Susan
The Amazing Adventures
of Sara Corel
A novel by Toomey
Explaining the Unexplainable
Toomey
AUWG:
Man, this current chapter
[26 -- Scrutiny] is a bitch.
I have erased two
nearly-finished attempts so far. I think I've got something
usable now, but it has been a real struggle. Fellas, there's
nothing worse than pushing the DEL key on three days of writing.
Twice.
From the beginning, I have
identified my little story as 'classic science fiction'. To earn
the sobriquet, you have to include certain expected conventions.
One of these is the chapter where the obligatory myopic Herr
Professor explains to Our Hero about some bogus
pseudo-scientific principle, as in, "Und zee Krepple rays
impinge upon zee crystalline lattice, producing copious amounts
of Schnaffle particles vhat makes der spaceship into a
hyperspacial vortex be going."
"Why, you're a genius,
Doktor van Zorkstein!" replies Our Hero, who's been staring
at the Doc's scantily-clad assistant's enormous boobs the whole
time.
Anyway, here's Sara, finally
undergoing the tender scrutiny of the NASA chromedomes. They
gotta come up with at least one plausible-sounding theory to
explain something they don't understand -- which means I
gotta come up with at least one plausible-sounding theory to
explain something I don't understand. It has to be
believable enough to perpetuate the old 'suspension of
disbelief' requirement, and -- preferably -- convince at least
a small percentage of my gullible readers that I've stumbled
upon a major discovery somehow overlooked by the mainstream
scientific community. And considering that a hefty chunk of my
readers happen to be Herr Professors and genuine
chromedomes, that's not so easy.
And, it has to be at
least marginally interesting to read. Y'know, this was always my
favorite part of sci-fi stories when I was growing up. Heinlein,
Asimov, Clarke -- they all actually knew what they were talking
about. The scientific expositions in their stories beat the hell
out of anything I ever learned in school. I feel like I'm really
on the spot here, trying to fulfill a central part of my
long-held fantasy that I could write just like the big boys.
This has all the makings of a rude awakening.
I sent off a draft of part
of the current chapter to some of my readers who have not been
hesitant to point out my shortcomings on previous occasions.
With any luck, I'll hear from them later tonight.
And with even more luck, I
won't be looking for that DEL key tomorrow.
Sweating bullets,
Toomey
Next Letter
© Patrick Hill, 2000 |