BONUS excerpt from The Man Who Found Birds among the Stars!

       I announced that I wasn't going to post any more chapters from MWFB (I remind you I'm revising it for publication), but I decided to extract this piece from Chapter 38 because it would be possible to reduce what is said here to one or two paragraphs of summation.  But I just can't do it because the scene is lively and revelatory not only in advancing the plot but in displaying character, and moreover it has a lot of humor.  At the end I'll put a summation.  Tell me which one you enjoy reading more.  (And if you say, the summation, I probably still won't change it!)  Don't worry -- this doesn't spoil any of the essential story.  To set the scene, Capt. Robbin Nikalishin (now 30 years old and a genuine hero of Earth) has just taken a jaunt to view the Great Koloredo Canyon in Aridzone.  His life-long friend Kolm MaGilligoody (now Robbie's Engineer on the interstellar ship the Darter) has been visiting his home in Eira.  The spacefarers meet in the lunch bar at the Herinen Space Port where they are stationed.

Chapter 38 ...

June-August 2760

       Two days later Robbie was emerging from the lunch bar at the Research Facility when he bumped into Kolm.

       “Oh, there ye be!” exclaimed the Eirishman.  “Greetin’s, lad!”

       “Well, when did you get back?  I wasn’t expecting you till at least the end of June!”

       “I finished me essential business, and I figured ye must be dyin’ without me company, so I returned.  No, actually, I got off the flyer 30 minutes ago.  I was famished, so I just dropped off me gear, banged on the door of yer empty room, and then hot-footed it over here to get lunch.”

       “I just ate, but I’ll have some coffee and sit with you, if you’ll have me."

       Kolm picked up some crusty fried farm catfish, a big bowl of potato and chive soup, a couple of rolls with soy spread, and a slice of blueberry tart, and headed for a table with Robbie trailing after him.

       “Holy grief, Kolm, how can you eat all that heavy stuff and stay so fit?”

       “Well, I had me breakfast in Lunden and no lunch, so seein’ as how the flight left at 1100h and lasted some eight hours, me stomach says it’s near 2100 and past the hour of dinner.  Blame it on the spinnin’ of the planet.”

       Amused, Robbie watched his friend wolfing down his meal.  “So, how were the Islands and the girls that live in ’em?”

       “Green.  The Islands, not the girls, although one special lass does have the greenest eyes.  But I got somethin’ else to tell ye first.  When I first landed at Old Heathero, I went up to Oxkam before I headed to Eira.  Actually, I stopped off to see Wilda, too.  She sends ye her love.  She was a bit miffed, though.  ‘Ye mean,’ she said, ‘Capt. Robbie prefers to look at big rocks and holes in the ground over me?’”

       “So – how did you excuse me?”

       “I told her I was sure yer conscience was bothering ye every minute ye spent in that infernal land, and that ye’d call her up and make yer apologies the very minute ye got back.”

       “Well, if you wanted to make me feel guilty, you’re doing it.”  In fact Robbie had thought about Wilda early in his trek, but since he had met Fedaylia High Feather, his first love had departed from his mind.  And while it had been a relief to escape visiting his mother this go ’round, that shirking of duty had bothered him enough that he hadn’t even called to tell her he would be away from Herinen.

       Kolm was observing him reflectively.  Then he said, “Wilda’s gone back to work.”

       “Really?  May is only a year old.  She waited until the boys were three.”

       “She said with another mouth to feed, money’s tight.  Besides, she said, how could she become a legend at Sloe if she isn’t workin’?  They had agreed to use temps and hold the job for her and she felt she couldn’t ask ’em to hold it much longer.”

       “So what does she do with May?” said Robbie.

       “Her Mum and Da have moved to Watferd.  Mr. Mull’s retired from the concrete crew now and they thought they’d like to live nearer to their daughter.  So Ms. Mull comes over and watches the little ’un home or takes her home with her.  Works real well, Wilda says.”

       Robbie pondered this glimpse of how families cope; it seemed alien to him.

       “So what was I talkin’ about afore I got onto Wilda?” said Kolm, with his mouth full.  ”Oh, yeh – I went to see Prf. Flournoi.  I don’t think we’ll ever get him back this time, Robbie.  He thinks we have enough trained people in the program now and he can make a more valuable contribution teachin’ at Oxkam.”

       “He’s probably right.”

       “I told him about this creeping-jump fixation of the Board and I showed him Prf. Eiginsh’s new mathematical models and some of the virtual engine designs based on ’em.  He seemed a bit bemused by it all.  He thinks some of those anomalies in Eiginsh’s formulas are more significant than any of us thought.  He even pointed out some flaws that none of us noticed.  I don’t think even Lara noticed ’em.”

       “Really?  I’d like to review that.  Lara will want to, too.”

       “Yeh, but I don’t want to get Eiginsh in trouble.”

       “How can it get him in trouble?  If there are problems with his models that would translate into fatal errors in the designs, it would benefit everybody to expose them.  This is difficult stuff.  Even the best of us can make mistakes.”

       “Well, ’course.  It’s just that I never knew Karl Eiginsh to make serious mistakes.”

       The two spacefarers sat in silent thought for a moment, and then Kolm said, “What’s been goin’ on here, regardin’ the Board and all?”

       “Actually, nothing.  I could have stayed away longer.  Adm. Hurtline’s gone home to the Chemical Capital of the Plains, and Prf. Lara’s in Moska and Yang is in Edmunten and Glencrosse is up in Mitchican and so on and so on.  Only Eiginsh is here.  I was sort of surprised when he told me he wasn’t going home this year.”

       “Huh.  Maybe he knows somethin’ is wrong with his formulas and he wants some time to work on ’em without bein’ hassled.”

       “Maybe.”

       “So how was the western world?”

       “Wonderful.  You’ve never seen anything like those mountains, Kolm.  And the Big Canyon – goddam, it’s humbling!  I finally saw a condor on my last afternoon.  And I saw hummingbirds!  I even shot some vids of them, although the images aren’t very good.  I never can hold the damn cam steady, and I get blurry pictures even with autofocus.”

       Kolm was chuckling.  “It’s yer mother’s plumbin’ all over again, Robbie.”

       “Yeah, I deserve to be laughed at, brother!  But, Kolm, I have to tell you this!  Right at the end there, I met this girl.”

       “Uh, oh.  Why am I not surprised?  So what’s her name?”

       Robbie told Kolm all about Fedaylia.  “Honest to god, Goody, she’s the most unusual girl I’ve ever met.  She’s tall – maybe a couple of centimeters taller than I am … ”

       “I thought ye didn’t care for tall girls.”

       “What gave you that idea?”

       “Well, I was just jumpin’ to a conclusion …  Wilda and Sushmita were both short and I can’t recall ye ever involvin’ yeself with a tall girl.”

       “You’ll just have to unjump your conclusion, then, because I felt very involved with this one.  She’s amazingly beautiful, in this unusual sort of way.  It’s just – the way she moves … the timber of her voice … her hair … Kolm, her perfume … well, I just can’t describe it!  And her eyes – she’s got eyes like amber … no, like smoky quartz … no, that just doesn’t do them justice … ”

       “Jaysus, it sounds like her arrow hit ye square on.”

       “Oh, it did.  But I’ll never see her again, probably.  We didn’t arrange to stay in touch.”

       “Where’s she from?”

       “She was born up north of New Washinten, in a precinct called Daymoin.  Her parents split when she was about six, she said, and she grew up with her father.  But he was a rail inspector and was gone a lot, so she kept getting shuffled around among relatives, on both sides of her family.  Must have been hard for her.  But she seems to have turned out perfect.  Kolm, she’s a Prov-En at Castle Bluff Flight Academy.  She’s going to be a Com Officer.  Isn’t that strange?  I seem to have this thing for Com Officers.”

       “Huh.  Yeh, a bit.”

       “You know what I’m thinking?  I’m thinking, maybe I can pull some strings – get her assigned to Herinen after she gets her commission.  Maybe I can even get her on the Darter …”

       “Now, Robbie, don’t mess up yer professional standards.  Pilar is a fine Com Officer – what excuse would ye use to transfer her?  And ye don’t really even know this girl.  Ye spent, ye say, one day together?  Did the two of ye go to bed?”

       “No, she refused.  Said she didn’t know me well enough yet.  That didn’t make me very happy at the time, but I kind of admire her for it – women are always itching to jump in bed with me just because of who I am.  But she seemed really pleased to have met me, and she laid a very heavy kiss on me as we were saying good night.”

       “Really?  Ye say she kissed you?”

       “Yes,she initiated it.  And … well, it was different from any kiss I’ve ever experienced.”  He touched his finger to his lip, which still had a welt on the inside three days later.

       “So you think she’s sweet, do ye?”

       Robbie laughed.  “Sweet?  Well, I don’t think I would describe her quite that way.  Sushmita was sweet.  Fedaylia is more – volcanic … ”

       “Volcanic!  Holy cry, Robbie, the last thing ye need in yer life right now is a volcano in yer bed!  Maybe it’s a good thing she’s not to hand!  Give ye a chance to cool down a bit!”

       Robbie was laughing more heartily, his eyes crinkling.  “Goody, you may be right!  I think it’s too late, though.  I think Fedaylia High Feather may just be the woman I’ve looked for all my life.”

       “Aliluya … I guess.”  Kolm was scratching his nose, in a gesture that meant he was concerned.  Then he said, “Do ye think ye can simmer down for a minute and listen whilst I say somethin’ about me and Dana?”

       “What?”

       “We set the date, Robbie me boy.  I convinced Dana we ought to get married and we’re gonna do it.  Holy cry, man, don’t drop yer jaw like that – a bug’ll fly in yer mouth.  Why should that be so unexpected?”

       “Well … well … it isn’t really …   So … when … ?”

       Now Kolm was laughing.  “Ye really should see yeself.  But the date is the 20th of August.  I knew it had to be during this unexpected extra-long break we’re gettin’, because who knows when they’ll let us go again?  But me Mum nearly had a coronary – ‘Mairin, Mairin save us!  Only two months to get ready!’ she’s a-wailin’.  ‘And meself it is that has to do the work alone, for the bride as well as the groom, seein’s how Dana has no family alive … !’  And me Da’s goin’ on as to how, what did she mean, alone – wasn’t he still part of the family?  Did she think he was just gonna sit on his duff the whole time and do nothin’?  And me sisters shriekin’ and going berserk …  That’s why I said me essential business was finished – I thought I’d best go away and leave the women to work.  Honestly, Robbie, be glad ye don’t come from an Eirish family!”

       Robbie was laughing again, but he felt a little shaky inside.  “So … so … where will you live after … after … ?”

       “She’s gonna stay on her farm and I’m gonna stay in SkyPiercer, like I told ye, until we’ve gone to a star and come back.  It’s not right for me to jeopardize the program by droppin’ out sudden-like.  So don’t be feelin’ bad, Robbie.  It’ll all work out fine.”

       “I hope so.  So – what happens in an Eirish wedding?”

       “Well, there’s this kind of old Romish ceremony, see?  We have somethin’ called Praysts, ye know.  There’s a family of ’em lives over in Wicklo – claim to be descendants of Praysts that were still practicin’ in Eira when the Romishers fell apart in the 24th century and the last Headman over in Roma was assassinated.  It’s one of them as must urge along the words of joinin’ … ”  Kolm broke off.  “Don’t look so mazed, lad.  It’s quite a bash, really, and not all pious mouthin’s – you’ll enjoy it!  There’ll be a monster feast afterward – apple-raisin cake with sour cream frostin’ and plenty of lamb stew, and the good Eirish stout flowin’.”

       “So … so … you want me to be there?”

       “Be there!  Robbie, ye’re gonna be me Best Man.”

       “Your what?”

       “Best Man!  Every groom has a friend who stands up with him at his weddin’ – kind of holds the groom up and keeps him from collapsin’, and makes sure he gets there on time with his shirt buttoned up proper and all – but in this case it may be the groom who’s havin’ to hold his Best Man up!”  Kolm was laughing so hard at Robbie’s reactions that he nearly choked on his tart. 
       “Kolm, I’m not – remnant Romish.  I don’t know anything about it.”

       “Doesn’t matter.  It’s the feelin’s that count, man.  And what man in the world could I have nearer feelin’s for, Robbie, than you?  And it’s flatterin’ meself I am that you would say the same about me.”

SO HERE'S THE SUMMATION (IT'S JUST NOT ME!)

       Kolm returned from his vacation only two days after Robbie got back.  The Engineer was full of news.  He had seen Wilda, who had returned to work even though May was only a year old (the extra mouth to feed made money tight).  Kolm had also visited Prf. Flournoi and discussed the problems with Eiginsh's new models.  Flournoi pointed out flaws that even Lara had missed and he agreed that the situation regarding the creeping jumps was concerning.  After some additional debate, Robbie couldn't resist telling Kolm all about his meeting with Fedaylia High Feather, but then Kolm responded with personal news of his own.  He and Dana had set a wedding date and he wanted Robbie to be his Best Man.  Robbie was overwhelmed -- he knew nothing about Romisher weddings. But it seemed he was going to get a crash course -- the pair arrived at the MaGilligoody farm on 15 August.

       IF YOU THINK THAT'S MORE FUN TO READ THAN THE LONGER PASSAGE, THERE'S SOMETHING WRONG WITH YOU!  LOL  However, I'm not ruling out some additional surgery -- just not a complete excision.

Two Years in Social Media: So How Do I Feel about It?

Copied from http://orangutanmarketing.com/social-media/what-is-social-media-exactly/

       I'm not very social by nature, so about two years ago when I decided to self-publish, I had never done anything with social media.  It was about this time of year in 2011 when I first joined Twitter.  At first I was vague as to what Twitter all about, so I largely ignored it.  A few months later, I started looking for followers and posting promos about my books and occasional personal remarks.  Then I joined Facebook, started following other peoples' blogs, set up my own blog, and then set up a second one for my conlangs.  The latter morphed later into a promo for my series, The Labors of Ki'shto'ba Huge-Head, and ultimately broadened into a vehicle to discuss myth in literature.   I discovered the Language Creation Society through Twitter and after joining that organization, I took a third blog through them and devoted it to my conlangs.  (Bet you didn't even know that one existed -- I haven't done anything with it for maybe a year, although it has some interesting material.  Here's the link: http://remembrancer.conlang.org )

       My goal was to make contacts and try to get myself recognized.  I've accomplished that to a certain extent.  Along the way, I sort of learned to understand the difference between selling and marketing.  With selling, it's one-on-one -- make a contact and pitch your book to that person.  With marketing, you have nobody specific in mind -- you simply aim to get the attention of  as wide a range of people as possible.  A billboard or a mail flyer or a TV ad is marketing; soliciting by phone would be selling.  Pitching your book directly to somebody on FB would be selling, as would sending a promo to a new Twitter follower.  Getting mentioned on somebody else's blog or through a Twitter retweet would be marketing.

       I have met some wonderful people over this past two years.  I can still remember my three initial Twitter encounters.  One of them has become a quite good friend and I'm still in touch with the other two through FB.  I've gotten quite well acquainted with several other people through my conlanging contacts and through Google+.  All of that has been quite rewarding; it makes all that effort worthwhile even without the potential of selling books.

       So which of those social media entities listed in the logo above have I joined?  A few of them I never heard of, like Digg and MeetUp and Delicious.  But I joined Reddit when somebody listed one of my posts on that site and I garnered a huge number of page views.  I don't think I use Reddit as much as I should.  I can't use YouTube, which I think is terrific, because I don't make videos (I'm technologically stone-age).  (YouTube is also a wonderful research tool -- whether you want to know what an alpenhorn sounds like or view the chair dance at a Jewish wedding, you can find it on YouTube!)

       I went with Blogger instead of WordPress (although my conlang blog is powered by WordPress) and I'm glad I did, because it's so much simpler.  (My only complaint is I don't have drop-down menus.)  I joined Pinterest and put up some of my drawings, but I really see no use for it except as a passtime, and I don't have that much time to pass.  And I only recently joined LinkedIn.  I'm still learning what that's all about.  It's really geared to people looking for work or to hire others.  I'm not looking for work -- mine's already cut out for me!  It does, however, open an avenue to a wider range of people.  One of my problems is that  my contacts are mostly other self-published authors, who (for the most part) would rather sell their own books than read other peoples'.

       One that's not listed on the logo is Goodreads.  It's rather difficult to use, so in the beginning I floundered.  I've gotten a little better with it lately.  It's good for record-keeping and for reviews.  It has a lot of avenues for giveaways and special promos, but I've never seen any results from using these.  I've also joined several specialty sites, like Mythic Scribes (I heartily recommend this one to fantasy writers), WANAtribe, and the Indie Writers' Network.  Some of these have forums.  I'm not crazy about forums.  They're difficult to use.  I always get my posts in the wrong categories.  I also follow a few FB groups, mostly for blog promotion.

       Which of these do I enjoy the most?  Lately it's been Google+.  I honestly like it better than FB, which still gets me confused at times.  I never get any traffic on my FB page; my own posts get lost there, so I pretty much ignore it.  Google+ has a lot of communities slanted toward your personal interests, and these can be quite valuable.  And I've set up a community of my own  called Books by TermiteWriter (see top of sidebar for link).  It's only been up about two weeks and I've already got 51 members.  It took about a year to reach 30 on my FB page.  I treat Books by TermiteWriter like a kind of mini-blog.  I can put up brief posts most days that don't require a lot of time or thought, as a kind of diary of my writing and publishing efforts.

       Has all this paid off in sales of my books?  I laugh out loud as I say, not really!  But if I hadn't done anything, I wouldn't have any sales at all!  I just keep nibbling away, expecting a big breakthrough!  So help me out by giving one of my books a try!  You can find them at Amazon and at Smashwords. 

Man Who Found Birds: In Which a Writer Confesses Her Sins

       I naturally write long stories!  Mea culpa!  No matter how good my intentions are, this is something I cannot overcome!  "Monster Is in the Eye of the Beholder" (about 19,000 words) is the aberration.  The Termite Queen ran to two long volumes, but it never seemed long to me.  The Labors of Ki'shto'ba Huge-Head was planned as a three-volume series, but I'm chopping it into at least six moderately long volumes.  This works quite well because my termites' adventures are episodic.

       But then we come to The Man Who Found Birds among the Stars.  It is a hopeless, unfinished sprawl, with a middle where I started improvising, bunches of characters (each of whom shouted "Hey, you, I've got a story of my own!"), and an experimental effort in a later part that I'm going to have to abandon and completely rewrite.      

       So why does this happen?  It happens because of the reasons why I write.  I want to express what's inside of me.  I don't write intending to produce a commercially popular book or to appeal to a particular group of people, like young adults or fans of a particular genre such as paranormal or horror or romance or even generalized science fiction, although MWFB does fall into that genre.  In fact, I don't really write for other people at all, although of course like any author I want my books to be read and relished. But I can't compromise my own way simply to make people buy and read the books. I can't write in a particular form on demand.  Therefore, I will probably continue on my path of sin.

 

       So if MWFB is so imperfect, why have I decided to work at least part of it  into something capable of being published?  Well, I acquired one serious fan in the process of posting early chapters on this blog.  Those posts also received many page views, if that means anything.  People did seem interested.  I've had a few other favorable comments as well.  Maybe this book could actually be my break-out piece!

 

       The book is cast as biographical fiction written to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the death of Capt. Robbin Haysus Nikalishin, who commanded the first mission to a nearby star system and while doing so made humanity's first contact with intelligent extraterrestrials.  So there's my signature nod to scholarship:  the book is really authored by Prf. Tania Barden of Oxkam University in the Islands of Britan.  For comparison, The Termite Queen is laid in the 30th century, when interstellar travel and contact with extraterrestrials has become commonplace.  In MWFB, you'll get an occasional aside mentioning how things were done differently 50 years before, in the 28th century; otherwise it's a quite straightforward narrative.  I purposely tried to write a more colloquial style than what I used in TQ or in Labors (my termites are quite formal little beasties, as I've said elsewhere). 

 

       Now comes the painful part of my confession: the facts about the length.   The first 37 years of Robbin Nikalishin's life has consumed about 780,000 words, and that doesn't even get him to the stars.  I'm working on reducing that awful length, but I think this early part of his life will require three or four volumes (still undecided).  My tentative titles are v.1: Eagle Ascendant; v.2: Eagle Falling; v.3: High Feather; and v.4: Survivor.  It would be nice if I could shorten vols. 3 and 4 enough to make only one volume out of that, called Survivor.  If you've been reading my posted chapters, you'll recognize that those titles derive from the "Prologue."

       Volume One started at 179,173 words and after an initial cutting effort, it's now 175,203.  That's shameful!  I'm about to start a second pass-through, trying to look at each chapter objectively and determine if any huge chunks could be cut.  The best place to cut would be in the technical aspects -- my take on future fictional physics.  The problem here is, my fictional temporal quantum physics plays an enormous part in the unfolding of the plot, so I don't know.  I'm comforted by the fact that v.2 of The Termite Queen is 196,000 words, running to 572 published pages.  At least this one won't be that long!

 

       Now you may be saying, if this book is worth publishing, then why don't you hire a professional editor to cut it?  Arrgh!  Then it wouldn't be my book any longer!  I don't care how much better it would be -- I would have to disown it!  So I'm going to plow ahead and we'll see what happens.  The cover will be a problem, however.  No termites in this book -- it's all about human characters -- and I'm not much good at drawing anything but termites.  I might be able to do something with eagles.  If not, I might have to get some professional cover art.

       So please bear with me.  I think that in the long term you may just find this story compelling and captivating!  I know v.1 has the most exciting and suspenseful ending I've ever written for any book!

       Here is a facsimile of the title page of the "original edition," published in 2849:

THE MAN WHO FOUND BIRDS AMONG THE STARS

A Biographical Series

Issued in the year 2849 as Part of the Commemoration
of the Fiftieth Anniversary of the Death of
Capt. Robbin Haysus Nikalishin
(10 May 2799)by
Prf. Tania Barden
Fellow, Brassnose/Queens’ College
Oxkam University

VOLUME ONE
EAGLE ASCENDANT

I decided to embarrass myself further
and post a cover I drew way back in 2004.
I got better at drawing faces as time went along, but these are not the best
and I have no intention of publishing with this cover.
Note that I originally entitled the early volume Ikarus.   
That's Robbin Nikalishin in the middle, of course.
Otherwise, the characters are, clockwise from upper left:
Sterling Nikalishin (Robbie's mother)
Robbie's friend Kolm MaGilligoody (horrible -- eyes aren't anything like right)
Dr. Madeline Souray (the Project's Medical Officer)
Wilda Murchy (Robbie's most enduring friend)
At the upper left is Robbie's toy space plane
and at the upper right is Kolm's medal of Mairin and Jaysus.

 

The Man Who Found Birds among the Stars, Ch. 12, Pt. 2

I am sorry to have to say this will be the last installment

of my unfinished novel, The Man Who Found Birds among the Stars. 

I'm in the process of revising the text for publication. 

I've abandoned the flash-back format, which is a bit of a spoiler, 

and I'm dividing up some of these very long chapters and desperately striving to cut it down.

I'll keep everyone informed as to my progress.

 

A list of the previous posts (point to the chapter and the link will appear):
Prologue
Chapter 1 The Captain Eats Crow
Chapter 2 How Robbin Nikalishin Got His Name
Chapter 3 The Captain Receives an Unexpected Assignment
Chapter 4 School Days at Epping Academy
Chapter 5 The Captain Takes Command of the Red Planet

Chapter 6 Crises and Decisions

Chapter 7 An Old Love and Another Assignment

Chapter 8 (Pt.1) Robbin Nikalishin and Sharlina Graves [pt.1]

Chapter 8 (Pt.2) Robbin Nikalishin and Sharlina Graves [pt.2]

Chapter 9 Aboard the Ore Freighter Hell's Gate

Chapter 10 How the Relationship between Robbie and His Silver Mother Changed

Chapter 11 The Captain Receives an Unconditional Reprieve

Chapter 12, Pt. 1 A Summer Adventure and a Term at Oxkam

 

Chapter 12, Pt. 2

Robbie Meets Kolm's Family

Robbie wrestled with these matters until well into Trinitary Term, at first alone with Prf. Eiginsh and then to a lesser extent with Prf. Flournoi, with whom he explored the theoretical foundations of the work.  At one point, Robbie asked if Kolm couldn’t participate in the studies, since the engineering aspects of the subject captivated the young Eirishman.  The Professors respected Kolm’s intellect as much as Robbie’s and were willing to include him.  Robbie had an ulterior motive; he hoped to get Kolm so intrigued with the idea of creating and maintaining an interstellar drive that he would commit to entering the Flight Academy with him the following year.
       When the Midwinter Holidays came round, Robbie’s old demon reared its head again and he had no idea what to do with himself.  He woke Kolm up one night with the dream about the baby, although he didn’t reveal the nature of the nightmare to his friend.
       Kolm said to him, “It’s goin’ home that’s worrying ye again, isn’t it?  Now, I’m not askin’ ye for any explanations, so don’t get huffy or jump up and paste me in the side of the head – just hear me out.  I was wonderin’ if ye’d like to come home to Eira with me for the holidays.  There’ll be a passel of great food, and some traditions that may be new to ye.”
       So Robbie rang up Sterling and actually caught her at home.  When she heard his plans, she was silent for a minute and then said, “I haven’t seen you, Robbie, since before you went birding last summer."
       This irritated him because it made him feel guilty, and he really didn’t think she had any right to make him feel guilty.  “Why do you want to see me?  Is there any real reason, Mum?  You must be busy, particularly at this holiday season.” 
       “Of course there’s no reason,’ she said, her voice grating.  “I’m being rather silly, aren’t I?  There should be a logical reason for everything we do; that’s quite obvious.”
       A silence hung between them.  Then Sterling said, “Go to Eira, Robbin.  Kolm is a fine boy and it will be a useful experience for you. You have your mother’s blessing.”
       It was with great relief that Robbie shut down the com, although he had no idea as to whether that “blessing” remark was sarcastic or sincere.
       So he went home with Kolm to his family’s farm not far inland from Wicklo Precinct and the experience was a revelation equal to the birding trip.  He learned at last what it was like to be raised in a traditional family, with your roots growing from a piece of ground you called your own.  Kolm’s mother and father, Joanna and Mat, and his two sisters, nine-year-old Aideen and fifteen-year-old Fiona, all lived in a rambling, inefficient house of concrete and fieldstone that predated the Union by a hundred years.  Kolm’s widowed grandmother lived with them as well, a lively, good-natured old lady who made a lamb stew worth dying for.  Kolm’s mother baked wonderful soda bread, served with honey from the family’s own bees.  Robbie got stung examining the hives, much to the merriment of Fiona and Aideen.  The fifteen-year-old flirted mercilessly with Robbie, who carefully reined in his responses, because Kolm made some threats that struck him as only half-humorous.
       Robbie met domestic animals for the first time; there had been dogs at Dois Palmas, but they were big, brutish guard dogs, intimidating to a small boy.  Here there were not only dogs, but cats, goats, sheep, chickens, geese, and a couple of equines.  The equines were mere ponies, kept mainly for the entertainment of the family’s and the neighbors’ children, but Robbie found them unnerving.  He was goaded into mounting one and promptly fell off into a pile of manure.  Kolm teased him.  “Here, the big star-flyin’ man can’t even keep his seat on a little mare pony!  That doesn’t bode so well for the future of Earth’s space program, now, does it?”
       “A space plane’s got bulkheads, you nit,” responded Robbie good-humoredly as he pelted his friend with manure, “and restraint belts on the seats.  This monster’s got no safety mechanisms – and no guidance system!  It’s like riding on the outside of the hull!”
       Of all the animals, Robbie found the chickens and geese the most fascinating, to the perplexity of Kolm’s family, who looked upon them matter-of-factly as a source of eggs and meat.  When one of the geese hissed and pecked at Robbie, he simply stood his ground and honked at it, and strangely enough the bird backed off with what seemed like a puzzled mien.  And the roosters fascinated him, with their strut and their raucous crowing, their proud combs and flocks of adoring hens.  He told Kolm that obviously these gamecocks knew how to please their women.
       The Eirish Midwinter festivity was different from anything Robbie had ever heard of.  It was celebrated on the solstice, but Kolm’s father explained that it incorporated elements from what ancient Romish worshipers had called Krismess.  Robbie’s knowledge of the Romish religion came solely from a brief exposition in one of Prf. Doone’s classes, so he was interested to see what it entailed. 
       The MaGilligoodys set up something they called a “kraytch” – a little array of figurines in a cave-like setting.  There was a woman in a blue gown with silvery trim on it, a baby lying in a cradle, and a man standing beside them.  From the top of the cave projected a wire with a star on it, something like the star on Robbie’s space plane.  There were sheep and donkeys arrayed around, and (mystifyingly) a camel, and winged fairies stuck up on the wall behind.  Facing this tableau were two men dressed in bright robes, holding out a box and a vial. 
       Kolm said, “There are supposed to be three of those, but last year one of ’em disappeared.  I think maybe one of the cats got holt of it and carried it off.”
       “What’s it represent?” asked Robbie, watching Kolm’s Grammy lighting fat beeswax candles at each end of the scene.
       “It’s the birth of that god-man Jaysus that’s on me medal,” said Kolm.  “That’s his mother Mairin watchin’ over him.  He was supposed to have been born this time of the year – that’s what we’re celebratin’.”
       “Who’s the man?  I thought you said he didn’t have a father.
       “It’s his foster father, name of Josef.  Mairin was married to him, ’cause that was back in the days when women had to have men to look after them."
       "What’s the star for?” 
       “They say it burst out bright in the sky at Jaysus’s birth.  Probably a supernova, you know, if it ever really happened a-tall.  And the family was so poor that the babby was birthed in a barn, and yet this star set up right atop it.  Those chaps in the robes – they call ’em Wise Men – Professors, most likely … they got its coordinates and brought fancy gifts to Jaysus to show they recognized he was a god.  It’s supposed to have happened somewhere at the east end of the Mediterrian, where it’s all a Devastation Zone now.  A pretty tale, it is.”
       “And you Eirish really worship this god?” asked Robbie, looking at Kolm’s father.
       “Oh, I don’t know that I’d call it worship, lad,” Mat MaGilligoody said.  “But we Eirish tend to be a superstitious lot.  If it’s not gods, it’s fairies, ye know.  Two of those even got hooked up in this tale, ye can see there.  It’s just part of our tradition to do these here things at Midwinter – a nice, peaceful way of celebratin’.”
       Robbie found it totally bizarre, but nevertheless he stood looking at the baby and at the mother and at the star, unable to interpret the emotions that were weltering within him.
       On that day of solstice they had a big feast … the main course was goose, which made Robbie a little uncomfortable, afraid he was eating the one whose acquaintance he had made … and then they sang traditional songs.  Some were in an ancient tongue that even the MaGilligoodys didn’t know the meaning of, but one was in an ancient dialect of Inge.

Silent night, holy night ...
All is calm, and all is bright
Around the vergin mother and child --
Holy infant, all tender, all mild ...
May the cleep in a haven of peace ...
Sleep in a haven of peace ...

       Robbie thought he had never heard a song so tranquil and so moving.  “That mother and child – that’s your Mairin and Jaysus?” he asked.
       “Right.  The same as is in the kraytch,” said Mat.
        “I can’t help being a little surprised.  I thought all the ancient religions were supposed to be violent and evil.  This doesn’t seem that way.”
       And Kolm’s mother said, “I’ve an idea, friend of me son, that none of them was violent in its heart.  I think it’s the hearts of humans that misunderstood the Right Way and made ’em so.”
       Later in the evening, Kolm played a tin whistle, a talent that Robbie hadn’t known he possessed, and Kolm’s father played a grotesque musical instrument where the air was forced through a bag.  They told ancient Eirish stories about vanishing cities and wandering lights and they drank mulled ale; it was not Robbie’s first taste of alcohol, but it was his first time to drink a little more than was wise.  The next morning he was privileged to experience his first hangover.
       When the time came to return to school, the boys splurged by taking an excursion boat across Sainjorge’s Channel instead of catching a wing hopper.  The craft was operated by Gwidian Tours, the enterprise of an old family of seafarers from Kardif.  It was yet another first for Robbie – his first time to bob on the waters of the sea.  He got a bit queasy, but it excited him tremendously, and he hated to see the trip end.
       “Ye’re kinda quiet, lad,” said Kolm, as they neared the harbor.  “What are ye thinking about?”
       “I’m thinking that I envy you, Goody,” Robbie replied.  “I didn’t know – couldn’t have realized – how happy people … a family like yours … could be … ”
       Kolm clapped him on the shoulder.  “Well, ye do seem to have had a bit of a rough time in yer life, friend of mine.  But ye’re welcome in my family.  Ye’re welcome to come back and soil yer boots in the goose shit as often as ye like!”

*          *          *

Early in Trinitary Term, Prf. Flournoi called Robbie into his office.  “At the risk of bolstering what I perceive as a pretty substantial ego, Mr. Nikalishin, I have to tell you that your progress has impressed both Prf. Eiginsh and me.  Man, you’re only 17 years old, and you’ve reached a point that is often beyond the reach of a First Termer.  It’s post-grad stuff that you’re doing.”
       “I’m really gratified to hear that, sir.  Prf. Eiginsh sometimes makes me feel like a mental flea.  He’s awfully good at tearing apart what I think are perfectly cogent pieces of reasoning.”
       Flournoi chuckled.  “He is that.  Not very verbally adept, though, is he?”
       “Oh, did he tell you about the name thing, sir?  We have this on-going battle.”
       “Don’t let him get to you.  I’ve known him some fifteen years now, and to this day my name sometimes comes out of his mouth as ‘Foolroi’ or ‘Flower-boy.’”
       They laughed together.  Then the Professor said abruptly, “Mr. Nikalishin, I want you to apply for regular admission to Oxkam next year.  I can almost guarantee you a scholarship.”
       Robbie looked at him.  “Oh!  Well, I appreciate your faith in me, Prf. Flournoi, but I really don’t think I want to do that.  I plan to attend the Flight Academy at Old Heathero.  I’ve already got the Permission to Apply in hand and I was just on the verge of asking you if you could be so kind as to write a recommendation for me.”
       Flournoi was clucking and shaking his head.  ”Your mind will be wasted in the military.  You have the potential to do great things in either the theoretical or applied fields of temporal quantum physics.  Do you realize how rare your kind of intellectual ability is?  Why do you think it took over six centuries from the discovery of quantum mechanics and superstrings to come up with temporal quantum theory?”
       “I always thought it was because the Dark Age got in the way.”
       “Well, that can’t have helped, but my point is, it takes an intellect of rare and eccentric brilliance like Iven Herinen’s to achieve such a breakthrough.  You might – you aren’t quite there yet, but you might – just have such a mind.  And you want to throw it all away on some space-pilot hero riff.”  Flournoi shook his head.
       Robbie was getting a little irritated.  “I’m not all that sure I do have that kind of mind, Professor, and I’m not sure I have the dedication for it.  I wanted to become competent in this branch of physics because I believe it’s the foundation of an interstellar drive and I know that understanding something of the science behind your engines can make you a better pilot and – a better Captain, if I should ever be so fortunate.  You shouldn’t just punch buttons – you should know what happens when you punch them, and why.  But the flying has always come first with me.  It’s my motivation.  Without that, I might just throw over the whole thing and become … ”  He cast about for an example.  “ … a bird counter.  Or a farmer in Eira.”
       Flournoi gave a rather startled laugh at that, not fully understanding what prompted those examples.  “Well, I’m not going to lay off you about this, Robbie.  And I’m not going to agree to write your recommendation yet, either.  Let’s wait awhile.  Think it over; don’t act rashly.  And then maybe … ”
       “It’s not rash,” said Robbie.  “It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”
       He talked all this over with Kolm, who said, “A rare opportunity it is, Robbie – to have some of the most learned men on Earth beggin’ ye to attend one of the greatest universities on Earth.  Ye might even get a chance to work on the SkyPiercer Project.”
       “I am going to work on the SkyPiercer Project,” exploded Robbie.  “I’m going to fly one of the first ships with a TQ drive that is ever constructed.  And you are going to be the Engineer on it.  Kolm, you know I want us to be a team – to go into space together!”
       “I know ye do, lad, but … ”  Kolm chewed his lip.  His Permission to Apply for the Flight Academy also reposed in a drawer of his desk.  “Ye’re not the only one they asked to stay here, ye know.  They didn’t prime me up quite as full as they did you, but they were a fair bit flatterin’.  And me parents … well, I’d be the first person in me family to get into a high and mighty school like this.  The best anyone did afore me was me Mum, who spent a year at the MaCrory Technical College up in Dublen.”
       Robbie shoved his fingers through his hair.  “Kolm, you stubborn nit, I want you with me at Old Heathero.”
       “Robbie, why is it so important to ye that I go with you?  We can’t be together our whole life, man.  We’ll both marry us a woman someday and settle down and raise a family.  We can’t stay together forever.”
       “See, I don’t see that in my future.  I want … ”
       “I know.  You want to be a space hero.”
       “Well, yes, juvenile as that sounds.  And every hero needs a companion – somebody to share his adventures with him.  Can’t you be that for me?  …  Besides, I need you, Kolm.”
       The last words seemed wrenched out of him, and Kolm frowned.  “Ah, lad … ”
       “You keep me stable, Goody.  You know that.  I … Sometimes I think something terrible would go wrong with my life if you weren’t a part of it.”
       Robbie was scowling and scrubbing the back of his neck, looking up defensively at Kolm.  The young Eirishman sat down beside him.  “Now, Robbie, boy.  That’s touchin’ to me.  Lemme think about it a wee bit more.  It is a great draw – this takin’ care of the fancy newfangled light-time engine of an interstellar ship.  Maybe I could even get to be a tiny hero in me own right.”
       Robbie laughed shakily.  “I have no doubt whatsoever of it.  Come on, Goody, don’t let me down.” 
       The upshot of it all, of course, was that Professors Flournoi and Eiginsh regretfully relented and wrote the recommendations, and Robbin Nikalishin and Kolm MaGilligoody went down to the Old Heathero Flight Academy together in the fall term of 2747 – an event that was indeed to have consequences for the history of the modern world.
 

That's all, folks!
You'll have to wait ... and wait ... and wait ...
till the first volume of The Man Who Found Birds is published.

 

 

Nice Words about The Termite Queen

       YA author Marva Dasef reviewed The Termite Queen on Amazon and Goodreads.  I discussed one of her books, Faizah's Destiny, here on the termitespeaker blog.  She doesn't like the human part of the story (sigh), but she does like the termites!  And she appreciates my "Shakespearean" presentation!  Here's some of what she says.

       "As for volume 2, the termites have more depth and become very interesting with heroics, kindness, evil intentions, and all the other human emotions but with an imaginative twist on all of it. Yes, we've got to know them far better as they interact with Kaitrin. This new level of interaction comes from Kaitrin's development of the termite language (sort of like radio waves, not sound). By interpreting patterns in the wavelengths, various repetitions, and lots of smart guesswork, Kaitrin prepares to study the termite race at their very core--within the termite palace.
       "I love all Kaitrin's interactions with the Seer, the Warrior, the Remembrancer, several of the Worker chiefs, and, at last, the Queen in her prison of reproduction. The sections with the termites only as the evil Chamberlain plots to overthrow the Seer are well done. I especially like the blocking notes (theater talk for non-verbal movements on stage) which add to the termite language. The various posturing tells us a lot about the personalities of the individuals."

       To counterbalance Marva's dislike of my protagonist, here's a quotation from Chris Brown's Amazon review:
       "I am definitely nòt a fan of romances, but even so, I found the story of growing and deepening love between Kaitrin and Gwidian to be a most compelling one, and Taylor was certainly able to hold my interest throughout the ups and downs of this part of the story. Taylor certainly demonstrates how a love story can be more than satisfyingly written without having to rely on the crutch of over-worked sex scenes as its only means of conveying the story. I even found Kaitrin's post-adventure quest to understand Gwidian to be a rather compelling story in and of itself. I think I read the last third of the book in one sitting -- perhaps if for no other reason than to at last understand this Gwidian -- initially a bit of a snoot, and always a bit standoffish, but also somehow desperately in need of love."

       Here's where you can find Marva's reviews of Volume One and of Volume Two, and here is her Amazon page. 

Books I Read as a Child: Influence or Reflection of My Personality?

      

I copied this from Amazon and
I apologize for the fuzziness; it
didn't copy well.

Recently I got to thinking about the books that were my favorites when I was a child, and I began to wonder how those books might either have influenced me or might reflect the kinds of material that I'm writing in my older years.  I've turned up some interesting relationships.

       My mother read to me every day when I was a toddler and preschooler.  I would meet her at the door with a book when she would come home from teaching school, and she would immediately sit down and read for 30 minutes.  Like most children, I liked to experience the same books over and over.  Strangely enough (for a two or three year old) I adored Billy Whiskers, by Frances Trego Montgomery.  My well-worn copy of the book is sitting over here on my shelf; I found it when I cleaned out all those stored boxes after my mother died.  Apparently it was a very popular children's book for its time (early 20th century) because the cover says "One Million, One Hundred Fifty-two Thousand Copies of This Book Sold."  It sometimes has the subtitle "The Autobiography of a Goat" and it recounted the adventures of a billy goat who was trained to pull a cart and ends up in the circus.  Frankly, I don't recall the plot at all, but I do remember the line "the agonized look on the face of Billy Whiskers."  For some reason that line fascinated me.  I used to go around spouting it because it never failed to make adults laugh and praise me for being precocious.  It seems I've always loved the sound of words, even if I wasn't sure what they meant!  I really need to read that book again and see what all the fuss was about.  And something else my fascination with that book demonstrates is that I always liked non-human protagonists from early on.

       When I was in fourth or fifth grade I read at least 50 books.  Our main classroom had a table with books on it and every day I picked a different one.  We had to write little reviews.  I liked most of what I read, but much of it didn't stick in my mind.  I know I never cared much for Mary Poppins, although I couldn't tell you why.

       My first big love among books that I read to myself was The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett.  I read it when I was eight years old (I think somebody gave it to me while I was recovering from chicken pox).  I read it 14 times and had the whole first chapter memorized.  Later I also read and relished the same author's A Little Princess.  Two things about these books strike me now:  They both have ailing male characters who are helped by strong female characters.  In my book The Termite Queen, the characters are not children, of course, but the male lead is a conflicted introvert who is struggling to cope with his past, something like Colin's father in The Secret Garden or Sara Crewe's father in A Little Princess; and Kaitrin Oliva is equivalent to Mary Lennox or Sara Crewe.  I have always thought of Rochester in Jane Eyre as more the inspiration for Griffen in The Termite Queen, but it seems the inclination to be fascinated with the vulnerable male character has been with me from the beginning.

       Then I discovered historical fiction.  Adam of the Road by Elizabeth Janet Gray was my first venture into that area on the level I was supposed to be reading (about 10 years old).  I was fascinated by the depiction of medieval life.  However, even before that, I had discovered The Three Musketeers.  I know I met it when I was eight years old, the same year I read The Secret Garden, but I think it was in a version abridged for children.  I fell in love with swashbuckling adventure, and in the year I was twelve I read every one of the sequels to The Three Musketeers.  I also read The Count of Monte Cristo in its original form when I was ten and was completely mesmerized.  Unfortunately, I learned the word "infanticide" from that book and was pretty shocked by the episode where the villain buries the baby.  I also learned the word "hashish," which I understood vaguely only as something bad that shouldn't be messed with.  I was fascinated by the paralyzed man who could only communicate by blinking his eyes, and by the drug that simulated death, allowing the heroine to escape.  And the whole revenge motif, which proved in the end not to be the right answer ... I'm sure that had an influence on my thinking.  But certainly none of that damaged my psyche -- it just opened up the possibilities of wonderful, exotic adventures, both physical and psychological, and it fed a long-standing interest in French history and the French language.  And while I always loved the rascal D'Artagnan (a trickster character for sure), my favorite musketeer was Athos, the sober intellectual.

       Another influence where I see a connection to what I write today came from the Doctor Doolittle books.  I know today they are castigated as racist, but actually only the original volume contains much of that nature and it's one I never read!  I don't own any of those books; I read them all from the library and so I just plucked one off the shelf one day and then another and another and paid no attention to reading them in order.  My favorites and the only ones I really remember were Mudface the Turtle and the Canary Opera (I don't remember the exact titles).  Do you see a thread here?  Both are about animals (comparable to aliens) who are intelligent and can talk.  Mudface also introduced me to the ideas of archaeology, paleontology, and anthropology -- how did humans really get to the New World?  Well, how else but by having a male and female pair get rescued during Noah's flood by a giant sea turtle who deposited them in the Western Hemisphere?  I thought that was the neatest idea!  I also loved Dr. Doolittle's parrot and the canary in the Canary Opera.  Talking, intelligent birds -- hmm. 

       These are not the only books I read as a child and teenager, of course.  Quo Vadis was another of my historical finds (stimulated by seeing the movie at the age of 10) -- it got me interested in Roman and classical history.  I loved Little Women and proceeded to read all its sequels, also.   I paid my dues reading nursing stories (Cherry Ames and Sue Barton), and I got into mysteries about the age of twelve.  I inhaled the entire collected Sherlock Holmes canon that year, and in high school I read a lot of Ellery Queen.  Later in my life I particularly liked Dorothy Sayers and a few other authors.  But I never found the mystery genre as a whole compelling.  It was always realistic books with a psychological twist that captivated me, or else a lot of fast-paced, swashbuckling adventure with trickster characters.  And this summary wouldn't be complete without a mention of Shakespeare, who falls in both of the above categories.  When I was fourteen, my mother bought me a complete Shakespeare.  We read Julius Caesar in school that year (feeding my interest in ancient Rome) and of course my mother taught English literature, so I started reading the plays and actually memorizing passages.  That can't have hurt my literary development.

       One more little anecdote involving historical fiction:  I had seen a movie at some early stage of my life where I was appalled and horrified when a character's eyes were gouged out.  I practically had nightmares about that scene, but after a few years I couldn't recall what movie it was from.  And then in high school I read The Prince of Foxes by Samuel Shellenbarger, and lo and behold!  There was the same scene!  Actually, it's a trick; the character only pretends to gouge out the eyes and substitutes grapes for the eyeballs.  But I don't think I understood that when I saw the movie at the age of seven or eight; I thought that was really somebody's eyeballs!

       You may note that I never read any science fiction as a child, and the only fantasy I can recall were the Oz books.  We had a friend who had adored the Oz books when she was a child and she bought me a whole bunch of them.  I have eight of them over here on the shelf.  My favorites characters were the Patchwork Girl (another intelligent non-human) and the Glass Cat ("I have pink brains - you can see 'em work!"). I also liked one tale where dinosaur bones come to life.  There you see my fascination with paleontology and it presents again the strange alien lifeform that exhibits intelligence.  I really didn't get into epic fantasy at all until I read Tolkien at the age of 29.  After that, the ball started rolling.  But after my writing hiatus from 1983 to 2000, it seems I turned back to my roots.

      

Writing Progress: So What's Next on My Agenda?

       For a while now, I've been playing up Fathers and Demons as the next book I planned to publish, but now I've changed tactics.  I mentioned that Fathers and Demons was a big chunk of my WIP The Man Who Found Birds among the Stars, too long to leave within the boundaries of that book.  I've long been thinking that I might never get around to making MWFB publishable, and Fathers and Demons somewhat summarized the plot of the longer book, thus at least getting a bit of it preserved.

I published this drawing once before
but I thought you ought to know
what Robbie looks like at the time
of Fathers & Demons.

       But working on the shorter book rejuvenated my interest in MWFB and I realized that F & D was going to play the spoiler for the parent book if I do publish it.  It reveals an important plot point that I'd rather people didn't know before they read Man Who Found Birds.

       So I've decided to delay publication of F & D until I approach the point in MWFB where the Jewish section occurred.  I had already formatted it completely for CreateSpace, but so what?  It will just sit there in my computer until I'm ready for it.  I hadn't done the Kindle and the Smashwords, so I'll put that off.  I apologize to the people who have expressed interest in Fathers and Demons and in my future Jewish history.  I assure you that sooner or later this piece will get published.

       In the meantime I've begun the daunting task of restructuring and reworking and especially abridging MWFB.  I won't tell you how long the original MS is, and it isn't even finished!  However, the first chunks are readable in and of themselves, so I'll at least plan to publish those.  Even at that, it will have to become a series.  But I think I can work it out so that each volume is self-contained and not too long.

 

       Some of you know that I've been posting chapters of MWFB (I'm up to Chapter 12) here on this blog.  I get a lot of pageviews on the chapters, and I had hoped that I would get feedback comments, but I've hardly had any, except from one person who has fallen in love with this book and impatiently begs for the next chapter!  I want to thank this very loyal fan for his support!  It's really gratifying and it played a part in my decision to work on the book.  I had never planned to continue publishing chapters forever, and I'm about to stop.  I mean to complete Chapter 12 and I do plan to post Chapter 13, because it finishes something left hanging in Chapter 11, but that will be the last.

       One reason for stopping is that I'm restructuring the book, eliminating the flash back/flash forward organization.  I had originally thought that I could do the whole book that way, but I ended up running out of material for the future part and extending the early part almost endlessly.  So a straight chonological organization will function better and help to shorten it (I hope).

 

        So how would I characterize The Man Who Found Birds among the Stars?  It's a fictionalized biography of the spaceship Captain Robbin Nikalishin, who commanded the expedition that made first contact with extraterrestrials.  With my usual intent of keeping the future context, I set it up as a piece written by an Oxkam Professor in commoration of the fiftieth anniversay of the Captain's death.  Personally, I like that ploy, and I'll probably keep it, adding an extra title page from the future, the way I do with the Ki'shto'ba series.  This future author will not be narrating the story, however, and there will be no footnotes or other scholarly apparatus -- just a straightforward, mostly omnipotent-narrator piece of storytelling in the third person.  It should be eminently easy to read, at least until the aliens appear (when the conlang they speak becomes an essential part of things), but that's so far off I'm not even going to think about it now.  We have to get through the many problems of Robbin Nikalishin's early life first!

       I'm going to leave the Prologue (the martial eagle story) intact, and then pick up from that, calling the first three sections of the book "Eagle Ascending," "Eagle Falling," and "Survivor." 

       (Disclaimer:  Any and all of the above is subject to change at any time!)

       I also may work occasionally on The Valley of Thorns (Labors of Ki'shto'ba Huge-Head, v.3).  The text is pretty much ready, but the cover is only about half done and the map isn't ready at all, except as part of a larger map.  And that reminds me -- I don't have any cover art for MWFB, or rather, I have a cover but it's no good -- one of my hopeless attempts at figure drawing.

       That sounds like I have a lot to do, doesn't it? !!  I guess it's time I quit dithering and got busy!