward, what was the most embarrassing typo you came across while editing?

C - Unfortunately, that's an easy answer. I switched the names of two characters...twice. I have two scientists working on recreating extinct animals using genetic simulations. Here's a bit of spoiler, one of them dies. I managed to use the wrong character's name in the middle of the emotional scene. Then in another scene I confused two female Sidra who are nothing alike. Sidra are kind of like elves. One was the bad guy's minion and one was fighting against her. So, I had the good elf riding into battle against herself for a moment. I'm so glad I caught those before I finished. That would have been bad.

S - What do you think your therapist would say about that, Chuck?

C - I think most writers would be considered crazy once we start talking about our characters as real people. We're weird and conflicted. That's why we write. It's like you, Shelly. We all know you made up this DWD character. You're writing these books, aren't you, Shelly?

S - I've signed a strictly-worded harshly-penalizing contract which prevents further discussion. Your first comment, though? Crazy, weird, and conflicted applies to non-reptile vertebrates as a whole, so no disagreement here. Which brings up the last question, Chuck. The What If Game. Books sales are up, screenplay written, auditions underway. Who stars in the film Crystal Bridge?

C - Doesn't matter as long as J.J. Abrams and Joss Whedon direct it together and it has a cameo from George Wendt. NORM! I love that guy. I also wouldn't mind if Natalie Portman is involved somehow.

S - I'd watch that! Well, Chuck, it has been a pleasure. Especially considering your species. I mean that as a compliment, by the way. So where do I get a copy of Crystal Bridge?

C - I wish I could bundle the print books. I thought about doing it with the ebooks, but they are so different. Maybe I'll think about it some more. Thank you, Shelly. This has been fun, even with your obsession over worms.

S - And hot male terrapins. Wait, what? There's more? I get a free copy of your survival guide, Zombies at the Door if I order in the next ten seconds? Okay - minimize, new tab, Amazon, title by author, spinning circle of boredom... spinning... spinning... And I'm too late. Stupid 1G dial up.

Crystal Bridge, by Charles M. Pulsipher:

  Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005NF3SDI Nook: http://search.barnesandnoble.com/The-Crystal-Bridge/Charles-M-Pulsipher/e/2940013379176 Print: http://www.amazon.com/Crystal-Bridge-Charles-M-Pulsipher/dp/1466320958/ref=tmm_pap_title_0

Houses of Common excerpt. Brought to you by Turtle Wax: that sexy shine ain't just for cars.

I finished some editing for DWD. Not interested in promoting his work, I just wanted everyone to see what I have to put up with. With what I have to put up? With up what I have to put? Also, so you could admire my fantastic editing. The awe of which that last sentence just destroyed. Here it is, a sample selected for it's lack of mammals.


Sckiik was disappointed the courier drone had no viewport, but it would be a giveaway it held a pilot. Unable to see out, she was missing the light-hearted excitement of the launch; the Earth rocketing away beneath her, the familiar Washington, D.C. landmarks collapsing into a point too small to see, the atmosphere darkening to black, and the winking of the stars in an accelerated twilight.

Her courier drone jolted violently as the reactor detonated a small volume of helium-3, the hull creaking as the explosion was contained and directed. Being so small, there had been no room for inertial dampers in the vessel, one of the reasons no human could undertake this mission. Sckiik felt her internal fluids rush from her head and thorax, but flexing the diaphragmatic muscles at her joints and bending the flexible portions of her exoskeleton to reduce volume, she rode comfortably through what would be nearly fatal to the best of human pilots. Achieving a typical drone speed, she took a course close enough to a usual northerly route away from Earth, but cheating toward the moon as much as she dared. Several hundred other courier drones appeared on sensors, all heading far enough out of Earth’s gravity to Bend, delivering messages to some exotic location, or more likely, a homely homestead colony.

Now, she thought, several hours of nothing at all. An assassin won’t try anything until we’re at least halfway to the moon – then is the smallest chance of being seen by orbital surveillance. But why bother with a powerless Ambassador? I’ve sensed no anti-Rildj sentiment in Congress or business or industry. We have no technological or military superiority that would threaten anyone.

So flowed Sckiik’s thoughts for several hours, but she could not come to any satisfying conclusions. Then she saw the speck on her sensors, angling from lunar orbit on a direct course to the Ambassador’s vessel. Zooming in visual display, she could see the new ship was a bulky affair, constructed around a clustered-sphere arrangement of compartments, not of recent design, but one she recognized.

The Kashmir Liberation Front? she wondered. What do they care about Rildj? At least I’m dealing with small-time terrorists instead of a state-sponsored act of war.

Venting nose thrusters, she changed course to come at the vessel from the side, hoping their attention was so riveted on the Ambassador she’d go unnoticed. The grapple claw and hull-welding charges were set, she’d slide up next to the ship, punch a hole in, and do her job before the assassins could do theirs. She checked her pistol, making sure the airtight rounds were loaded, each holding oxygen with the powder so she could still fire when the assassin ship depressurized.

Sckiik closed on the assassin ship long before it could reach the Ambassador’s vessel. The mass of a drone being insignificant compared to the power of the helium reactors, no ship could outrun them in standard flight.

I’ll get there in plenty of time, she decided. As long as they don’t see me.

A metallic clang and then a detonation vibrated the drone, Sckiik’s harness cutting into her from the jolt. Warnings blared as systems reset and diagnostic readouts flashed. Internal temperature rose significantly, and Sckiik tried to get more speed from another reactor detonation.

I only needed nine more seconds!

She was considering the masterful targeting needed to hit such a small object as the drone while moving at an oblique angle at enormous speed, when a second missile scored right on the nose of Sckiik’s craft. She braced for the worst, but was pleasantly surprised.

Sensors still online, she realized, and I’m not being sucked out a gaping hole! Charlotte, you are a hull construction genius!

The braking thrusters on the other hand, were vaporized.

Sckiik tried to flip the drone around and re-ignite the reactor to decelerate, but the guidance thrusters had been disintegrated also.

One more hit like that and I’m dust.

A few moments were hers as a third missile approached. She tried venting some of the compressed cockpit oxygen to alter her course, but the valve wouldn't respond. She hit the emergency fire suppression system in the instrument panel, hoping the argon foam might leak out the damaged nosecone and push her out of the way. Instead, the panel shorted out right in her face with a flash of sparks and smoke. With two seconds to spare, Sckiik set off one more reactor burn to increase speed. Then she punched out, the ejection charge blowing her clear of the drone-turned-missile. The assassins’ shot was on course, but Charlotte’s energy plating held again despite the missile's detonation.

Sckiik had a spectacular view of the collision between her drone and the assassin's ship. The ejection had started the drone in a slow end-over-end rotation. It was perpendicular to the ship when they met, and Sckiik watched as it neatly bisected the assassins’ entire vessel, atmosphere pouring and crystallizing out the halves that now spun in opposite directions. The drone was reduced to metal droplets, melted or vaporized on impact and creating a cone of sparkles along what would have been its path.

“Beautiful. This is my art. Wish I had a brush to sign it.”

Sckiik looked as long as she could before the destructive beauty of high-speed collision shrank into the distance. Her victory would have to be fully celebrated later. Her next concern was traveling bodily through space at nearly a hundred kilometers per second, with only a thin vacsuit and her exoskeleton protecting her. Glancing to the equipment at her belt, she grabbed for her vectoring gun, but realized its uselessness. Its emission of compressed air could alter her direction or double as an emergency respiration supply, but it would not be enough to stop her. A few silent blue explosions erupted from the assassin’s vessel, but it all shrank into the distance before she could find the Ambassador's ship. Glancing over her shoulder, she was grateful for the initial heading she’d taken, as she would be more likely to orbit the moon than to collide with it or shoot past.

Has anyone ever made a lunar orbit in a vacsuit? she wondered. I’m making history. Except that this is a classified mission and I was never here.

The novelty of her accomplishment wore off as the seriousness of her predicament sunk in. If the Ambassador's ship didn't come for her, her only hope was to be detected in lunar orbit. That wasn't likely. She was in a higher orbit than the satellites, and their sensors would be pointed at the surface. The few facing out to track incoming ships were probably not calibrated for an object as small and cold and non-metallic as a female Rildj flailing through the void.

Dave Farland - a coming interview with Yours Rudely

I've progressed from subtle subjugation of a holiday with my Valentine's greeting cards to full-blown consumer marketing. It seems next I'll be lactating and maintaining a stable body temperature. I can still sleep at night, or anytime, as it's for someone else and not for monetary gain.

Hmm. Have to get my pedicure funding somewhere else.

There is a gentleman by the name of Dave Farland, apparently of some status in the literary world. I've agreed, and DWD states it is a privilege, to interview him on October 15th. I believe he's from the East coast time zone, as there is some mention of New York Times in association with his designation as a bestselling author.

DWD has instructed I conceptualize him as a monitor lizard, or perhaps an Ituri chameleon, to help mask my condescension toward mammals. I don't think it will be a problem. Mr. Dalton is just projecting his sensitivity. Nonetheless, I will not create a mental image of Mr. Farland as a snake, as this apparently has some negative connotation among humans.

In addition to my questions, Dave Farland will be available answer those of my readership, which has doubled since my interview with the Eveleth Elle. Thanks for that, girls. And for the complimentary subscription.

Oops. Another shameless plug. What's happening to me?

Okay, back to Mr. Farland. See how quickly I cut off my diversion of a conversation? Pull it all to me out of habit, but then turn it around again. That's called progress, all you therapists out there.

Okay, really back to Mr. Farland. He has published over fifty science fiction & fantasy novels and anthologies, and is the winner and former judge for L. Ron Hubbard's Writers of the Future contest. DWD informs me this is a singular accomplishment of some renown and rarity. All I know, as far as I've been able to discern, is winning and judging in no way indicate association with Mr. Hubbard's Scientology prank. Or is it spoof? This human religion stuff is complicated.

Speaking of which, check back about the time your kids are going crazy waiting for Trick or Treating. If you don't have any, check back when you are going crazy. Don't act like it doesn't happen.

Pretty Boy

Shelly's off earning her keep, so here's a little DWD instead.

Recently, and on a multiple occasions, I've been informed I'm a pretty boy (yeah, one occasion was Shelly). I spent some time contemplating the definition, comparing my behaviors and attributes to the designation.
Here's how I earned the moniker in my rural county of residence.

Grooming
As a pretty boy, I use my razor daily unless my wife is away. What's more, I use it on my entire face, no sparing of chin or upper lip. Or both at the same time.


Wardrobe
 First of all, I have a walk-in closet. I can almost open a drawer and a cupboard door simultaneously without jabbing myself in the thigh or taking a door corner in my pretty boy eye.

 The other qualifier is closet content. Everything in there was obtained from clearance sales at Target and Old Navy and Ross. What's more, not one article of attire is from Mossy Oak® or RealTree®.



Logging
I have never been a logger. Pretty boys only fell dead trees and cut them up and load a truck and split them by hand for firewood. A hobby. Not only is logging a job and a career, it's a status symbol.

I also suspect it's a mechanism of sexual selection in certain populations of Homo sapiens. Good thing I'm already married.


Dentition
I'm only missing one tooth. A wisdom tooth. And it's the only one this pretty boy grew. And it was removed with the use of anesthesia.



Triathlons
Pretty boys like me gravitate to these events as we have too much time and energy, have obsessive compulsions about cardiac and non-type two diabetic status.

We spend money on childish bicycles instead of manly four-wheelers.


Employment
Bucking hay and moving irrigation pipe and vaccinating and trimming hooves. On a cattle ranch? Tough guy. On a sheep ranch? Pretty boy.


So what's next for pretty boy? Maybe buying a car less than ten years old. But only if I want to maintain my image. Otherwise, I'll get a truck with big enough tires to show off my silver silhouetted naked chick mudflaps.

Lazy Days of Summer

A long stretch of silence resonates from the ethereal space between my brain and keyboard. I wish I could say I've been distracted by hot beaches and cool ocean breezes. Or a fine sample of hard, dark green, and handsome.

Alas, Mr. Dalton has become an outlier in the statistics of his own productivity. As his gorgeous assistant, I'm swept along in the madness, twined into the manic insanity of inspiration.

The problem though, is the requisite perspiration, which DWD loves, loves to delegate. As such, my acute and cynical observation and heckling skills are left to atrophy. Instead, I wade through semi-final drafts of Sci-fi looking for errors grammatical, typographical, and scatological. My eyes dry out from all the outline analysis, and are starting to resemble my skin.

Who knows when it will end? After you all suffer through my absence, I hope you enjoy the results. By the time you see them I'll be so sick of spaceships I'll want to hibernate for three years and bury myself an extra meter deep. Just be sure to feed the bears instead of DWD's ego. It's much safer.

Hypocrisy Floats

I've made mention in the past of my legendary emotional detachment. So legendary is it, even for a reptile, were I in a comic book and became radioactive, anyone I bit would become a Supreme Court Justice. I also glean from my absolute analytical approach a keen sense of hypocrisy. It bubbles to the top of human organizations like cream on milk. No, that's not the right analogy. Like crude oil on surf. It floats. It always floats. Ooh! I just gave me the chills! Read that again. Can't you hear Tim Curry with a scary voice and clown make-up and a curled upper lip? “You'll float. They all float. Beep Beep, Richie!”

Only in this case it's beep beep Binny. As in Bin Laden. One of those Navy SEALS looked in just the right spot and there was a pile of decadent Western evil straight from the printing press of the Great Satan. The leader of Islam's militant heretics was crotch deep in one of their tenets which justify genocide. As I'm not interested in girls or humans, my only curiosity is whether Osama's porn collection was in keeping with Sharia law from the neck up.

So Mr. Bin Laden was hypocrisy flotsam like so many other leaders. Or was he? Isn't there some clause or loophole for the societal greats? For the hand of higher authority? A man under that much pressure, with so much power, and who accomplishes so much cannot be contained in the same bounds as mortals. Just ask his kidneys. They couldn't contain all he – um – accomplished. I suspect he had so pleased the powers that be his eternal reward was given partially an advance. Of course he deserved it. Look how much pain and suffering he inflicted on the US and UK in the last nine years. All those shoeless airport travelers. The wasted resources of hygiene products separated into 3.4-ounce containers. That alone is grounds for seventy-two virgins in the hereafter. Add to that the enthusiasm of his underlings and unification of the Jihadist world, and there was no choice but to give him the virgins in the herenow.

Problem was, well, let's ask his kidneys again. What's that? Der soldier can't seig heil? Flying at half-mast? Excessive glycosylation along the tunica intima of capillary beds in the corpus cavernosum? Ah. I see. Seventy-two unfulfilled virgins, and poor Al-Qaeda doesn't have a Pfizer drug rep to ask for samples.

Glossy centerfolds it is, then. Well, that's some pretty good problem solving. No sense sending the virgins where they won't be appreciated, especially since Danish political cartoonist Jens Julius suggested they are on backorder anyway. Which reminds me, if I had opposable thumbs, I too would draw a picture of Muhammed, only instead of saying “Stop! Stop! We have run out of virgins!” he'd be handing our man Osama his stack of dirty magazines. “I've got more when you get tired of those, Binny-boy.” Maybe Muhammed dresses like Pennywise the Clown: “Come back anytime! Bring your friends! Kiss me, Fatboy!”

Maybe it's good I can't really ink that out. I'm told such things get Jihadists to undertake great feats of community service. Kind of like inner-city professional sports fans in Detroit and L.A. when their teams win. Or lose.

Seems I have an exception to my hypocrisy floats hypothesis. Sometimes it sinks bullet-blinded to the bottom of the ocean.

Like Froo-its of Dev-eel

Hey all. DWD again. Shelly's taking some sabbatical time per her union's collective bargaining agreement. She thought she'd better jump on that before it's gone. Her recent legal victory restricting my blog topics has helped loosen her grip on the pen, too.

Here I sit fresh off the last page of Wicked by Gregory Maguire. Loved it! Even just the title keeps me riveted, repeating it over and over in my head with various inflection, the consonants like the latching of a creepy door in a horror film: Wicked. Wicked. Wiiiicked. Having found it and Audrey Niffenegger's The Time Traveler's Wife, literary fiction has been saved from the asteroid of extinction, resurrected as if by an arcane priest or faery godmother. (Did you see that? I worked Li-Fi, Sci-Fi, and Fantasy into the same paragraph!)

The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West, as it's subtitled, handled the nature-of-evil discussion interestingly and irreverently. In the real world as I pored over the ending, some Navy SEALS in Pakistan gave a good example of one method for assessing and dealing with it. As all this percolated in my early-morning brain, the intertwining themes of evil in fiction and in reality gave me more to chew upon than my usual double-dose of oatmeal.

Mr. Maguire uses political power as one portal to evil in his version of Oz. It's a tool wielded differently by The Wizard in the Emerald City, the Headmistress at the University in Shiz, and even the Wicked Witch of the East, though her path was paved with good intentions. Did the destination make them evil, or being evil at the start, did they search out the position to best use their talent? That's what I wonder of those in politics, the ones for which I vote and avoid voting. I trust none of them, but should I? My evil alarm (which I suspect is a Shelly Deitometer) only works on my own thoughts and intentions, so that doesn't ever go off as a political warning. Are all statesmen evil like the Wizard, or just a combination of naughty, inept, and conspired-against?

Some real-life examples of politicians lots of people hate:

Clinton misunderstood terrorism, and failed to authorize the pulled trigger on Osama years ago. That could have kept his balanced budget in existence much longer, not to mention lives saved. He also had a certain lack of, um, restraint. Great. Now I'm wondering where the line is between mistake and evil, and good and biology.

Dubya knew how terrorists thought, and so he shot first and from the hip and with both barrels. No more attacks on the US. But having a misunderstanding of our neighbors cost us much of their help. Lots of people died unnecessarily. Arrogance can result in evil, but can it make us be that way?

Ideas are good, change is good, but can they be pushed too far? Do people have to take steps that will improve their lives if they don't want to? Should they be forced? Obama irritates and frightens a lot of people with his plans. I'd wonder about him in our study of evil, but anyone who's birth certificate is called into question so often is undoubtedly devil-spawn.

Three hard-thought examples and no pithy absolutisms. Not an interesting story at all. Should have known politics couldn't hold a candle to a picked-on misunderstood green girl or a Kansas kid with a cute dress and a puppy. What I need is maniacal-laughter and world-domination. Soundbite and titillation. A scapegoat upon which to blame failures, national and personal. Discovering the Chief Execs are human and prone to weakness and genius and error and efficiency makes for a boring read. And when it comes to voting time, I have to consider each individual situation and study them, the motives of those involved and the potential for benefit and harm.

Nah, that's too hard. I'll leave analysis of evil and go find another novel. Wait - what if not thinking is another subtle sell-out to evil...

Evolutionists, Creationists, and War Profiteers.

The origin of life: a topic of discussion sure to offend at least someone, so obviously I had to bring it up. Many humans insist evolution and creation are polar opposites, like Democrat and Republican, vanilla and chocolate, or some other superficially-illustrative-but-actually-non-antonymous pairing. (It's more accurate to say politician and taxpayer, vanilla and seawater, or chocolate and regurgitated stomach acid.) If you view evolutionism and creationism as the extreme ends of a spectrum, brace your egos for impact, people. You're wrong.

What those who insist on conflict regarding the grand mechanics of life are really comparing is science and religion. Their mistake, besides being an overly-emotional mammal (wait, emotional and mammal – that's TWO mistakes), is trying to compare two different variables on a single continuum. This isn't a black and white number line with infinite integers of gray between them. What's necessary for accurate representation is a coordinate grid. Enter the abscissa and the ordinate.

Consider the level of acceptance an individual has with what's in the Bible and what's been studied by biologists for the last 150 years. As these are variables completely independent of each other, they plot like an X and a Y.

Take Young Earth Creationists as an example. By the way, mismatching adjectives and subject in that name can create some funny mental images. Like pre-schoolers rolling playdough balls. The label is a simple way to categorize those who adhere literally to what's written in the first page and a half of Genesis: the Earth is 6000 years old and is part of a divine creation out of nothing which took six 24-hour periods to complete. High literal belief in Genesis chapter one (y axis), zero acceptance of scientific research on the topic (x axis). Might look like this.

Similar but with a key difference, Old Earth Creationists take the timeline of Genesis figuratively. “Days” is a reference to a non-specific time period. As a result, they accept the findings of geologists and astronomers about the age of the solar system and the Earth, though there is variation in acceptance of biological principles.

Billy Graham, a well known Christian leader once made a statement regarding his faith and the principles of evolution.

"I don't think that there's any conflict at all between science today and the scriptures. I think that we have misinterpreted the Scriptures many times and we've tried to make the Scriptures say things they weren't meant to say, I think that we have made a mistake by thinking the Bible is a scientific book. The Bible is not a book of science. The Bible is a book of Redemption, and of course I accept the Creation story. I believe that God did create the universe. I believe that God created man, and whether it came by an evolutionary process and at a certain point He took this person or being and made him a living soul or not, does not change the fact that God did create man. ... whichever way God did it makes no difference as to what man is and man's relationship to God." (Billy Graham: Personal Thoughts of a Public Man, 1997. p. 72-74)

My interpretation would be to put him here, overlapping the Old Earth Creationists, but with a bit more leeway about the scientific evidence accepted.

I've been made aware of another individual with some impact on modern Christianity. Pope John Paul II was some kind of a clergyman of some denomination or other. He gave a statement in 1996 to a scientific group of his church.

“In his encyclical Humani Generis (1950), my predecessor Pius XII has already affirmed that there is no conflict between evolution and the doctrine of the faith regarding man and his vocation, provided that we do not lose sight of certain fixed points....Today, more than a half-century after the appearance of that encyclical, some new findings lead us toward the recognition of evolution as more than a hypothesis. In fact it is remarkable that this theory has had progressively greater influence on the spirit of researchers, following a series of discoveries in different scholarly disciplines. The convergence in the results of these independent studies – which was neither planned nor sought – constitutes in itself a significant argument in favor of the theory.” (Address to the Pontifical Academy of Sciences. October 22, 1996)

I would place him on the diagram like this.

There has been a more recent movement known as Intelligent Design. The premise of this group is that unanswered questions in the explanations of evolutionary mechanisms suggest other sources of change, perhaps a higher, unmeasurable power. The observations so questioned span molecular and subcellular development all the way to evaluations of galactic parameters. All fascinating questions. At first glance this seems to be a happy combination of belief in God and acceptance of science. When presenting their hypotheses though, they meet with resistance from the scientific community, because any hypothesis involving the existence of deity is untestable. The Deitometer has yet to be invented and properly calibrated with positive and negative controls. Had they paid attention in grade 10 biology, they would know that eliminates their questions from the realm of scientific query. It doesn't necessarily make them wrong, though. An inability to measure something is not proof of non-existence, only non-science. Hmm. Deitometer. I smell research funding proposal with high costs and low expectation of results. Maybe I should change jobs...

But what of the evolutionary biologists? Percent of scientists who don't accept evolution: 0.015%. They are the ones whining because they can't get published or hired. Couldn't be the fact that they misunderstand the junior high basics of what science is...
(Chang, Kenneth. "Few Biologists But Many Evangelicals Sign Anti-Evolution Petition" (php), The New York Times, 2006-03-21. Crowther, Robert (2006-06-21). Dissent From Darwinism 'Goes Global' as Over 600 Scientists Around the World Express Their Doubts About Darwinian Evolution.)

Scientists who believe in a higher power fall mainly into a group known as Deistic Evolutionists. An impersonal entity organized the universe as we know it, or at least set the events in motion, but he or she or it doesn't have a personal presence in people's lives. The rest of the higher-power-believers are Theistic, the only difference from the former being the personal nature of said power. They believe there is personal involvement and even daily interaction.

Any discussion of this topic would be incomplete without Atheism. Typically with full acceptance of scientific findings, those in this group are more likely to be disinterested by anything but that which is measurable and testable. However, disproving God with science is as useless as proving. Nothing to measure, nothing to test, all that's left is personal belief and faith. Whether that faith is in a presence or absence is irrelevant for this argument. Either way it's religion and not science.Where do they go on the chart? I don't know. How about here...

The final diagram looks nothing like a continuum. Told ya. More like the colorized left side of a Rorshach blot (I see a male turtle's plastron with sexy tattoos, and I'm really losing my focus, here). Also, it's a mess of disagreement and argument and difference of opinion, flavored by arrogance, ignorance, and mistrust both earned and gratuitous.

Okay, that was cynical. I wrote a bit longer than I could hold to the professional detachment. Back to objectivity.

What I find the most interesting is what groups exhibit the most variation. It's those who include some form of Creation in their beliefs. To pin down a Christian definition of how Creationism and Evolutionism relate is impossible. There is too much variety, too much personal interpretation of too little data. My non-cynical nature (located in one of my toes) thinks this is great. A huge variation in religious belief is tolerated and even encouraged. In not many places is that possible. Still, why attack the science which takes no stand on a deity when other Christians disagree on the preferences and commandments and even the very nature of that said deity. It's fine to scrutinize someone else's house, ignoring the crews which are subdividing your Father's house into tenement apartments?

Even those with full acceptance of a century and a half of observation have some variety in their theological side. Again, the personal life aspect. So does the disagreement in these two groups mean religion just makes a mess of things and is irrelevant? I'm trying to be a nice turtle, so I will make no comment. Okay, one. Maybe two. First, wars with a religious flavor, which is most of them: humans don't need divine help to be that stupid. Second, peaceful and community-centered religious teachings are biologically helpful. No, the problem stems from some of the believers.

Is it that science is just too rigid and unwilling to accept outside ideas? Doesn't matter, because without a testable hypothesis, Creationism of any flavor can't ever be considered science.

The issue isn't complete without a discussion of motivation. Why is so much energy spent pushing various interpretations of 1.5 pages of a thousand-plus page text? Why are scientists attacked for failing to take into account that which isn't even measurable? Some subjectivity is possible in my illustrations, but the greater variation, the lack of unity, lies within the Creationists. Yet they don't bother each other. Either they don't realize others interpret two chapters differently, or they don't have the courage to bring it up and challenge one another. Maybe they don't want to cause contention. That's a good Christian reason, but it's not the real one.

A review of how Creationism is pushed with overpriced books and videos, in huge auditoriums packed full, and I think it becomes pretty clear. Sure, scientists write text books, but very few people buy them. They teach in auditoriums, but to one or two groups over a semester, not a different crowd paying for seats sufficient to pull in a biology department Ph.D.'s salary in three days.

What's the real issue? American humans swarm to controversy. They pay well to hear it. Controversy requires a villain, though. Until recently, scientists were too busy expanding human knowledge to bother about being so labeled. Now the superficially evangelical but greedy-beneath-the-facade have swollen the ranks of the scientifically illiterate to the point of concern for public education and research. Scientists try to fight off the inverse renaissance and Creationists cry foul. I guess they missed that Golden Rule thing Jesus said.

Forget the Deitometer idea. I'm gonna start a multi-level Creationism marketing company.



P.S. Some useful reading material, but not very funny.

Evolution, Religion, and Free Will .
http://www.americanscientist.org/issue/id.3747,y.0,no.,content.true,page.1,css.print/issue.aspx

Myth: Many scientists reject evolution and support creationism.
http://www.talkorigins.org/indexcc/CA/CA111.html

The Origin of the Universe, Earth, and Life
http://www.nap.edu/openbook.php?record_id=6024&page=R8

72 Nobel laureates, 17 state academies of science, and 7 other scientific organizations support rejection of Creationism as science.
http://www.talkorigins.org/faqs/edwards-v-aguillard/amicus1.html

And now for something completely different

Why do humans make such a big deal out of wealth? My guess is sexual selection. They're drawn to those most likely to provide for offspring. But doesn't the birth rate decrease to two offspring per mated pair the further a country gets from poverty? So the more resources available for offspring, the less their number?

I 'm sorry. I meant this to be a nice posting, which is hard for me. Where I was going before giving humans a hard time was the good that can be accomplished with money. Its ability to defy physics and cycle through systems if used carefully is fascinating, and I even have a good example. The World Traveling 25 dollars.

Mr. Derick William Dalton, out of guilt or court-order, or perhaps philanthropic bent (cough, cough), sent 25 dollars as a microloan to a woman in the Phillipines. She used it to start a food market and provide for her kids. Along with bundles of 25 bucks from other lenders, she got the money she needed, and has since paid it all back. Interest free. But this was not the end for the fearless 25 dollars.

Followed by a heroic-sounding John Williams score and a red line, it sailed over a tan and blue map to the Dominican Republic, where it helped a small group start a clothing store. When its work there was done, it contributed to a general store in a nearby town, then headed to Mexico as part of a home improvement loan. I would be impressed right there. But the 25 was just getting started.

Lebanon and a construction company. Mongolia for a butcher shop. Bolivia for weaving supplies, Uganda for automobile spare parts for retail, and then Cambodia to be in a student loan. Next, I think the 25 will use all its frequent flier miles to see its own back-up specie at Fort Knox, then get to work again.

First, I am duly and sincerely impressed. DWD has gotten more work out of the 25 than anyone has ever gotten out of him. I can't get the interest-free part, though. How are the lenders of the 25 bucks supposed get reimbursed for the temporary absence of their money? How are the CEOs of companies that organize the lending supposed to get filthy-rich if they don't charge usury? Maybe they should take a break, examine some bigshot bank managers and Wall Street tycoons. Those people know how to run money and make it work for them.


A note from DWD:

Kiva.org is a non-profit organization which funds its work through donations, allowing 100% of all money lent to reach borrowers in developing nations and areas of poverty nearly world-wide. Skip a week of latte and help a fellow Homo sapiens. Then another. And another. It's worked out better than anything I did through Washington Mutual or Countrywide.

www.kiva.org

News from Lake Woebegone

I hope you will all pardon my self-indulgence. It's not often a girl is asked to do an interview with a major fashion magazine. Especially one exhibiting the epitome of panache from one end of Duluth, Minnesota to the Saskatchewan border.

My debut with the Eveleth Elle:

EE: Shelly - can I call you Shelly?
SBT: That's my name.
EE: Good. I hoped this could be a first-name basis, up-close and personal talk.
SBT: Okay, but only if you brushed your teeth.
EE: (Laughs) Well, we were overwhelmed by the followers of your blog among our readership. They were urging us to find out more about you.
SBT: Both of them?
EE: Three, actually.
SBT: Hmm. I'll have to check my site again. Number three, whomever you are, welcome!
So, what do you want to know? I'm a Zodiac atheist. I like long walks under logs and couches, and eating long earthworms with handsome men Lady-and-the-Tramp style.

EE: The big question everyone keeps asking involves the rumors of getting in front of the camera.
SBT: Liked those Valentine's cards, did you?

EE: No no no no. The children's book rumors! Stop being so modest.
SBT: I guess I'm the last to know. Fill me in.

EE: Ooh! I get to dish the good stuff?
SBT: Come on, who's the author? What's the illustration style? What's the subtle political agenda I'll be pushing?

EE: That much I don't know, but if you were making all those decisions, what would be the result?

SBT: That's a shallow dish, girl. Result? Newberry award. Twice in a row.

EE: Okay, but before that.
SBT: You want names? Hmm. Unfortunately Dr. Seuss has passed. He did nice work with Yertle. And he could pick a meter and stick to it. That's an unfortunate rare skill in children's literature. But poetry's not really my thing. Maybe Oscar the Grouch as author. I think he's a mammal, but he sure doesn't let it show.

EE: So you want an author-illustrator team?
SBT: Two perspectives, you know? To capture the feel of dual monocular vision.

EE: I don't know what that means... but go on.
SBT: This is a tough decision. Bill Watterson is out, though.

EE: Too hard to contact? Too expensive?
SBT: No, I want him to voice the audio version. Who doesn't want to hear him impersonate Calvin's Dad?

EE: I think that reference must predate me...
SBT: I'd need time to choose between Mercer Mayer, Maurice Sendak, and Fumi Kosaka, since Michelangelo is dead.

EE: Now there's a group of illustrators. What about that guy that did Poky Little Puppy?
SBT: Um, really? Didn't you see how cute those puppies were? He even made the lizard adorable. I wanted to see the black spider, but some moron editor cut that illustration out.

EE: That's true. What was he thinking, removing a black hairy arachnid picture from a baby book.
SBT: Now you are making me hungry. You're buying lunch right?

Adverts make the heart grow fungus

I've been lucky this Valentine's season. Not in the way humans hope to, but in finding ideas for carrying Derick William Dalton's blog for him, the bum.

In this case, it's a letter he wrote which I found in C:\Desktop\Letters\Angry\To manipulative corporate sycophantic s***heads. It's not a mushy one to his wife, obviously. Those are under C:Desktop\Letters\Seductive\My Bitsy Pookums Snoogy Woogy Wips.

Yes, I puked also.

The letter in question today is filled with the angst of a man crushed between the pressures of being romantic and the lack of time and creativity to do so. Then having his inadequacies repeatedly tossed in his face by popular culture.

The poor sap. He writes:


Dear Kay Jewelers and Hallmark Greetings,

I write to express my opinion regarding your advertising campaigns and products. I'm not concerned with cards contributing to rainforest destruction by lack of pre- or post-consumer recycling. I could care less if you purchase your uncut diamonds from militant tyrant regimes in Africa.

I'm disturbed by the misanthropic view of males which you project, and subsequent attempts to capitalize on perceived inadequacies.

"To My Valentine..." open card, "words can't express my love for you."

Really. Then why did you write those? To practice your calligraphy?

"To my dearest love..." open card again, this time with trepidation, "I wish you a sudden rush of whatever brain chemicals make you experience lust."

At least this one had real information, but you are insulting men blatantly instead of covertly. Are you suggesting Valentine's Day is really about men giving themselves a gift by bribing their partners? Okay, maybe to some guys, but be subtle! If that works, it's because the guy already accomplished the necessary seduction. Do you see the fine, blurry line between bribery and payment for services rendered?

To the jeweler, relationships exist for a different end. Judging by your advertisements, you gained a comprehension of women by watching fiances fawn over rocks while you were supposed to be polishing ancient crushed coal - no firsthand experience. The excitement is the man, the moment, not the sparkly ice. Sure, some guys wish they could skip the romantic dates, commitment, learning of first names, and get right to the sex. They have alcohol, and it's much cheaper than diamonds. Women see your commercials, obviously aimed at insecure single guys, and are repulsed. Not just at the guys exhibited, but their girlfriends who become neurotically ecstatic when on one knee he offers a bit of jewelry. Real men want to give you a wedgie and a swirly, real women want to change the channel.

Continue to remake romance in your own image. Associate your products with happiness and ecstasy. The world needs more hollow products to fill our emotional voids.

Leave me the hell alone,

Derick William Dalton


A chill pill. Double dose. Or a day off, that's what DWD needs. Personally, I'm grateful male turtles are the alcohol and no-commitment types, sans alcohol. So much less complicated.

I could go for something chocolate, though.

Be my Valentine's Day marketing demographic

The season seems to be softening me like a deficiency in vitamins A, C, and D. This post is therefore dedicated to all who read it. Free of charge, I'm offering full reproductive permission.

Whoa, that came out wrong. Please don't ever ask me what you can and can't do with your jeans and genes. And to that Russian tortoise who keeps emailing me, that certainly was NOT the invitation you've been hoping for.

Do you see why I stick to cynicism? So much less confusion.

Many people need pre-made Valentine's Day cards. I'm not above associating myself with popular culture in the name of self promotion. So print and use to your heart's content, and may St. Valentine bring you whatever it was you asked when you sat on his lap.

Gene Autry solves for x

I decided to skip another season of hibernation. Partly because Derick William Dalton vented his childhood issues onto you poor unsuspecting counselors. I Apologize and will prevent that in the future. Mostly, I chose to stay conscious thanks to a question from astute reader Trujilla Gila, a non-monstrous lizard who lives near the suburbs of Roswell, Nueva Mexico. She writes:

Dear Ms. TheBoxTurtle (sic. It's Madam Turtle, please),
My recent terrarium escape was motivated by your adventures. Emboldened by your revolutionary approach to physics instruction, I have taken it upon myself to bring an algebraic Renaissance to the reptilian masses of the Chihuahuan Desert. Problem is, I am algebraically inept. Can you get me started?
Venomous but slow,
Trujilla

Trujilla, you will be the Freeman Dyson of the Desert when I'm through with you. The first trick is eliminating the numbers and using analogies familiar to the student. Then you bring the numbers back after the concepts are understood. Given your situation, I would LOVE to a do a herpetology-themed introduction. Hibernation, ectothermic behavior, benefits of a combined rectum/urethra/reproductive tube, those would be fun. But I have to pander to a nearly all-mammal audience. Darn this economy and my pedicure bills.

You're in the Southwest. How about country music? Is that popular enough to cross taxonomic boundaries and interest hairy lactators and scaly egg-layers alike? I think so. Ready? Let the numbers float out of your head and feel the folksy twang!

The first thing to consider is the use of variables. This a symbol that represents an unknown quantity. By manipulating everything that is known, what's left is the value of the unknown. Or in the music analogy, everything that the lyricist has lost and is now lamenting.

Sort through the variables. Eliminate three sides of a rectangle from its perimeter, and you're left with the fourth side.

Side 1 + Side 2 + Side 3 + Side 4 = Perimeter
Side 4 = Perimeter– Side 1 – Side 2 – Side 3

Not following? Here's the country music parallel. Sift through those hurt most by repeated over-consumption of beer, and see who's most important as they leave.

(Beer Night)^hobby – Who's Most Important = Loneliness
(Beer Night)^hobby = Wife driving away in your truck

This brings up a new concept: exponents. That's the “hobby” part. As the value of “hobby” becomes greater than that of Non-Beer Night (365 - Beer Night), the Who's Most Important variable becomes an exponentially less attractive person.

Here's another key to algebra, combining of like terms. Variables of the same symbol indicate the same value, even if unknown. These can be combined to help with finding solutions.

x + x = 2x

Here our rustic music analogy breaks down as combinations of rhyme don't have to be all that close. Assonance is good enough, and I mean that in both a grammatical and an insulting sense.

Next let's discuss one of the basics of algebra. Order of Operations. In an equation like this, where does one start?

3(x+2) – (y/12)^0.03

There are plenty of websites where one can look up a list. You know, do the exponent first, then parenthetic operations, multiplication and division, finally addition and subtraction. I prefer that way, being cold blooded and analytically orthodox. But most people prefer a literary approach. A story.

Three kids gettin' out to do their chores
:)
: |
: (
plus the two hound dogs layin' on the floor
:P
:b
makes me feel good inside, almost as much a Coors. But there's the monthly mortgage payment
:{(
the 3% penalty's a shame and... Makes me want to pull out my mustache.
: (

Speaking of stories, algebraic Story Problems are often difficult. Here, the Nashville approach is vital in developing a solution. A typical ballad involves an elaborate narrative at the outset to stage the oft-repeated but simplistic catch-phrase or aphorism. This is so similar to story problems leading to long division, I'm actually writing lyrics, but so far no one from the music OR textbook industries are interested. Makes me want to pull out my mustache.

One final pitfall to avoid. Mathematics is an excellent instrument for estimating, but such lack of precision is calculated. Purposeful. Here, poor habits can be learned if our country music analogy is carried too far. Algebra isn't particularly useful in glorifying mediocrity, and such glorification results in poor use of a numerical tool. Yet, this is exemplified in many songs. This is the case whether responsibilities are shirked to the boss or to Jesus. Not that there is anything wrong with relying on a deity. From what I hear Derick William Dalton teaching his kids, Jesus seems happy to help. But I imagine he's pretty busy.

I suspect someone crying into their beer while they wait for Him to fix all their problems (algebra, loneliness, money, etc.) makes Him want to pull out His mustache.