Technobabble

     I was searching for a new science fiction show to watch, and I just tried and failed to start watching Star Trek: Voyager. I've seen a bit of it before, when I was a kid and it was first on the air. I thought it was kind of hokey then, but when I tried it again this last week I thought that maybe I just couldn't appreciate it. There are definitely some things that, as I get older, I start to understand nuances and subtleties. There are some things that could not hold my attention as a kid because as a boy all I wanted were action and adventure (i.e. spaceships shooting each other with lasers and blowing up).
     No, this time, the effect was the exact opposite. Instead of being able to appreciate what my young self was not mature enough to, I am acutely aware of the ridiculousness that my young self was impervious to. I am referring mostly to the technobabble.
     Now, as a writer of science fiction myself, I understand how important technobabble is. It is a staple, not just for the writer who may not be up on all the latest of high-technology and scientific breakthroughs, but also for the reader/viewer. While there is definitely a niche for hard SF where every last line of science must be accurate and possible, most readers find this daunting and more than a little boring. Technobabble helps you breeze past the cumbersome details and get to what is important. For most of us, it's not important what part of the spaceship engine failed and for what reason; we just need to know the ship's broken, and the crew needs to fix it within the next 22-45 minutes. That's where the drama and the excitement is, not in the technical manual that would be needed to outline the exact science.

Maybe I just need to watch with this in hand.

     But Star Trek has elevated technobabble beyond and art form and into the realm of the surreal. It's like the writers were having a contest to see who could write the longest sentence without using any actual English words. The technobabble is so persistent that it is consistently used as a deus ex machina. What's that? You're stuck in the time-dilation loop on the event horizon of a singularity? Why don't we just use a tachyon beam to open a subspace rift and then convert the magnetrons to produce a graviton field to push us through? It's so obvious.
     Now, my wife has pointed out that Trekkies take this technobabble so seriously that it actually is a necessary part of the show, and that many of these terms must be used correctly or else there will be angry letters. I can understand this in some ways; any science-fiction franchise is going to have some staple technobabble that has become cannon and must therefore stay with the show. Even if this technobabble was coined decades ago, and now what we start to understand about science does not agree. 
     I get it, but it doesn't mean I have to like it. I got through all ten seasons of Stargate, despite the fact that Sam Carter's was a "scientist" in the sense that she was the resident expert on everything from chemistry to computer science to astrophysics, and that she clearly did her docotorate on Making Things Overload and Explode. But I don't think I'm going to be able to get through Star Trek and all its dilithium crystals and magical technology that can make anything out of thin air.
     And don't even get me started on the "aliens"...

Espenson's Sandbox

     At Dragon*Con I had the pleasure of sitting on a panel and listening to Jane Espenson talk. As is often the case at these kind of Q&A sessions, I had a question in mind that I considered going up to the mic and asking. But, as happens just as often as not, somebody else brings up something that gets my question answered.
     What it boiled down to was that I wanted to know what differences there were, as a writer, between working on your own stuff and working on somebody else's. The distinction, in my mind, is that "your own stuff" means characters and worlds that you have created solely on your own, as opposed to things created by somebody else. When you're a television writer, it seems to me that you are working largely with somebody else's stuff (at least, if you have a career like Espenson, where you work under people like Joss Whedon). And I wonder if that ever feels limiting or constraining.
     She responded (albeit via somebody else's question) by saying how much she preferred to work with other people's characters. She mentions being excited that she gets to "play in this sandbox" and work with characters and worlds that are already rich and developed. She then went on to talk about what characters she never got to write for that she always regretted, and so on.
     I'll admit, I was flabbergasted by this response. At first I thought she was just putting good spin on it, because I thought surely she can't enjoy having to work under the creative control of somebody else. But listening to her, I could tell this was not the case. She really did prefer to take something that already existed and add her own flare to it.
     In case you were wondering, I'm obviously the exact opposite. I don't know if I could stand not having complete creative control over the characters I was writing. Even if I was given a lot of slack and freedom, I would always know that these were somebody else's babies and that I couldn't treat them however I wanted. I would always feel the creator looming over me and saying "He/she would not say/do that." What Espenson referred to as a sandbox I just saw as a can of worms I wanted no part in. I can't even see myself attempting fan-fiction, even if it is a franchise or universe I love. For example, I wrote some scripts for a Star Wars comic, but it had to be set in a time and place where no pre-existing characters would be so that there wouldn't be any interaction or overlap. 
     As far as that goes, I also know I'm enough of a control freak that any attempt I've made in the past to co-write with somebody else has always ended in disaster. For starters, I don't know how the process should be done so that it all blends smoothly together. It always seems such an obvious, jarring joint when one writer stops and the next begins. And I also have a hard time letting somebody else take over characters and plot events that I consider "mine." Maybe I would fear the looming creator if I were working with somebody else's stuff because I know I myself would be that looming creator.
     I suppose this might just be the difference between a novelist and a TV writer, although that seems unfair (not to mention implicitly smacking of elitism). I'm used to playing God, so to speak: making the world, making the characters, and creating the plot all on my own. Oh, sure, I get inspiration and ideas from other places, but every writer does that. The big difference is that I know that I have to do everything; there aren't going to be other writers to fill in the details for me. Which is fine, I generally think of myself as a detail-oriented person, and in a lot of ways I like that.
     But now I feel like my next challenge should be to try collaboration. There's always the chance that my past attempts have failed because of some other factor other than my inherent inability to work with other creative types. If nothing else, it should be an interesting exercise that could teach me a thing or two.
     The question is, then: are there any writers out there that I know who are as dead-serious about the craft as I am?

Dream House

     I had an unusual dream last night. Well, I should say the dream itself wasn't terribly strange by most standards (it involved a friend of our trying to spend the night in a tent in our backyard while it was raining, and then people were mysteriously disappearing...). But what really struck me as odd is that it was the first dream I've had that I can remember taking place in my current house.
     I'm sure I'm not the only one who is like this, but the vast majority of my dreams take place (if they are in a recognizable setting) in the house I grew up in, back in Ohio (or the high school that was right across the street). I suppose it only makes sense; I spent the most time there of any house I've lived in, and those were my formative years. I've only owned my home for the last three years, so I guess I'm happy to have it finally sink in deep enough to show up in my dreams.
     I would also note that, for two years after college, I was living back with my parents in the new house they had built (on the same property my old house was on). But that house has never made an appearance in my subconscious wanderings. There was nothing wrong with that house, of course, but in many ways it never really fit as being "home."
     Which seems like sentimental tripe, I know. But there is something indefinable about a house that makes it feel like home, and I'm artiste enough to admit to such a metaphysical concept. What I always go back to is something that happened to my wife and I when we were buying our home.
     Now, as usual, we looked at a lot of different places. We even got outbid for a few of them that we liked, and there were dozens that we didn't even want to go visit, just by looking at the pictures. We had something of a list made of things we wanted in a house, but by and large we were just gauging what was available in our price range, and I figured we'd just end up settling for something that wasn't too bad to either of us.
     Yes, we ended up falling in love with our house. And this was after visiting another house with the exact same downstairs floorplan, but a completely different and stupid layout for the upstairs (I don't remember the exact details, but they somehow managed to fit three poorly-shaped bedrooms into a space where we currently have four). My wife, after leaving this first house, commented "I love the downstairs, but I wish we could do something about the upstairs." The very next house we went to had the exact same downstairs floorplan, but with the superior upstairs I mentioned before.
     But this is not the tale I always think of to prove my point. Before we came across either of the aforementioned houses, we ran into one that looked on paper like it would be fantastic.  It was larger than the house we settled for, it cost less, and it was much newer (and thus in far better repair).
     However, as we were taking the tour, something about the place just seemed off. I'm not going to pretend to know what it was. Now, part of it was that the yard had not a single bush or tree in it. Sure, it was your stereotypical white-picket-fence surburban lot, so there wasn't much yard anyway. But it was devoid of anything but grass. I found that more than a bit off-putting. It also might have been that it was all so new and shiny that I couldn't help but wonder why it was so cheap. To this day, I can't say what it was that turned me off the place, but it was nothing logical. On the drive away from that house, my wife and I had one of those conversations where we were both hedging around an idea we didn't know the other had also had. We were both trying to convince the other (and ourselves) that this was a great deal, and that we should go for it. Finally, we admitted that the place creeped us out in some vague, nagging way, and we skipped it. My wife has later postulated that she thought "something bad" had happened there.
     Now, I'm not going to go into a conversation here about psychics or hunches or any kind of paranormal phenomena, no matter how much that story points in that direction. Mostly because I'm still on the fence about how I feel about the existence of psychic phenomena. And if it does exist, I am probably the least psychically-sensitive person on the planet. Yet I still walked away from a house that all rational thought would have had me buy. Ostensibly, because it didn't feel like "home" to me.
     I'm glad my house does fit so comfortably into my mental niche of what a home should be. Not just because of all the damn work we've done (and are still doing) into making the place nice, but also because I'll soon be raising my son here. My hope is that this place will be featuring into his dreams until he's thirty and has he own place, too.

Also, I Know Everything is Really Big, Thanks

On an unrelated note, I will build this D&D character one day...

     Astronomy is always fascinating. Lately I've been watching documentaries on the universe and the various topics on the subject. The childlike wonder at what is possible out there still remains, as it did when I was a kid. However, there is one major point I would make to any astronomer (and many of these can be applied to any kind of scientist, really) to facilitate intelligent dialogue about the subject and to prevent me from throwing things at you.
     Stop acting like you know everything. This really should be first and foremost for all scientists, everywhere, all the time. There may be some things that can be definitively known, but really there is far more out there that we can't be 100% positive about. The example that is setting me off on this point (and the whole post, really) is the Big Bang. Firstly, it's just a theory. Secondly, just take a step back and think about it. The universe was once "small and hot," then "expanded rapidly and cooled down." The scientists on these shows throw these terms around like it makes all the obvious sense in the world. What really sets me on edge is when the Big Bang is used as the explanation for the beginning or creation of the universe. Sorry, but that doesn't fit. You're pointedly ignoring the implied question: so what was around before that beginning? If we're going to talk about timelines, and if we're going to give the universe an age (about 13.75 billion years old), then we have to logically continue the line of questioning about what was around 13.75 billion years and 1 day ago. Nothing? So all time, space, and matter just popped into existence spontaneously for no reason? And before that, what? Some kind of nothingness so profound that we can't even comprehend it? That's not very scientific. Yet everybody is just so quick to assume that the Big Bang theory is correct, it's like nobody is asking about all the things it doesn't explain.
     I will also note that, while I'm loathe to bring anything even close to a religious discussion onto this blog, the Big Bang theory is one of those scientific explanations that just give credence to the belief in higher powers or intelligent design. I mean, c'mon, you're leaving some pretty damn big holes in your theory; holes which are bound to have a god or two crammed in to fill in the gaps. 
     The same goes for the explanation of life on Earth. I'm no creationist, but saying lightning zapped a bunch of random elements and created sentient life is pretty damn far-fetched. That is, unless you are so hardcore in your scientific beliefs that you don't see the difference between human consciousness and the stimulus-response version of life found in amoeba. If you think there is nothing special and inexplicable about the human mind, it's self-awareness, it's ability to think abstractly and hypothetically even in opposition to the most basic rules of natural survival instinct; if all that is just chemical reactions and electrical signals to you...well, then I guess life is already pretty sad and dull for you, so it really doesn't matter what I say.
     As one more addendum, there are all sorts of things that people have historically considered to be scientific fact. Most notably: that the sun revolves around the Earth, that the Earth is flat, that disease is caused by evil spirits, and that it is physically impossible to run a mile in under four minutes. Science is like the U.S. Constitution: it was made to be changed and altered.
     Now, before I add political debate to the post that has already flirted with religious debate, I'm going to stop before it can get any worse.

Geekiness: The Gathering

     I started gaming (in the geeky sense of the word, not the current meaning where anybody who has ever played Guitar Hero considers themselves a gamer) in junior high school. I'm a little sad that I can't recall the exact moment, day, month, or even year. But I remember getting into Magic: The Gathering early in high school (around 9th grade), and I definitely started D&D before then.
     I should clarify that I'm talking about Advanced Dungeons & Dragons, 2nd Edition. I don't like to be too hipster, but I do feel the need to point out that I should get some street cred for having cut my teeth on THAC0. 
     It started out just my sister and I: I was the GM, and she was all the party members. It worked pretty well, considering the half-assed way we followed the rule system. We were definitely more worried about doing weird, fun things than keeping on track with any kind of established adventure (for example: there was a magic-using sentient cat in the party, just because). Now that I think about it, I've definitely looped around somewhat, in that respect; I am more interested now in the "soft" elements of the game (roleplaying, characterization, and plot arcs) than the "hard" rules and min/maxing.
     What is a bit unexpected is that this was not the gateway drug you would think it was. I actually became more of a well-rounded geek thanks to CCGs, not RPGs. I played Magic in it's first heyday (from Ice Age to Weatherlight, for those of you familiar with the older sets). Thanks to Magic's popularity, every gaming company and franchise wanted to put out a CCG to cash in on the craze. And I was one of the people they were catering to, the type of person who would plop down the cash to try any card game that seemed even remotely interesting.

Like this, only more so

     It was through these CCGs that I really got into Shadowrun, Battletech/Mechwarrior, and yes, even the Cthulhu mythos and Lovecraft in general. I know, it's hard to believe now that I only discovered Lovecraft because of the Mythos card game (put out by Chaosium).
     I look back at these CCGs, with my current savvy as to how rules systems and game mechanics work, and marvel as to how they could be so entertaining for so long with their general simplicity. Of course, an argument could be made that simplicity is key for longevity and replay value (hell, how much is chess still played, and those rules haven't changed for centuries). But really, the appeal to me (then, as now) was how the cards inspired me. The artwork and themes went a long way to sparking thoughts and ideas, leading me to look more into the world-systems that had been created around the franchises. It was a tantalizing taste of the Sixth World of Shadowrun, or hints at the horrors hidden behind the works of Lovecraft. In some ways, the vagueness and incompleteness helped beckon me further into the genre. I didn't understand why a troll would have a cybernetic arm or how an Elder Sign would keep Nyarlathotep from passing through a portal, but damned if I didn't want to find out. Playing these games, where there's not a lot of plot involved, still made me want to invent stories around them. Even now, looking at the cards--without even playing with them--gets my mind working.
     During Dragon*Con, I talked to a few people about how my Magic cards might be worth some money now. And while part of me liked this idea, the more wistful, nostalgic part of me balks at the idea of giving up any of my collection. Sure, I haven't played in over a decade, but that's not the point. The cards are still good, the game still playable, and some day I will have a child I want to introduce to the game. My father and I spent a lot of time playing CCGs together throughout my high school years, and I would be lying if I said I didn't harbor hopes to do the same with my kids. Not just for the family bonding, but also with the desire to stoke my kids' imaginations.
     So while I might let go of a few rares to get some quick cash (because I don't care about having the "power cards;" they're usually the most boring, anyway), you won't see me trying to dump the whole collection in massive lots. Because these are geek-seeds, and they're always worth planting.

Dragon*Con 2012 Highlights

     Another year, another Dragon*Con under my belt. Actually, I'm surprised to look back and realize that this is only my 4th ever D*C, and only the second time I've gone for multiple days. It feels like such a major part of my yearly routine that you'd think I've been doing it forever. Plus, of course, I've been to plenty of other conventions, including Origins back in my native Ohio pretty much as far back as I can remember being a geek (high school, at least).  Some highlights from my D*C experience this year:
     1) Seeing Jane Espenson and getting to hear her talk about writing. I don't really do celebrity panels anymore; I can't stand waiting in lines to go see them, and then I just get mortified by some of the terrible gushing questions that people always throw at the celebrities. There's nothing worse than watching and actor have to fumble through some explanation or defense of something that somebody else wrote and directed their character to do. Espenson, as a writer, is actually in a position to be able to answer questions regarding the writing of TV shows. Not to mention that she was as clever and articulate as you would expect considering her resume. As a writer myself, she gave me a lot to think about...so much so, that it's going to have to be a post in itself later on.

     2) Group costuming with my D&D crew. I don't normally hang out too long with people during the convention, because there's just too much to do and nobody's schedules ever mesh terribly well. I'm also not much of a cosplayer on my own. However, it all worked out pretty well once we got together, and getting to roam around with my gaming crew in costume was definitely one of the high points. Sure, we didn't end up finding any random encounters, but we did end up in a tavern, so I guess it wasn't that bad of an adventure after all.
     3) Figuring out what types of panels I find the most interesting. In past years, I have gone to panels on more traditionally geeky things: gaming, comics, movies, and TV. Most of them were disappointing, at best. This year I went to "nerdier" things: stuff from the Skeptics, Space, and Paranormal tracks. They were interesting and run by individuals who have some weight in the field or on the topic (as opposed to just random fans). I will definitely be spending more time seeing what they have to offer in the future.
     4) Just to be perfectly hypocritical about speaking ill of fan panels, my last highlight will be the Cabin in the Woods fan panel that I spoke on. I was nervous to do so at first, but just as my wife predicted, once you got me up there and talking about horror movies and the genre in general, you just couldn't shut me up. I remember being sad when it ended because there was just so much more to talk about. I don't know if I'll be doing more fan panels in the future, but there's a good chance.
     5) Last, but not least, my wife's performance in the Doctor Horrible shadow play is always on the top of my list. Sure, there's favoritism there, but they do a fantastic job. And I'm not the only one who thinks so; this shadow play is so popular that every year it's standing-room-only in the biggest ball room at the convention. Part of it is because all the actors have their parts down to a science, but also because they clearly love doing it so much. And that kind of enthusiasm is inevitably contagious.
     As I said, there are many of these points that I will have to discuss with more depth later, but for now, I'll just close with saying that this has probably been my best D*C so far. I think it has been worth making every other chore and home-improvement project dreadfully far behind schedule.