Here I am, finally getting to the blogging even though I’ve been up since about five AM, and out of bed about thirty minutes later. My mind was going a mile a minute this morning, which is why I was up without really getting out of bed.
Yesterday I spoke of articles that I wanted to write, or that were at least bouncing about in my head bothering me. This is a hazard that all writers fall into, and many fall prey to their own inability to stay focused upon the story they’re writing. When this happens, I open up the idea file, write the idea down, and save the sucker for later access. If I feel compelled to do something with it later, I will. If not, then it wasn’t a very good idea, was it?
But this thing that woke me up, it all arose from a snarky comment I imagine writing inside said “You’re bothering me” article. It was my brain going, “Hey, you know, that comment you were going to make? Do you realize . . ?” and like that, I’m awake going, “Yeah, when did that happen? Can I really pin down the time?”
Why, yes I can.
The timeline I needed to examine is the Alien Universe timeline, because . . . yeah, I need to find something. It’s not strange to think there’s an actual timeline–this is the Internet, remember? Say I want to find a Hello Kitty timeline–bang! There it is.
While I understand that this might not be the most accurate timeline in the history of timelines, I can use it nonetheless because there will be some moments defined within that are made cannon by dates. And that’s what I was looking for: dates. The kind made of numbers, not the other kind–though the none-number kind would be nice . . .
I found the point in time I’m looking for, as well as discovering the date and place of Ellen Riply’s birth–she’s a Lunie? Explains the height. Love of Ellen translated into love of Cirocco Jones and Gaby Plauget from John Varley’s Gaea Trilogy, and today she remains the mold for a lot of the kick-ass women of my stories.
But I also discovered someone else: Jonesy, the Cat of Space Death.
If you know science fiction, you know Jonesy, the ginger feline who survived the destruction of a company ship and managed to outlive its mistress by a few years–assuming someone didn’t blow his ass out a Gateway Station airlock as soon as the Sulaco was away. I can imagine he ended up on another ship as their mascot, and was probably responsible for that ship’s destruction as well. And the ship after that. And so on . . .
When I ran the game Diaspora some time back, one of the characters owned her own ship, which was good, since the characters needed a spaceship. She decided that she wanted a mascot on-board, and that mascot was going to be a cat. There, on the spot, I came up with Jones, Cat of Space Death, and you had better keep the little bastard feed and watered and free from a poopy litter box, else your ship would crash into the sun and the only survivor would be a cat floating about in an escape pod.
The strangeness that fills my mind scares me–