Ride the Camp Kaiju Ashore

I’m told that today is the day that the Camp NaNo winner goodies are in the truck and heading up the dirt road, but I don’t see the damn thing yet.  I’ve checked the site twice this morning, but I must be way too early (it’s six forty-nine AM right now), because the truck isn’t here, and the goodies are lacking.

Or maybe Jason got the drivers last night while they were having sex.  You can never tell.

I’m considering what to do with said goodies, because there’s only one I wish to use, and I probably won’t be able to use that one until the software is released, maybe next month, maybe in October.  The last two NaNos those goodies have gone unused and eventually vanished into the aether, though I once gave a friend my Scrivener fifty percent off code so they could enjoy the software, which they put to good use.

Maybe this year I’ll hold my own version of The Hunger Games for the code.  Call it The Hungry Writer Games, and accept submissions for best and most creative death scenes written in five hundred words or less.  Spend two weeks getting them, then narrow the submissions down until there is only one person left standing, who then rips me off for my goodies.  May The Odds Be Ever In Your Favor, penmonkeys.

Enjoyed the movie yesterday.  Plenty of jager on kaiju action, and the beatdowns were brutal.  And may I point out that a mecha head, like the bridge atop of the saucer section of a Federation starship, is the dumbest place to put your cockpit.  Sure, it looks cool riding around in the head, but when all but two of the jager pilots died, it came because the head is right there just asking to be abused.  Head shot, head shot, head shot . . . Guillermo del Toro obviously thought the BattleTech hit table was a load of crap, or he rolls boxcars with loaded dice, cause he showed little mercy to the cockpit crawlers.

Also, when they were fighting in Hong Kong I sort of got an idea where some of the action was taking place, ’cause I kept recognizing landmarks there.  It’s been a long time since I was last in the Fragrant Harbor, but I still look at the place on Google Maps, and dream.

After returning from the movies, however, my novel Couples Dance was on my Seagate drive telling me that it’s not going to edit itself.  Yeah, those lazy ass characters, they won’t do anything on their own, so I gotta pull it up and get in there and do some work.  Now I’m getting into the longer chapters, and Chapter Five is around thirty-six hundred words, so I expect to get about half way in and stop . . .

Right.  How did that work out?  About an hour and a half later I was through the whole chapter, having re-written here, deleted a few things there, and ended up adding a new Scrivener status:  “Recheck Revision”.  Because I found some tense issues, and I want to breeze through it again and make sure I’m not bouncing about in time like a faulty TARDIS.

No, I leave my time travel for my science fiction novels, not the erotic horror . . . or do I?

Beyond the Realm of the Fantastic

Today is going to be one of those usual days for me, one where I get out of the house and actually do something besides sit and stare at a computer screen.  Not that there’s anything wrong with the later, but there are times when you want to immerse you mind in something else besides cat pictures, bad memes, and your own word smithing.

Today I’ll be down to the movie theater watching Pacific Rim, which my daughter and I have wanted to see since long before it appeared.  One hundred and ten minutes of monsters, the extraordinarily huge Kaiju, slugging it out with mecha, the tremendous Jagers.  It’s the sort of flick that appeals to the ten year old in me that wants to see incredible things happen–

Even when I know it’s all pure BS.

A while back I wrote a couple of articles for another website.  The first one was about powered armor, and the followup was about mecha.  Both were pretty well received, though there was a comment on the second article from someone who had taken exception with some of the things I’d said–like, “You know, really big mecha are impossible.”  This led said commenter to explain that I, like so many others, was wrong, the cube-square law didn’t work when something was really big, and he hates having to explain this to people; in fact, to do so makes him violently upset . . .

Sounds like a personal problem to me.

I know mecha eighty-five meters tall are pretty much stretching the limits of the possible.  Mad Art Lab covered the science points in far more detail than I could, and over on the Scientific American site, Kyle Hill writes about Jager Punches and Deep Sea Bombing.  While they might make some kick-ass drinks (“I’ll have a Jager Punch, straight up.”), the science is way wonky.

But I’m not going for a science lesson.  I’m going so I can watch Kaiju get their butts beat by a tiny Japanese woman in big freakin’ mecha.

I write some science fiction, and I love to play with things like space flight and time travel.  I try to keep things “in the real” as much as possible, but there are times when I know what I’m doing will require someone to suspend disbelief quite a lot.  Never as much as what passed for “reality” in the movie Armageddon or The Core, but I do have my moments where I think, “Yeah, probably never happen, but what the hell.”  I know when Arthur Clarke wrote Rendezvous With Rama and Earthlight, he knew the “reactionless drive” was pure handwavium, but he was writing a story and needed something incredible–ergo, something fantastic that can’t ever happen.  Though in the case of Rama, we don’t really want to say that aliens were responsible for the reactionless drive, but . . . aliens.

Writers of fiction write things that aren’t real.  We make things up in our head and put then down on a medium so they’ll exist in a form that others can enjoy.  While we can stay “in the real” as much as possible, in the end we’re gonna talk about stuff that just isn’t real.  And sometimes that’s going to involve things that are so far beyond real as to be impossible.

If you go for the fantastic, at least make it awesomely butt kicking.  ‘Cause people love watching a monster get its butt kicked.