Parties At Cons!!!

I’m at Capricon, and while I’m not going to talk about the whole con yet, because it’s still going, I am going to express my excitement at the parties.

So, in case you don’t know, parties at conventions are in hotel rooms/suites in the evenings, and there’s generally alcohol involved. Obviously, I’m not drinking at the parties, because, well, ew, and also, you know, legal minor and all that, but now that I’ve been turned loose, I’ve discovered that they’re pretty fun to go to anyways. There’s food and conversation and (at least, at the comic book themed party) trivia and it’s a really casual way to hang out and chat.

A large part of why I get to roam is because my responsible adult is now busy helping run a party — the Box Fort, which my cousin and her friends started last year. Since they’re all busy with the party (which I’m not actually allowed into yet — they decided to make it strictly 21 and up for alcohol and legal liability reasons) I get to go to the other parties — basically, wherever I’m allowed into and have any interest in being, which is why I’m spending a lot of time in the Marvel/DC comics room and in the Books and Beer party, which an author friend of mine runs.

So, I realize this isn’t a particularly useful and/or informative post, but I’m super excited about this and wanted to share that energy. And the knowledge that there are, in fact, parties that are both welcoming and interesting for teens.

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“Make A Sci-Fi Setting,” they said.

And… I may have gotten invested. This is unlikely to turn into an actual story, but I thought some of you would appreciate this first part. Enjoy!


“Whoa,” I whispered as I took in the scene in front of me. This was my first time offworld, and I could hear my hired pilot/bodyguard, Ralph, chuckling at my amazed reaction. We were in one of the many floating markets on Neptune, a pressurized dome of layered transparent graphene extending from the shipping docks and enabling the artificial atmosphere. Though the planet’s distance from the sun should have made it nearly impossible to see here, it was bright within the market, the entire floor glowing a rainbow of luminescence, dull enough that it was not painful to the eyes unless stared at for an extended period of time. Newcomers like myself simultaneously flinched whenever we saw methane ice flying towards the market, courtesy of Neptune’s up to 2,000 kilometers per hour winds, while veteran shoppers ignored them as they bounced harmlessly off of the dome and into our dark, blue surroundings, which reminded me of the depths of the ocean.

My attention, however, was quickly drawn away from the exterior and towards the market before me, bustling with activity like a beehive. The difference being, we were all here for pleasure or for profit. Still, the analogy was startlingly accurate, looking out at the geometrically placed, neutrally colored booths of wood and stone and steel, where sentient beings ogled at and haggled over the nonsentient and the abiotic. I took a step forward and had to stop. Despite having been told that it would happen, multiple times, in fact, I was still trying to acclimate to the fact that I was heavier on this planet, thanks to its higher gravitational pull. Ralph, the only person who hadn’t sounded like a robot when he had said it, had also promised that I would get used to it soon.

Still, I took a moment to observe the market from there before I moved. I tried not to stare at the Centauri too much, but it was difficult. They varied so much in size and shape, each with their own species name, but since all of them had come from what we called Proxima B in Alpha Centauri, they were collectively known as the Centauri. They had reached our solar system fifty years prior, but I had never seen them except in photographs until then. For security purposes, aliens weren’t allowed on Earth, so they had set up shop in various other places. It was probably better for them, since they came from the Dark Side, as we’ve since dubbed it, the cold half of the planet that faces permanently away from their sun. They never settled on Venus or Mercury, rarely on Mars or Jupiter. They preferred colder planets, like this one. If the dome weren’t heated, and this place matched the outside temperature, it would be about minus 200 degrees Celsius here, and we’d all have been icicles. As it was, it was probably around 10 degrees (Celsius), and I had a double-layered jacket on for thermal regulation.

The Centauri had set out this way millennia ago in a large group of interconnected vessels largely referred to as “The Lifeboat.” It was sort of like that old story, Noah’s Ark, except that they had the good sense to bring more than two of each species. Each of their sentient life forms had sent what was deemed a survivable, genetically diverse population, which of course brought their fair share of luggage, as well as a likewise diverse group of nonsentient beings, as livestock. It was largely agreed amongst the global community that their sun, a red dwarf, being young as it was, was unstable, and it wouldn’t take much for it to cause devastation. They sent out The Lifeboat so that if something happened, their entire population wouldn’t be wiped out.

Though I tried not to stare, I did spend a large amount of time doing just that. Even as I began to make my way forwards again, my eyes were locked, not on the merchandise, but on the beings. Being the first-timer, standard human tourist that I was, I didn’t know what any of the actual species were, and they confounded me. I saw a multitude of what I took to calling Squids, though of course they weren’t. They were a palish-pink color, with four hooved legs all under the center of their body, eight eyes, each with four eyelids, and at least twenty suctioned tentacles that sort of flowed outwards from their body, like a fountain. Their skins were coated with a mucus-like, sickeningly sweet smelling fluid that seemed to emanate from their suctions, and they had no noses or ears perceivable to the human eye. One tried to sell me some sort of pitch black vine-like plant, as a medicine I think, but his odor made it difficult for me to think and I left the booth quickly.

As I wandered further inwards, I saw everything from one-legged frog men (the leg functioning like an omnidirectional wheel) to glorified flies that must have been seven feet tall, at least, to what might have been Earth monkeys had they not had their noses and their eyes switched, and had they not perfectly understood and spoken English. This last fact I found out when I whispered a question to Ralph concerning their anatomy. “Well how else are we supposed to see what we’re smelling?” One retorted to my question, which I had thought would have been too quiet for them to hear above the noise. Inside the booths, which were run by all sorts of Centauri, and some by humans, were so many objects and trinkets that I lost count: bright and colorful and beautiful fabrics, statues, designs; mind boggling machines and puzzles; a whole slew of plants and animals and bottles up for sale, as pets and foods and medicines.

If the visual input was overwhelming, the audio was only just barely bearable. All around me were voices, high and low and everywhere in between, and whistling, chirping, chattering, clicking… and somewhere, through all the din, I swear I heard music, too. As I moved from booth to booth, not really able to hear the vendors but nodding along with their words while I read the signs and looked over the merchandise, I was also bombarded with new, unknown scents. Some were pleasant. For instance I was rather fond of one plant that smelled like a mixture of cinnamon, licorice, and honey, at least until it tried to eat me. Some were not ever even remotely enticing. Almost all, however, I didn’t recognize, and doubted I’d ever be able to name or even describe.

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Strikes of the Gilded Age

The period from the 1860’s to 1900, also known as “the Gilded Age,” was a time wrought with conflict between business owners and their workers. At this point in time, there were not yet many government regulations of industry, leaving business owners to do as they please. With dangerous working conditions, long hours and low wages, the workers stepped in–or rather, out–to demand change, and they were right to do so.

There is a saying that regulations are written in blood, and the Gilded Age is most likely where that originated from. According to Khan Academy, “Between 1881 and 1900, 35,000 workers per year lost their lives in industrial and other accidents at work.” This is because, without anyone standing up to them, the business owners could do whatever they liked, and they cared a good deal more about production and lining their own pockets (and houses — the History.com article has some incredible examples) with money than they did about the people they were exploiting, and killing, to do that.

It was during this time period that many unions, like the Knights of Labor, were formed, and strikes became a more common occurrence. Two notable such strikes were the Homestead Strike at Homestead Steelworks, where a gunfight broke out between striking workers and the “strikebreakers” brought in to forcibly reopen the steelworks, and the Pullman Strike, in which railroad workers nationwide refused to move trains in protest of wage cuts without proportionate rent cuts in Pullman’s company town outside Chicago. In both cases government troops, in the former case state and in the latter, federal, were dispatched to end the strikes.

Not much progress was made during the Gilded Age. Management would crack down on the workers who dared to speak out, and when the government did get involved they consistently sided with the businesses over the workers. While some rights were won, those were on a business-by-business basis, rather than government regulations protecting the rights of the people. As a whole, little was accomplished for workers’ rights during this time. However, these strikes and the continued expression of discontent would pave the road for labor laws and industrial regulation in the future, providing us with the much safer working conditions we have today.

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Tales!

My second book is officially available on Amazon, in Kindle format or in print! Tales is the sequel to An Unexpected Journey, but it has a different set of characters in a separate location, so you can read it before the first book, so long as you read them both before book 3. (We don’t have a time frame for the release of that one, sorry, I’ll try not to wait another five years though.)

There are a lot of people who went into making this possible: Cheshire Moon, whose song inspired Mom’s idea which inspired this story, Mom, who was also my editor, and Donna, my amazing artist, who served on my beta team with two of my cousins and my best friend. And, of course, all of the people who have kept encouraging me to write over the years. Thanks, all!

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The Dust Bowl

The “Dust Bowl” is a term used both to describe the drought and dust storms of the 1930’s, and the Great Plains area in which it occurred. While the drought itself was an unavoidable natural disaster, its effects were greatly exacerbated by human activities, namely irresponsible agricultural practices.

    This is clear in the Dust Bowl’s conditions. After all, as awful as a decade-long series of droughts and high winds might be, it doesn’t account for the “black blizzards,” as they were called, storms that picked up Great Plains topsoil and carried it as far as New York. Dust storms, it’s true, were and are a thing, but never to this magnitude. That’s because, among other things, there’s just not enough loose topsoil to throw around. It’s estimated that as many as three million tons of topsoil blew off of the Great Plains during the infamous “Black Sunday” storm, and that was only one occurence.

    So why was there so much topsoil? That’s where human error and farming practices come into play. You see, one of the benefits of the native grasses that grew in the Plains is that they had deep roots that held the soil in place. But when settlers came and cultivated the land, they dug up those grasses in favor of other crops, like wheat. Increased demand for those other crops during World War I encouraged farmers to plow more land that had once been grassland, so that they could plant more, and when the prices for the crops they now had surpluses of dropped again, they plowed even more so that they could plant enough to make a profit. As a result, when the droughts hit and the crops died, there were no native grasses to stop the soil from blowing away.

    At some point, all of the best farmland was in use, and when the farmers kept on cultivating land, they had to move to poorer growing space. Unfortunately, “farming submarginal lands often had negative results, such as soil erosion and nutrient leaching.” (National Drought Mitigation Center) Other practices, such as using the new one-way disc plow, which increased the risk of blowing soil, and the abandonment of soil conservation measures in the interest of saving time and money, also greatly contributed to the environmental damage done prior to the droughts of the Dust Bowl. This damage, in turn, provided the means — that is to say, the dry, nutrient-depleted, loose dirt in abundance — for the catastrophic effects of what would otherwise have been little more than a severe dry spell.

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The Joy of Writing

One of the best things about writing is something that’s also great about reading. It’s falling in love with the characters. You know, you meet them, at the beginning, and you only have some idea of where it’s going to go from there, and then you get to watch and cheer them on as they grow and develop as people. You get drawn to the nuances of them, the quirks, the little details of their personality, and even though every well-written character has flaws, you learn to love those too.

As a writer, you get to experience an enhanced version of that same emotion; that same experience of falling in love with the character, except this time it’s your character. And what’s so beautiful about that is they say we don’t *make* characters so much as we take parts of ourselves and give them names. So you’re not just falling in love with a character — you’re falling in love with yourself.

That’s such a big deal because we hold ourselves to impossibly higher standards than we hold everyone else to. But when I take my own traits — and their corresponding flaws — and treat them like they’re not mine they’re suddenly so much less of a problem. That’s also the jump between reading the character and writing them — there’s a definite and profound difference in, “I identify with this trait and corresponding flaw in someone else’s character, who I love,” and, “I love this piece of my soul that I have named, now that it has a name.”

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Big Mistake — the War Guilt Clause

    The Treaty of Versailles was signed on June 28, 1919, bringing an official end to the conflict between Germany and the Allies. Unfortunately, by forcing Germany to shoulder most, if not all, of the blame for the war, the War Guilt Clause (Article 231) placed a heavy burden upon the German people.  The Treaty of Versailles had the opportunity to be a new beginning for all involved parties, regardless of where they stood during the war, and instead was used as the means by which the Allied Powers exacted revenge on Germany. This compulsion to act out of anger and selfishness, not compassion and mutual beneficialism, became a direct cause of another conflict only twenty years down the road.

The treaty was supposed to be a step towards a lasting peace, at least according to U.S. President Woodrow Wilson. His plans “called for an immediate end to the war, the establishment of an international peacekeeping organization, international disarmament, open diplomacy, the explicit disavowal of war, and independence for formerly colonial territories.” (Khan Academy) This, though I cannot speak to how well or for how long it would have worked, would have been, at the very least, an attempt to pick themselves up, put the past behind them, and work together for a better future.

Britain and France did not approve of this approach. There were multiple reasons for this, but the foremost was that they were angry. Where America had been fighting “Over There” (song composed by George M. Cohan in 1917) and for less than a year, the French and British had been fighting close to home, if not in their own territory, for four years. They had lost men, supplies, buildings, and land, and they wanted Germany to pay for it. Germany was forced to give up its territories, drastically downsize its military, and, quite literally, pay the expenses. The total bill of reparations came out to a whopping $60 billion dollars, what would be over $760 billion today. A decade later this sum would be reduced to something slightly more reasonable, $30 billion dollars, but the damage was already done.

With reparations to pay and not nearly enough money to pay them with, the German government, then changed to the Weimar Republic, started printing deutschmarks (their currency at the time). Unfortunately, this had a reverse effect as the nation went into a state of hyperinflation and the value of the deutschmark plummeted, bringing the Weimar economy with it. To quote the History.com article on the Weimar Republic, “An underground bartering economy was established to help people meet their basic needs.” That alone should indicate how bad things were.

Regardless of Germany’s past actions, this should have been the point where the international community stepped in and did something to help. There is no excuse for willfully neglecting the welfare of an entire civilian population, yet the Allies did so for a whole generation. Even when they did act — which, admittedly, they did — their focus was on the reparations and resuming the payments, not on the suffering of the German people.

Between their loss in the war, their economic collapse, and the seeming indifference of their neighbors to their suffering, it should not be surprising that in their anger and desperation the German people turned to extremism, looking for new leadership and a semblance of hope. As Sarah Pruitt wrote, “Due to lasting resentment of the Versailles Treaty, the National Socialist (Nazi) Party and other radical right-wing parties were able to gain support… by promising to overturn its harsh provisions and make Germany into a major European power once again.”

As I hope I have made clear, the Treaty of Versailles, by its focus on revenge rather than rationality, was a direct cause of both Hitler’s rise to power and the Second World War, and while the treaty itself was necessary, many of its contents, particularly Article 231, the War Guilt Clause, were inevitably detrimental to not only Germany, but the whole of the international community.

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Welcome to Jumanji!… Fluxx!

Yep, another Fluxx. Specifically, the Fluxx that ended up in my Christmas stocking this year. (As well as a Doctor Who Fluxx 13th Doctor expansion pack, but that’s sidelining…) Don’t worry, there’ll be no spoilers here for the Jumanji films; I haven’t even seen the new one yet. More importantly, I’m not actually focusing on the plot, because, well… this is Fluxx. Plot? What plot? We make our own plots here, thank you very much.

Anyways, I’m not really here to talk about Fluxx, or the new Keepers and Goals for this version of it, as I am to talk about what’s new and different about the game mechanics in this version. I mean, sure, there are some interesting new cards — I definitely don’t recall having seen “Let’s Keep Doing That” as a New Rule before — but that’s not really big news.

The really big news is that there are Danger cards — cards with a yellow and black border that allow players to be “eliminated.” Elimination is both more and less drastic than it sounds — you lose all your cards, both your Keepers and the ones in hand, but after everyone else has taken a turn, you draw a hand of three cards and play from there. So you’re not out, you’re just kind of… starting over. The conditions for these danger cards are usually based around Keepers, like saying, “If a player has Albino Rhinos in front of them, that player is eliminated.” I may or may not have used a whole slew of Danger cards on Mom. What can I say? I grew up on Munchkin.

There are also optional Meta Rules, which we didn’t play with this time around, but as I understand it there are two of them. The first, if used, gets placed next to the Basic Rules in the middle, and indicates that you must shout “Jumanji” when you win the game. The second, “No More Lives,” gets placed at the bottom of the deck, and once it comes up it, elimination is permanent.

I should also probably mention that, like “The Doctor” and “Companions” in Doctor Who Fluxx, Jumanji Fluxx has certain cards marked as “Adventurers” and “Animals,” which for certain card mechanics are interchangeable amongst themselves.

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Slither.io

Yep, another .io game. What can I say? They’re addictive. (See my post on Narwhale here.) I’m not entirely sure what to call this one; when I was introduced to it we all called it Slitherio, with various pronunciations thereof, but for the sake of consistency I’ll just call it Slither.

Slither is a slightly less obvious name than Narwhale, but only just so. You are, likely unsurprisingly, snakes. In Slither, the goal isn’t so much to kill as it is to grow, and killing happens to be a convenient way to achieve that goal. To grow, you “eat” glowing dots, by which I mean the snake follows your mouse cursor and if it runs over a dot the dot disappears and your snake gets longer.

You can loop back over yourself just fine, allowing maneuverability accurate to snakes, but if you run into someone else, you die. When a snake dies, they fade into a large pile of super bright glowing dots, which are worth more than the random ones lying around. This is why a lot of players (not including myself) go on the offensive: killing other snakes is the fastest way to grow. Of course, it’s also dangerous, because there is the possibility that while trying to get them to run into you, you ram into them. That’s how I usually get kills; some overzealous little snake tries to corner me and self-destructs. And, I mean, you don’t just leave that perfectly good pile of points lying around, you know?

There is a trick that is, I’ve found, largely only useful to the offensive players, and that’s speeding up. When you left-click and hold, you go at an enhanced rate of speed, allowing you to dart in front of someone or, on the rare occasion I use it, to get out of a coil before it forms. A coil is a trick larger snakes use involving trapping a small snake entirely in a full circle and slowly closing the circle until the snake inside, who has no choice but to keep doing loops inside and will, if the maneuver is executed right, eventually have no room and run into the larger snake, at which point there’s a nice, concentrated pile of super-glowies (yes, I just made that up) that nobody else can get to. Anyhow, back to darting — darting has a price. When you do it, you leave a trail of small glowing dots behind you, which are subtracted from your body mass. Basically, if you’re going to use this move, make sure that what you’re darting for is worth more than the energy you lose to get there.

There are a couple of other things, like being able to choose your skin on the main screen, and the leaderboard in the top left corner, but those aren’t really important. I do suggest paying attention to the mini map in the bottom left corner if you’re having trouble finding enough stray glowing dots. It illustrates the map, where you are, and where the dots are concentrated, which is almost always the center.

Best of luck!

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Space Junk

Yes, this is a paper on space debris. No, the research is not mine, the writing is. Effectively, I was given a project on transitions with a bunch of bullet points and I had to connect it all into something coherent with enough flow to not scramble brains. I won’t show you what the original material looked like, but I promise the finished product is a lot better. And hey, it’s kind of an interesting topic, so here it is.

There is a lot of space debris floating around the earth. In fact, experts are monitoring about 200,000 pieces of the orbiting space junk, and they believe that there are more than a million out there. This space “junk” consists of burned-out rocket parts, pieces of spacecraft, and parts of defunct communication and weather satellites, the combination of which certainly makes the million-piece estimate feasible.
While some of these pieces break orbit and enter the atmosphere, not many of them actually make it all the way to the ground. Some have, but most of them  landed in the oceans or in remote areas of the earth. While a few people have been hit by space debris, it’s an incredibly rare occurrence, and therefore not a significant cause for concern.
What is a significant cause for concern is the damage that space debris can do — in space. There is a very serious risk that orbiting satellites and spacecraft could be hit by space debris, and this could badly damage the functional equipment. One of the more important — and more concerning — orbiting objects at risk is the International Space Station, as both a large piece of equipment and one with people in it.
There’s only so much that we can do to avoid these collisions, but we are trying. If sensitive satellites or spacecraft are on a collision course with space debris, engineers try to maneuver them so they can avoid impact. Possibly more importantly, experts are devising guidelines for those launching new space vehicles, like using orbits that avoid existing space debris. These guidelines would also make those launching new spacecraft responsible for safely disposing of their equipment after the completion of their missions, hopefully decreasing the accumulation of space debris and making space a little bit safer.

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