Last spring I went to an author signing/talk given by Tamora Pierce. She’s
been my daughter’s favorite author for a couple years now and since I forced
the kid to go on the class trip rather than allowing her to stay home and
attend the talk, I felt compelled by maternal guilt to at least get the
newest hardback autographed for her.

I was first struck by Ms Pierce’s uncanny resemblance to my daughter’s math
teacher, a woman with infinite patience and fortitude, an ample bosom and a
face like a bull dog. Pierce treated the, mostly, girls in the audience to
an hour of honest talk about what writing is about, what publishing is like
and where she gets her ideas from and her own incredibly sly sense of humor.
She also discussed her respect for other author’s YA books, particularly
mentioning Meg Cabot as one whose book The Princess Diaries was gutted of
all merit when made into a movie.

Now I kind of liked that movie. The image of Julie Andrews clumping across
the doorway in imitation of her granddaughter was hilarious. My son,
disdainful of anything resembling a chick flick, laughed out loud thru most
of it though he wouldn’t admit it later. So if the movie is a gutted
representation of a much better original and I like the movie, then perhaps
I should find out what this book is about. Not to mention that it’s been
selling like hotcakes and has been followed up by several sequels that are
selling like hotcakes. So I read it.

It was, well, ok. The premise of the book is that Mia Thermopolis finds out
that her father, conveniently dead in the movie, is actually King of a small
city-state sort of like Monaco rather than the wealthy man involved in
politics that she has always been led to believe by her mother. Not only is
he King, but he has been rendered unable to produce more off spring by a
form of testicular cancer, now making Mia, his love child from his college
days, the heir to the throne. And Grand-mere, the dragon who takes care of
her summers at the little chateau in France, will be responsible for
training her for the throne. Mia is traumatized. And to top it off, her
mother is dating her Algebra teacher, the only subject in school she’s
failing.

The book was cutesie. Aside from some very unnecessary but not overt jokes
about her father’s, um, testicular issues, most of the humor struck me as
the type an adolescent kid would enjoy. There’s a lot of emphasis on bad
hair, clothes, what shoes to wear and that sort of thing. The writing is a
masterpiece in girl speak. Cabot’s got the, like, you know, bad, um, like,
conversational style, the, like, girls seem to use these days. It’s not
something I’m sure I want my daughter to imitate but it was the only really
objectionable thing in the book. It’s kind of nice little dessert book,
something light and not too heavy.

Posting has been light recently, for which I apologize; I just haven’t felt much like writing, and I haven’t even been reading all that much, so I haven’t had much to write about. When I get home, about all I’ve had energy for (other than family things) has been a little work on Snit and video games.

This isn’t my usual state, and I put it down to a variety of things going on at work these days…not to mention all of the ECUSA foolishness I’ve posted about occasionally. I’m in no danger of losing my job–far from it–but Reorganization has reared its ugly head. The organizational changes take effect at the beginning of October–although, it’s not clear that I’ll know, even then, who my new managers are going to be. And then, the Lambeth Commission reports to the Anglican Primates in mid-October, just a couple of days after our parish priest might or might not be elected the next Bishop of the Diocese of Rio Grande. Oh, and the project I’ve been working on for the last six years is winding down early next year.

Can you wonder that things are a little unsettled around here? It’s as though all of the fixed points of my life, with the exception of God and my family (thank God for Jane), have gotten up to dance over the next month.

I’ll get over it, of course–long before all of this is finally settled, by preference–but until then posting might remain light.

Hurricane Ivan is big. Here’s a picture from the International Space Station. May the Good Lord have mercy on New Orleans.

This is an outstanding book by the same author as
By The Great Horn Spoon!, which I
reviewed
a couple of years ago. That book involved the California Gold Rush. I’d
read it many times as a kid, and I thoroughly enjoyed reading it to my
eldest boy, Dave.

The only other book of Fleischman’s that I’d read as a
kid was this one, Mr. Mysterious & Company. It takes place in
the 1880’s and concerns the Hackett family, who are migrating from
somewhere in the Mid-West to San Diego, where Mr. Hackett’s brother has a
cattle ranch. In addition to knowing cattle Mr. Hackett is also a
consummate magician, and as book begins the Hackett family is traveling
westward through Texas, paying their way by giving magic shows in each
town they visit. Mr. Hackett performs as Mr. Mysterious, his wife plays
the piano, and each of their three children has a part.
And on the way to California the Hacketts buy a dog, meet an outlaw,
drive off a band of Indians, and save a town from ruffians.

It’s a fun adventure, and the highest praise I can give it is this: the
night after we finished it, David wanted me to read it to him over again.
I declined, though honestly I don’t think I would minded all that much.

I don’t know why I never looked up Fleischman’s other books when I was a
kid; I rather expect I’ll be doing so over the next few years.

Today is the third anniversary of the attack on the Twin Towers; it’s also the second anniversary of this blog. And I have to ask myself, what was I thinking? One day earlier, or one day later and I could go into raptures about my blogiversary every year.

Instead, I remember coming downstairs, dressed and ready to go to work, and hearing my wife call me to the TV, where she was nursing our little girl, “Will, come here, something happened in New York.” “What?” “I think a plane hit the World Trade Center.” I remember watching the first tower collapse, and that I knew it was collapsing before the man doing the voiceover on TV did. I remember the billowing smoke and ash and dust. At least I couldn’t see the people plunging to their deaths.

September 11th is not a day for celebrating–but one day, if we can keep our resolve, it will be. I hope that for my grandchildren 9/11 will be just another three-day weekend commemorating a victory they are too young to remember. In the meantime, may God bless our troops, and grant wisdom to their commanders.

Coming up in October in New Orleans is the 11th Annual Tcl/Tk Conference. Each year the conference begins with a couple of days of tutorial sessions–half day classes on different Tcl/Tk programming topics. Since June I’ve been scheduled to teach one of these tutorials, on the subject of programming with Snit, my Tcl-based object-framework.

And so for the last week I’ve been industriously preparing for my tutorial. I’ve been making a list of specific technical points I need to discuss, writing example programs that illustrate these technical points, and outlining a lecture that works through the examples in a logical progression. It’s been interesting work, but since it’s a free-time activity I’ve been a little concerned about getting it all done in time.

So today I hear from someone on the conference committee that to date exactly one (1) person has signed up for my tutorial; the fee from one person won’t even pay for the room the tutorial would be held in. So the committee wants to cancel my tutorial and replace it with a couple-three panel discussions on a variety of topics, and would I like to sit on a panel about OO methods in Tcl?

I said yes, of course, and I admit to a sense of relief–this means I don’t need to finish the tutorial, and can get on with other things. Nor is my ego bruised; the committee expected Snit to draw more interest than that, just as I did. After all, it’s becoming reasonably popular in the Tcl community.

Really, I think, it just goes to show. If you want to make money teaching people to use your software, don’t write software that’s simple and easy to use, and most especially don’t document it well. On the other hand, if you write software that’s simple and easy to use, and document it well, don’t expect to make money teaching people to use it.

As I mentioned the other day, it’s at interesting time to an orthodox
Christian in the Episcopal Diocese of Los Angeles.

Some weeks ago, three
L.A. area parishes chose to leave the Episcopal Church and place
themselves under the authority of the Archbishop from the Anglican Church of
Uganda, with whom all three parishes already had warm ties. The
Episcopal Diocese of Los Angeles has responded by claiming that all of the
property of the three parishes (including every candle and prayerbook) is
the property of the diocese and must be handed over. The three parishes
have responded that in fact the parish land, buildings, and accoutrements
(I love that word “accoutrements” a whole lot) were purchased solely with
money contributed by parishioners, with no money coming from the diocese
or national church, and that moreover they hold legal title. Lawsuits
have been filed, and eventually the courts will decide who is correct.

There’s been a lot of talk around the relevant portions of the
blogosphere about this–about whether we should, as Christians, have
recourse to the courts at a time like this; most of the comments I’ve
seen have thought that this reflects badly on Bishop Bruno. Now, I
support the three parishes in this particular debate, especially as
the property was purchased entirely with local funds. But I feel moved
to note an incident I discovered in Eusebius’ History of the
Church.

In the middle of the third century, the Bishop of Antioch was a fellow
named Paul of Samosata. After he’d been made bishop, it was discovered
that he held unorthodox views; in particular, he denied the divinity of
Christ, a constant of Christian doctrine since the apostles. On top of
that, he appears to have viewed his position primarily as a way to make
money for himself, and as a way to gain social status. Eventually he
seems to have required his followers to pay him divine honors, and to
have taken “spiritual brides”, whatever that means (though one can
certainly guess).

The Church as a whole responded by calling a synod at which gathered
bishops from as far away as Alexandria; they were unanimous in declaring
that Paul of Samosata’s teaching was heresy, and excommunicated him,
choosing another man, one Domnus, to be Bishop of Antioch.

Paul, for his part, refused to relinquish control of the church’s
property in Antioch; and so his successor and the synod called upon
Emperor Aurelian to intervene. In effect, they filed suit. Aurelian
(not a Christian himself) solved the problem simply and magisterially–he
asked the bishops of Italy who rightfully represented the Christian Church
in Antioch. They told him that Domnus did, and Paul was ignominously
thrown out by the secular authorities.

There are two aspects of this tale that interest me. The first is that
the leaders of the Church did not hesitate to appeal to the Emperor–and
note that this was well before Constantine’s day, at a time when
Christianity was tolerated at best by the Roman authorities. Being
excommunicate, the teachings against taking fellow Christians to court
would no longer apply to Paul of Samosata. But on top of that, Aurelian
based his decision not on what the local leaders said, but on what the
larger church said (as represented by the Italian bishops).

Given that the majority of the world’s Anglicans have declared themselves
in a state of impaired or broken communion with the Episcopal Church,
perhaps Bishop Bruno should be worrying about the Los Angeles Cathedral
Center….

Forager 23 has a new post up; this time he’s talking about movie remakes, which he breaks down into three categories: the Remake of Tribute, the Remake of Correction, and the Remake of Convenience. Then he starts pigeonholing specific films, and the fun begins. Go thou, verily, et cetera, et cetera.

Ugh. I really don’t need to wake up to comments spam advertising “r-pe stories with screams”. (That “-” used to be an “a”, if that wasn’t clear; I just don’t want to discover that the Foothills are the number one Google hit for that particular topic.)

Comments are disabled, again, at least until tomorrow. (Sigh!) If you have comments, you can send them to me, and I’ll post ’em for you. (Within reason.)

Update: I’ve re-enabled them; hope springs eternal.

Jaquandor comments (with reference to his manuscript in progress) on this post about how to (or how not to) write formula fantasy fiction. Jaq compared his work-in-progress with the guidelines and discovered he’d hit 7 out of 10 of them–but with extenuating circumstances in each case.

As it happens, I’ve written two fantasy novels; Through
Darkest Zymurgia, which you can read on-line for free because not
only isn’t it a best-seller it isn’t any kind of seller, and The King
of Elfland’s Nephew, of which I have a pretty good draft but which
I’m not really through with yet. As it’s a slow weekend (Jane and are
both afflicted with colds, and our youngest is teething) and Jaq’s
example seems like goodly post fodder, I’ll do the same. You’ll need to
read the original guidelines, linked above, to make complete sense of the
answers.

1. Create a main character

And according to the guidelines he should be a loser, so that young,
under-confident males will identify with him. Alas, I blew this one;
Leon Thintwhistle is a successful academic and a leading name in his
field, and Jonas Morgan’s a successful investment banker.

2. Create a Quest

Because the fate of the whole world has to rest on the main character’s
shoulders. Hmmm. I blew this one, too. Zymurgia has an
expedition, certainly, but it’s of no importance to anyone but the
principles. And while considerable weight rests on Jonas Morgan’s
shoulders, there’s no quest as such, nor is the whole world (or anything
like it).

3. Create a Motley Bunch of Companions

Each with particular skills that will be necessary at some point in the
story. The author of the guidelines might have added, “And then play
them against each other for laughs.” Here, I confess, Zymurgia
hews to the party line. But then, the members of a scientific expedition
are supposed to have particular skills that will be necessary at
some point. Elfland seems to be free of this sort of thing,
though. Jonas Morgan doesn’t (for the most part) have companions; he’s a
banker. He has a staff. Of employees, not of oak, hickory, or (spare me) lorken.

4. Create a wise but useless guide

He must be wise and powerful and never say anything or do anything
terribly helpful. If the book were a computer game, I suppose he’d be
the on-line hints. Zymurgia simply has no such character;
Elfland has something of the sort, but Mr. Godwin is about as
different from Gandalf as one can reasonably imagine.

5. Create the Land

It must have all of the landforms you can imagine, in bewildering and
unlikely juxtaposition, through which the motley crew can be dragged, and
it must fit on two pages of a paperback book. Hmmm, I seem to have blown
this one, too. Zymurgia is all about geography in one sense, but
I seem to have restrained myself with the variability; and anyway it
takes place in a modified Europe/Mediterranean world. Sort of. And in
Elfland I never go into the geography, it not being particularly
relevant. Though I can find most of the parts that take place in Los
Angeles on the map.

6. Create the Enemy

After all, you have to have a Dark Lord. Except that you don’t;
Zymurgia has no such thing. In Elfland, on the contrary,
there’s definitely a bad guy, the King of the Unseelie Host, but frankly
he’s not much of a Dark Lord. Evil, yes, but human-scale. Or
Elven-scale, perhaps. Not that my elves are particularly like anybody
else’s.

7. Make it Long

Blew it here, too. IIRC, both novels are around 90K-100K words.

8. Skip the Hard Parts

Such as the battle scenes, for they are messy and hard to write. As the
original guidelines put it,

The sound of the battle was suddenly a long way away but just as he
closed his eyes and the black cloud engulfed him he thought he heard
someone crying from the grassy knoll, “The Toasters are coming. The
Toasters are coming.”

I don’t think I did this. There’s precisely one (short) battle-scene
between the two books, and I describe it in detail. Oh, and there’s a bar
fight that takes place off-stage, but that’s only because it was funnier
that way. In fact, come to think of it, both books have a bar
fight that takes place off-stage because it was funnier that way. Hmmm.

9. Lead up to a Cataclysmic Battle

OK, a good bit of the plot in Elfland leads up to a battle. It’s
a fair cop–except that the battle doesn’t really settle anything. There
are no battles to speak of in Zymurgia

10. Kill Almost Everybody

To quote the guidelines,

Most of the Motley Bunch must die in terrible pain and
degradation before the Loser/Hero gets his act together. This is to keep
us mad at the Enemy, thought it is basically the Loser/Hero’s fault for
being so slow and incompetent.

Precisely one person dies in Zymurgia, mostly because he’s nasty
and stupid, and it’s his own fault. A few more people die in
Elfland (there’s a battle, after all) but only two of them are
really important to the plot. The book begins with the funeral of the
first of them, and the second dies well before the halfway point.

After giving these ten guidelines, the author goes on to list a few other
keypoints. Jaq skipped these, but I think I’ll give ’em a go.

Bad Expendables: E.g., orcs, goblins, trolls, cannon fodder. I
don’t have any of these in either book. That is to say, Elfland
certainly has ogres and trolls and goblins, but none of them are
expendable.

Tough Old Warriors: Nope, none of these either. Unless an
experienced CPA/comptroller counts.

Pure Maiden Warriors: Nor these.

Body Types: All of the people in my books (the corporeal ones,
anyone) do indeed have body types. But I don’t think that’s what he
meant.

Character Names: Some of my names are a bit silly, it’s true, but
all of them are pronounceable.

Technology: E.g., gaps therein. The technology in Zymurgia
is at a level roughly equivalent to the Victorian era I’m evoking. The
technology level in Elfland is consistent with the Elves’ interest
in such things. (Snicker, snicker, guffaw.)

Magic: I quote, “the Good Wizard’s fire is always blue, and Bad
Wizard’s is always green or red.” There are no wizards in either book.
Unless an experienced CPA/comptroller counts.

Dwellings: “There are three sorts of dwellings in fantasy novels
— caves, huts, and castles.” I’ve got caves and castles, certainly,
though none of the caves are of the “passageway under the impassable
mountains” variety. But I’ve got a number of other kinds of dwelling as
well, including a picture of a really nice Craftsman-style living room.

The Enemy’s Stronghold: There’s no enemy as such in
Zymurgia, and hence no stronghold. The enemy has a stronghold
in Elfland, but the good guys never get near it.

The Enemy’s fatal flaw will always be that he is over-confident.

But in Elfland, the Enemy certainly is over-confident. But that’s
not what proves his undoing.

So. I believe I’ve established that my stuff doesn’t follow the formula
particularly well. The question is, does that make it bold,
original, innovative, and fresh, or simply uncommercial?