What Would Spock Do?

Leonard Nimoy passed away yesterday and I am not ashamed to admit that I cried when I heard the news. 

I did not know Mr. Nimoy personally, I had never actually met him or was introduced to him and I was privileged to see him in person only once, at a Star Trek mini-convention in the early '90s.  Yet like Gene Roddenberry, DeForest Kelley and James Doohan before him, I felt that I had just lost a member of my family and his passing has left a hole in my heart.

I am also not ashamed to admit that for nearly 50 years, Star Trek has had a significant impact on my life.  Perhaps not to the same degree as for others; I have only been peripherally involved in ST fandom over the years, and not actively involved in close to 30 years.  But I cannot deny the influence that Star Trek in all of its incarnations has had on me.  In many ways, it has made me the person I am today.

I was only 9 years old when the TV show debuted in 1966 and I was introduced to it rather obliquely through my older, Indiana cousins who had come for a visit and babbled enthusiastically about this new science fiction show they were watching.  All I remember of the conversation is their description of this alien character with pointed ears.  I was probably a bit too young to completely understand everything but obviously it left a lasting impression on me.

A year later, while visiting a local department store with my parents, I happened to camp out in front of a TV in the electronics department.  The show currently playing had caught my eye and I was intrigued.  When I saw Mr. Spock, it suddenly dawned on me that I was watching the show my cousins where so thoroughly enamored of.  I was hooked on the spot.  When the show was moved to a 10:00 PM time slot in its 3rd and final season, I was fortunate that it was airing on Friday nights and my parents were tolerant enough to let me stay up past my bedtime to watch it, even though neither of them could fathom my fascination in the series.

When Star Trek found new life through syndication in the early 1970s, I watched the original series endlessly in re-runs and spent afternoons at my family's summer cottage drawing the supporting characters of each episode.  I spent my weekly allowance in Waldenbooks stores, devouring the James Blish episode anthologies and later, the animated series collections by Alan Dean Foster.  In fact, I was probably one of the few people who actually loved "Star Trek: The Animated Series".  I wrote letters to NASA, entreating them to name the first space shuttle after the starship, Enterprise.

I first dipped my toe into fandom by attending a local mini-con starring Walter Koenig (Ensign Pavel Chekov) and really took the plunge by attending Bi-Centennial 10, one of the last "monster cons" in NYC in honor of Star Trek's 10th anniversary.  There were more than 22,000 fans in attendance over 4 days.  (If you have never attended a Star Trek convention (or any fandom convention for that matter) and want an idea of what it's like then watch "Galaxy Quest".  Yeah, sometimes it's exactly like that...)

That same year, I was fortunate to see Gene Roddenberry himself when he visited my college as part of a traveling lecture series on Star Trek and the burgeoning phenomenon of its growing popularity.  I cheered when "Star Trek: The Motion Picture" was released and was thrilled when things really started to take off.

Throughout the years, I can honestly say I have loved Star Trek in all its many incarnations (yes, even the recent theatrical "reboots").  Obviously some incarnations are better than others, some still have the capacity to make me wince in pain while others make my heart soar to such a degree I could burst.  But whether through books, fan fiction and fan art, movies, TV series, graphic novels or cartoons, I have been and still remain a Trekkie and am proud of it.

Star Trek has shaped my thinking, uplifted my spirits, and inspired me.  It has given me hope in humanity and our future, bolstered my confidence, fueled my imagination and dreams, and given me reasons to laugh and cry over the decades.  It has encouraged me to be more tolerant, to examine a problem or issue from all sides, to consider all perspectives, and broaden my horizons.  Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations.

No single character or person has influenced me in those aspects more than Mr. Spock and through him, Leonard Nimoy. 

As one of my Facebook friends said so succinctly yesterday, together Spock and Leonard have shown me that it is OK to be different and being weird and a bit of a geek is nothing to be ashamed of; that reason should temper and inform our emotions but both are equal parts of who we are and what makes us truly human.  As my friends and family are well aware, I am fond of saying that everything I learned about thinking logically, I owe to the Vulcan; when faced with a difficult problem I ask myself, "what would Spock do?"

So as I sit here, reflecting and grieving for a person I barely knew, I ask myself, what would Spock do in this situation?  I imagine Spock arching that eyebrow of his with a bemused expression and then solemnly offering the traditional Vulcan condolences, "I grieve with thee."  I imagine him saying that it is OK to grieve but it is not logical to allow oneself to be consumed by grief.  It is better to remember a life well lived and celebrate the gifts he gave others along the way.  Or as Dr. "Bones" McCoy said at the end of "Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan"... "he's not really gone as long as we remember him."

But perhaps Leonard said it best himself through his final "tweet" before his passing,  “A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP”

Yes, we will remember you, Mr. Nimoy...always.  Thank you for all you have done and meant to me and millions of others like me.  Live Long And Prosper in the life to come.  God speed and God bless in the great adventure that awaits us all beyond death. You will be mourned and you will be missed, but you will never be forgotten. 

"Mene sakkhet Ur-Seveh"

  

My “Lost Summer” of Reading

A couple of years ago, not long after I fell in love with my first Kindle e-reader, I went on a bit of a self-imposed scavenger hunt.  I decided to search for and re-read about a half-dozen books that I first read years ago during what I have come to refer to as my “lost summer” of reading.  It took a while but I eventually located all of the books I remembered… except one.  

For a while I did a lot of fruitless searching on the internet whenever I had a chance. It didn't help that all I had to go on was the book’s title – “Dimension A”.  Unlike the other books I remembered, I couldn't recall the author or much of anything else that might aid my search, including any character names or even much of the plot.  In fact, the most prominent thing I could recall was it was the first time (actually probably the only time) I had ever seen the word “treacle”.  Being something of a vocabulary nerd, I recall having to look up the definition and even now I have to laugh when I realize “treacle” is the one thing that immediately comes to mind when I think of this book, even decades later.

Eventually I gave up searching.  Without any more information to go on, my chances of ever finding it were slim to none.  I figured that the book was long out of print and as a result would probably never be found in hard copy let alone e-book format anyway.  My scavenger hunt would likely remain incomplete and I must admit the thought saddened me a bit.

When I couldn't find a job in 1976, I spent a glorious, long and lazy summer sitting on the screened porch of my family’s cottage near Lake Erie, reading almost every science fiction book the nearest town’s small, store-front library had to offer.  I had just finished my sophomore year in college and I had aged-out of the city’s summer youth program and in spite of filling out an application for just about every retail business in the local area, I remained unemployed that year.

The tiny branch of the Erie County library system wasn't very big and the sci-fi section occupied only two small shelves near the floor that probably held a couple dozen books each, if that.  But every week when my family went into town for groceries and other supplies, I slipped away to that little piece of heaven to borrow another new book.  Then, on days when my sisters and I weren't baking like lizards on the beach or swimming in the lake, I could usually be found on that screened porch, reading my latest treasure.

Even now when I close my eyes, I can still recall sitting in a corner, camped out in an old whitewashed fan-backed wicker chair that was probably at least three-times older than I was that summer.  It creaked pleasantly every time I shifted for it had been painted and repainted countless times by that point, at least once by me.  The handmade, careworn and flattened patchwork cushions, pieced and sewn out of scraps of rich, jewel-toned antique velvet and satin dress remnants, always exuded a faint musty smell from being packed away nine months out of every year, no matter how much they were aired.  With my long, lanky legs tucked up underneath me, or stretched out on an equally ancient footstool, I whiled away many an afternoon, getting lost in a book while the gentle lake breezes wafted and whistled through the porch screens and rustled the leaves of the trees surrounding the cottage.

The books themselves were standard library fare – linen hard covers with glassine dust jackets that crinkled and crackled when you opened them, Dewey Decimal System stickers plastered on their spines, and little cardboard envelopes in back holding the lending cards which the librarian dutifully removed, stamped and filed away after carefully scrutinizing my library card like a passport.  In a way, those books were passports… to other planets, other worlds.

I credit my love of reading in general and my love of science fiction in particular to a somewhat lonely childhood and a half-dozen, young adult serial books handed down by my Indiana cousins.  While my contemporaries were reading Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys mysteries, I was reading the adventures of Tom Swift Jr., boy inventor.  Yes, I was a nerd at an early age.  

But that summer I was introduced to some of the grand masters of the genre: Ben Bova, Isaac Asimov and Arthur C. Clarke.  I read Bova’s “The Winds of Altair”, “Exiles Trilogy”, “As on a Darkling Plain” and “The Weathermakers” which still remains one of my favorite, fun sci-fi novels to this day.  Together with the meteorology class I had taken that spring, “The Weathermakers” fueled my life-long love of clouds and severe weather.  I also read Asimov’s novelization of “Fantastic Voyage”, Clarke’s “2001: A Space Odyssey” and Madeleine L’Engle’s “A Wind in the Door”.  

And “Dimension A”…

Although I had resigned myself to the fact I would never find this book, it was never far from the back of my mind at times.  Then not long ago on a whim, I did a search on Goodreads and actually got a hit.  There wasn't any information listed that would give me any idea if this was the book I was looking for but I figured there couldn't be that many novels with that title.  More importantly, the hit gave me the author’s name, L.P. Davies, and from there a search on Amazon actually turned up a selection of re-sellers who had physical copies of the book.  A few of them had posted pictures of it and even after thirty-eight years, I recognized the cover immediately.  

I was ecstatic and for the princely sum of $8.50 plus shipping I quickly ordered a copy. When it arrived and I actually held it in my hands I almost couldn't believe it.  

My newest acquisition is a first edition printed in 1969; a young adult novel written by a Welsh author who apparently enjoyed moderate success in the UK.  It has a linen cloth cover and cloth taped spine, with stitched pages and the same glassine dust jacket from my memory that crinkles and crackles when I open it and it has a familiar musty book smell.  And although the Dewey Decimal System sticker has been removed, there is still a little cardboard envelope inside the back cover that once held a library lending register card.  My copy of “Dimension A” once graced the shelf of a library… perhaps even a small town, store-front library like the one from my past.

My literary scavenger hunt for the books on the reading list of my “lost summer” is finally complete.

I am not entirely sure why finding this specific book was so important to me.  The very fact that I remembered so few details about it surely meant that it is likely not a great work of fiction and yet, somehow it left an impression on me that seemed far more than simple nostalgia.  Having passed the “50 yard line of life” a few years ago, I have found that as I get older I have generally gotten less nostalgic, not more so.  The family summer cottage was sold years ago when my aging parents could no longer afford the property taxes or take care of it and neither of my sisters nor I had the desire or means to take on that burden.  The whitewashed wicker chair was painted yet again but in a different color and now graces the sun room of my sister’s home but the satin and velvet patchwork cushions, made from old Victorian era dresses worn by my grandmother and great aunt, finally succumbed to age and dry rot and had to be thrown away.  I felt a passing twinge of regret each time but life moves on.

But for all of that, I often remain oddly nostalgic over favorite books I've read.  I still have those six Tom Swift, Jr. books my cousins gave me and have even added a dozen or more volumes from the series to my collection.  When I retire I plan on re-reading them all.  I have other books from my childhood that I have preserved and treasured, some of them defaced with my crude, early artwork before I was old enough to know better and learned to treat a book with more respect.  Perhaps it wasn't “Dimension A” in particular but the collection of books as a whole which drove me to keep looking for it.  Like certain songs which act as signposts in our memories, forever fixed to seminal events in our lives, I have come to realize that this book or collection of books marked a significant milestone in my life.  

I refer to that time as my “lost summer” for one simple reason; although I was technically an adult in 1976, I was not gainfully employed until the following year, and although I have held many jobs since then, I have been working steadily ever since.  But that summer, I had no responsibilities other than a few family chores, I had no bills to pay, no schedules to keep.  I passed the long, lazy summer days with nothing pressing or important to do and not a care in the world… except to decide which book to read next. For three wonderful, glorious months, time seemed to stand still as I stood poised on the threshold between being a child and becoming an adult.  I have never enjoyed the same degree of freedom or luxury since and I still look back at that period as one of the happiest times of my life.

So, as I sit here preparing to re-read this last missing piece of that “lost summer” I have to wonder; will it be as good as the book I remember?  Probably not, but then that was never the point of my search to begin with.  As the old adage goes, it’s not about the destination, but the journey.  And for better or worse, for a week or so in 1976, “Dimension A” was a welcome traveling companion accompanying me on the journey to the person I have become.  It’s part of my personal history, less than a paragraph, perhaps no more than a footnote in the story of my life.  So I will settle back with a cup of tea, revisit and get reacquainted with an old friend after almost four decades.  It will be a sweet reunion.

And perhaps that was really the whole point of my literary scavenger hunt all along.


UPDATE:

Now that I have finished reading "Dimension A" I have to say it was an interesting experience.  To begin with, I was surprised by how little of the story I remembered beyond the general premise, including the rather surprising ending, but much of it looked familiar and started coming back to me the further I read.

A scientist and his assistant go missing from a locked laboratory.  With the aid of an old friend and scientific colleague, the two young men searching for them manage to piece together the method of their disappearance and are accidentally pulled into the same alien world, another dimension in the multi-verse adjacent to our own.  Searching for answers and a way home, they rise to the challenge of surviving in the face of unknown threats from all quarters, in an inhospitable and sometimes hostile and deadly environment while trying to make some sense of everything around them.  In the process they find both missing men and learn the truth of this alternate world they have stumbled into and the threat it poses to Earth.

Although it is not uncommon for me to be reading more than one book at the same time, I deliberately waited to finish the book I already had in progress before starting "Dimension A".  I also made it a point to camp out in my favorite chair, either in the living room or in our sun room.  I wanted to take my time, relax and savor this book in an effort to recapture the feelings of that magical summer on the screened porch of my family's summer cottage.  Obviously it wasn't the same experience but then I didn't expect it to be the same.  Too many years have passed, too much has changed in my life since then.  I have grown considerably older and hopefully wiser.

Was "Dimension A" great fiction?  To be honest, not really.  I would probably give it three or four stars.  Keep in mind however that it is a product of its times (written in 1969) and possesses a bit of the same stiff reserve of its British/Welsh author. But it was and still is an imaginative young adult story that in many ways reminds me of "Tunnel Through Time" by Lester DelRey, another childhood favorite of mine, and "Half Way Home" by Hugh Howey.

Was it as good as the book I remember?  Most definitely yes, or at least I enjoyed it as much as when I first read it.  Perhaps I am being overly nostalgic here but it was a great pleasure to read this book again after so long, especially since I remembered so little of it.  In many ways it was almost like reading it again for the first time.   And although I had forgotten much of the intricacies of the plot, I had the same visceral reaction at the two surprise "reveals" at the end, enough to remind me of why I enjoyed it so much the first time around.

People often say "You can't go home again".  But sometimes, if you're fortunate, you can come pretty close to it just the same.

Journeying the Cosmos Without Carl

"If you wish to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first invent the universe."

With that quote, so begins "The Lives of the Stars", my favorite episode of Carl Sagan's "Cosmos: A Personal Journey".  

I was a freshly minted college graduate with a degree in geology and a minor in astronomy when Carl's landmark 13-part series aired on my local PBS TV station in the fall of 1980.  Now 34 years later, Carl's widow, Ann Druyan, in collaboration with Neil deGrasse Tyson have endeavored to redo, update and refresh Cosmos for the 21st century and a new audience.  Certainly a great deal has changed since then; new discoveries, new technology and new information we didn't have before but as I write this, hours away from the broadcast debut of the new series, I can't help but feel a bit ambivalent.  Journeying through the cosmos without Carl just won't be the same. 

To be sure, if anyone can possibly fill Carl's shoes, Neil deGrasse Tyson is the best candidate.  In many ways he has that same sense of awe and wonder that were as much an integral part of Carl Sagan as his ubiquitous turtleneck sweaters and corduroy suit coat.  Neil has the same easy-going manner and knack for making the most complex astronomical concepts comprehensible to the average person and also possesses a fair amount of that engaging "gee wiz" flair.  And I have no doubt that Ann Druyan has gone to great lengths to carry on Carl's legacy and vision in a loving and faithful way.  But I know I will miss the unique cadence of Carl's voice as he skillfully carried us along on his personal journey through space and time.

Watching the original Cosmos had a profound effect on me that still resonates with me to this day.  The coffee table companion book to the series is the only book of that type that I have ever dared to desecrate with a yellow highlighter.  But I grew up in the space age, watching the excitement and drama of the Mercury, Gemini and Apollo missions.  I came of age during the era of exploration beyond our planet with the Viking, Pioneer and Voyager missions to Mars and beyond.  As a science major, I sat with my classmates watching real-time downloads of the spectacular photos from Voyager with barely restrained anticipation along with the engineers at JPL in California.  We cheered along with the mission controllers as each new photo slowly painted, line by line, gazing upon images of Jupiter and Saturn with sublime clarity no Earth-based telescope could match.  It was a time of wonder, thrilling speculation and debate.  So I suppose it should come as no surprise to anyone who knows me well why Cosmos left such an impact on me.

Cosmos was subtitled "A Personal Journey" for good reason.  Over 13 weeks, Carl took us on a thrilling voyage of discovery and wonder as he shared his awe and admiration for our vast universe in all its amazing complexity.  Each episode left me tingling with excitement and I dreamed of standing beside Carl in his Spaceship of the Imagination as he explored quasars and black holes, pulsars and nebulae, watching stars being born in spinning, collapsing clouds of interstellar dust and eventually dying spectacularly in fiery exploding super novae of unimaginable proportions.  In hindsight the minimalist set was a bit cheesy perhaps but believing the simplistic console with flashing lights, the leather office chair, subdued lighting and large view screen were actually the bridge of a spaceship was hardly the point.  No doubt the new series will have something far more flashy with all that computer generated effects now have to offer.  What was more important and most memorable to me was the look of child-like wonder on Carl's face as he imagined visiting all the far-flung corners of creation and sharing that excitement and wonder with the rest of us.  If he was able to suspend his disbelief for a short time, so could we.

So, as I sit down tonight and watch "Cosmos: A Space-Time Odyssey" I will try to do it with an open mind for what Neil and Ann are attempting to do; sharing Carl's vision and wonder with a new generation and bringing it up to date for a new century.  I will certainly learn a few things along the way, as I did more than three decades ago. And no doubt it will rekindle the same sense of wonder and awe that I carried with me all through college and into adulthood, every time I pause and look up at the night sky.  But Carl will not be far from my mind and I hope he won't mind if I end up being a bit nostalgic for his labor of love which is the original Cosmos.  I think he would be pleased that his legacy lives on in the minds and hearts of so many after more than thirty years.  And I like to think that now that he's passed on, he's found the answers to all of those questions he dared to ask and dream of so long ago.

WOOL Gathering...

Every once in a while, when I least expect it, I will read a book that grabs me by the seat of the pants, pulls me out of my chair and throws me on my ass…

Figuratively speaking of course.

I’m talking about a story so original, so well written, so exceptionally executed that it makes you sit straight up in your chair and take notice. These are the stories that set fire to your imagination to such a degree that you almost can’t escape them. Thoughts of them creep into your mind in idle moments during the day and slip into your dreams at night. It's the last thing on your mind as you drift off to sleep and the first thing on your mind when you wake up the next morning. It's the book you can't put down, the novel whose pages you can't stop turning, the story you become so engrossed in to the point that your responsibilities in the real world, like working for a living, start to get in the way of your reading.

I'm talking about books like author Hugh Howey’s “Silo Saga”… “WOOL”, “SHIFT” and just released, “DUST”. To be perfectly honest, I haven't been this excited about a set of books in years and I hope I can do them justice here without spoiling it for anyone who hasn't yet read the saga.

By now most people familiar with the “WOOLiverse” also know the story of how Hugh Howey self-published the first part of the series as a 40+ page short story in July of 2011 using Amazon’s Kindle Direct Publishing app. He charged next to nothing for it and did nothing to promote it. Readers found it, loved it, told their friends about it and begged for more. Hugh readily complied and that initial story led to 4 more parts, all now collected into the “WOOL Omnibus”. WOOL’s success led Hugh to write a set of 3 prequel stories now compiled into the “SHIFT Omnibus” and folks still couldn’t get enough. The icing on the cake was just released in the form of “DUST”, Hugh’s final installment in the saga and perhaps one of the most eagerly awaited eBooks in recent memory. It quickly rose to the top of just about every best seller list within 24 hours of its release.

I must admit however that I am arriving to this party a bit late. As a voracious reader, especially of Sci-Fi, I only found out about WOOL earlier this year through a modest Washington Post book review when the omnibus version was released in print. I don’t remember many of the details of the review although I remember it was quite favorable. I became intrigued by the interesting back story of how the saga took off on Kindle and the concept of an entire human community living deep underground in a buried silo in a post-apocalyptic, dystopian future where just thinking about the world “outside” is taboo and actually going outside is a death sentence.

So I added WOOL to my “to read” section of Goodreads and thought little more about it for the next couple of months although it was never far from the back of my mind. Then just before I left on vacation in June, I cleared my reading list, downloaded the WOOL Omnibus to my Kindle and I have never been the same again. Let's just say that it was a good thing that I did this during vacation when I had plenty of time to get lost in this book. I couldn't put it down.

It's a rare gift to be able to write well and make a living at it. It is a rarer talent indeed when an author has the ability to capture a reader so thoroughly and manage to do it within the first few paragraphs of a book. That has only happened to me twice before in my lifetime and I have read a LOT of books in more than half a century. Post-apocalyptic fiction is also not my usual cup of tea but Hugh not only had me nibbling at the hook with his entire concept, he'd set the hook and had reeled me in before I was more than a half dozen pages into the first part, “Holston”, which comprises the entirety of that first story published in 2011. In hindsight I can imagine this story would have made a magnificent episode of “The Twilight Zone” with its surprising twist at the end and its “film noir” feel.  In fact, based on the Silo Saga alone, I think that Mr. Howey could easily stand beside some of our greatest authors who also wrote for that TV series; Rod Serling, Richard Matheson and Ray Bradbury to name a few.

By the time I had finished WOOL #2, “Perfect Gauge”, I began to see what all the excitement was about and had bought “SHIFT” in anticipation. Reading WOOL was like peeling an onion; it is full of little plot twists, surprise reveals and heart-stopping “oh my gawd” moments that blew my mind at every turn and kept me going, dying to find out what happened next. And in spite of its dystopian setting, WOOL is first and foremost a story about people, regular Joe Schmoes like the rest of us, but struggling daily through life in a rigid and stifling society, living and dying in an underground world they are only beginning to realize is not the way humanity was intended to live. The principle characters are well developed and there are plenty to both love and hate here, from the tender love story of Mayor Jahns and Deputy Marnes, to the “tough as nails” mechanic-come-sheriff, Juliette and the hateful leader of IT, Bernard, who particularly struck a nerve with me since I actually work in the IT field.

It took me a bit longer to read “SHIFT” but only because I was back to work at that point and couldn't put aside the time I wanted to devote to it. SHIFT is the prequel that tells the story of how humanity, or what's left of it, has ended up in this situation and it ends about the same point as WOOL does, merging the two stories and timelines together and setting the stage for “DUST”. Like WOOL before it, SHIFT is full of surprises as the story unfolds and I must admit I found it a trifle confusing at times but then the story is told through the eyes of Donald, the main character and the reader is basically discovering the truth and magnitude of what’s happened to the world along with him. Honestly, reading SHIFT was more than a bit frightening too and a little more difficult for me to read personally for the same reason. As a child of the Cold War era, with vivid memories of the Cuban Missile Crisis, air raid sirens and “duck and cover” drills, reading SHIFT chilled me to the bone with its underlying theme of political leaders in positions of power, harboring and acting on their twisted visions of destiny, legacy and purpose while the rest of us are either consciously turning a blind eye or completely clueless.

DUST, the latest installment just released in August, is the crowning conclusion of Hugh's portion of the saga and it certainly doesn’t disappoint as so many sequels so often do. A masterpiece in itself, DUST is a very satisfying and fitting end to the series. It is every bit as engaging and riveting as WOOL and SHIFT and it ends on a very hopeful note but unfortunately not without a few heart-rending losses along the way. It was also every bit a roller coaster ride as its predecessors and every bit as enjoyable. And although it took me only a few days to read it completely, I went back and reread a few sections again because frankly I didn’t want it to end.

But in many ways, the saga isn’t ending at all. In a rare move on the part of an author, at least in my experience, Hugh has freely and generously opened his creation to his fans and is encouraging and wholeheartedly championing fan fiction based on his work. By partnering with one of Amazon’s latest endeavors, Kindle Worlds, he’s allowing these budding authors to actually get paid for their stories set in his universe, inspiring them to self-publish their work in the very same fashion he did with that first WOOL story. Hugh has not just invited others to play in his sandbox and welcomed them with open arms, he’s also handed them the pail and shovel, then stepped out of the sandbox altogether [for now at least].

And by all accounts, his generous spirit has borne much fruit. At last count there were at least a dozen or more Silo stories/books/novellas out there on Kindle Worlds, most of them doing well and climbing the eBook genre best seller lists. Hugh advertises and posts links to many of them on his own web site and is equally generous with his advice and praise. And along the way, he’s also developed a fiercely loyal fan base [and I now count myself among them]. Imagine my surprise when I went searching on Facebook for what I expected to be the author’s fan page and found instead, Hugh’s personal FB page and that he was accepting Friend Requests from complete strangers. He accepted my request in a matter of a couple hours and I had the pleasure of sharing the Release Day excitement for DUST along with the author and about 4,500 [and counting] of his closest fans/friends. And as he visits various conventions and book events, he frequently arranges “meet ups” for his fans in attendance so they can hang out for a few hours and get to know him and each other. I sincerely hope to have that opportunity someday.

In closing I can only hope my enthusiasm for Hugh Howey’s work will encourage others to give it a try. For any lover of truly exceptional science fiction, these books are not to be missed. Based on my love of WOOL, SHIFT and DUST, I am eager to read some of Hugh’s earlier books and have already bought several of them. I am also looking forward to returning to the WOOLiverse by reading all of the fan fiction I can get my hands on. And I can definitely see myself revisiting the entire Silo saga, again and again. Although I have now bought all 3 Silo books in paperback [one treasured copy of DUST signed by Hugh himself] it’s a good thing I bought them first as eBooks because like so many of my other favorite novels, I can easily see myself reading and rereading the paper copies until they fall apart!

After They’re Gone, Will That Make Me Only Half as Wise?

“I’m afraid they have to come out…”

I stared at my dentist like a deer caught in the headlights and my stomach did a gut-wrenching somersault when Dr. P uttered those fateful words at my recent semi-annual checkup.  After forty-odd years of living with all four of my wisdom teeth I had just been told that two of them had to go.  With my face in my hands I reluctantly agreed, made the appointment for the extraction for a month later before I changed my mind and left the dentist’s office in shock.  On the drive home I silently cursed the new dental hygienist, whose name I didn't even know, and whose over-zealous cleaning had revealed the decay at the back of my two upper wisdom teeth that led to the fatal proclamation.  Once I got home and shared the verdict and my subsequent distress with family and friends via Facebook, I received many sympathetic yet calm assurances that everything would be OK and things would turn out fine. 

Riiiight….

How can I explain my sentimental attachment to these wisdom teeth?  It’s almost been a matter of pride over the years to be able to say that I never had to go through the usual rite of passage of having them removed as most people do when they reach young adulthood.  And how can I explain the fact that a grown woman is literally terrified of having these teeth removed?  I haven’t had to have any teeth pulled in almost fifty years and my memories of the experience are not pleasant.

I have had a love/hate relationship with my teeth my entire life.  On one hand, I am very grateful that dental science and hygiene have progressed to the point that I still have all of my adult teeth and will likely keep all of them [or almost all of them] until they put me six feet under.  At this point in his life, my Dad had a full set of dentures.  I am also grateful for great healthcare benefits that allow me to care for my teeth with regular semi-annual checkups.  On the other hand however, caring for my teeth over the years has been a royal pain in the… mouth.  I have endured more pain and grief over these choppers than I care to remember.

From the time I was old enough to visit a dentist for the first time, I was told that my mouth was a dental disaster area: two teeth missing since birth, two so malformed in the jaw that they would never erupt, a horrendous overbite and a set of buck teeth that would have made a gopher proud, and double teeth, one in front of the other like a shark.  For years, the “before” plaster cast of my mouth occupied a prominent place in my orthodontist’s office among a rogue’s gallery of his worst cases. 

I was nine years old when my family dentist, Dr. S insisted that I needed braces and my parents thankfully agreed though they could little afford the expense.  However before the braces could be put on, Dr. S and the orthodontist both agreed the remaining eight baby teeth had to come out.  No sense putting braces on teeth that were destined to fall out anyway. 

On the day of the appointment to extract the first four teeth, a terrified young girl sat in an over-sized dentist chair with a mouth full of cotton waiting for the moment of truth.  Dr. S went for the first tooth… and in spite of his gentle assurances and a hefty dose of Novocain, it hurt like Hell.  Seriously... I once worked in a butcher shop and cut the tip of my finger off... three separate times... and it didn't hurt as much as having these teeth pulled.  I let out a blood curdling scream that surely cleared out his waiting room, bit his finger and immediately dissolved into a quivering puddle of tears.  At least that is the way I remember it.  Dr. S managed to get the tooth out, as well as a second one but perhaps fearing for the safety of his remaining digits, he finally gave up and sent me upstairs to the oral surgeon. 

Dr. G fared only a little better with me.  The anesthesia of choice at the time was ether gas and while it knocked me out sufficiently so he could safely extract the remaining teeth without sacrificing any fingers, it also nauseated me to the point of vomiting and apparently I also got to laughing and kicking during the procedure.  I’m sure he was very happy he only had to see me once.

When my adult teeth finally came in, it was back to the orthodontist.  For $750 a set, a princely sum back in the ‘60s, which my middle-class parents paid off in installments of $10 or $20 per visit, I joined the ranks of kids everywhere who have had to endure the predicable taunts from classmates by being called “metal mouth”. 

I spent the next twelve years wearing those braces… In fact I wore them so long that orthodontic technology improved to the point where the type of braces became outdated and obsolete… three times.  In addition to the monthly checkups and periodic tightening of the braces, I also had to occasionally endure a parade of dental students peering into my gaping mouth to see the antique appliances I was currently sporting.

Although it seemed as though my orthodontist was perfectly content to send me to my grave wearing the braces, I finally called it quits when I turned twenty-one.  I was convinced they were the reason my love life [or lack thereof] was so abysmal [they weren't but there was only so much you could do with a shy, geeky college student during the age of disco music] and I told my orthodontist to remove them.  When they finally came off after twelve years, I actually felt naked. 

My wisdom teeth started erupting about the same time and although I was terrified at the prospect of having them removed, the orthodontist assured me that I had plenty of room and as long as they came in reasonably straight, I could keep them.  I hope he wasn't insinuating that I have a big mouth.

So here I am forty-plus years later, facing the fact that after all of this time, I have to part with two of my wisdom teeth.  We've been through a lot together… over the years they have been coddled and cared for, drilled and filled, but it has become an effort of diminishing returns.  Doc P. says they need to go while they are still reasonably intact.  So in less than three weeks, ready or not, they are coming out.

I've asked Doc if I can have them once they've been extracted.  He gave me a strange look but assured me that if I want to I can take them home with me.  I’m not exactly sure what I will do with them… but maybe, just maybe I’ll hold onto them… and when the time comes…make arrangements for them to join me six feet under….

Ready or Not, Here I Blog...

OK, so this is my first attempt to blog.  This self proclaimed "geek goddess" finally joined Facebook a few short years ago and I am now jumping with both feet into the blogosphere.  Who knows where this will lead.  :-)

Of course I am showing my age with my choice of Blog Title.  But Crystalline Dreamer has been my moniker of choice for almost 30 years.  I was a geology major in college many, many moons ago and it is also the pen name I use when writing.

So... Ready or not, here I am... Blogging. Not sure I will produce anything worth reading but I will go where the spirit... And whimsy may lead me.