It Happened

It happened! The Cubs are the World Series Champions!

No more "maybe next year." No more talk about curses, goats, black cats. They did it!!!

Besides the fact that it lets me think about something other than politics, why does it matter? Because this team, and their fans, deserved it. The team never gave up, even when they were down three games to one and it looked dire. The fans never stopped loving them, even when it looked dire. They deserve each other and the championship.

I'm a relative newcomer to Cubs fandom, having joined the ranks 29 years ago, but I know the heartache, the resignation, the anguish that used to come at the end of every year. I was always so hopeful and then I was crushed.

But now I can rejoice! I can celebrate! I can smile all through the winter. And so can Cubs fans all over the world.

Thank you to the Cubs for making this happen. Thank you for NEVER giving up!
Thank you for giving me hope each year and giving all of us joy this year.

Here's what I wrote in July: Go Cubs blog

They made history in that 7th game. And I'm pretty sure they've changed me for the better.

Halloween Story

To get you in the mood for Halloween, here's my entry from the short story contest last year. I hope you'll enjoy it ... and have a spooky Halloween!

Fall

The ice cream truck’s days were numbered.

All summer long, Alice had gritted her teeth and turned up her iPod so she could try to ignore the siren song of “Pop! Goes the Weasel.”

She’d drawn the shades and kept her eyes focused on the monitor to erase dancing visions of the Choco Taco, the chocolate chip cookie sandwich, the Nestlé Crunch bar, the Drumstick.

She’d nibbled on dry-roasted peanuts and dried fruit, reminding herself of the many advantages of working at home.

But now winter was peering at her over the horizon, its icy claws and cold breath only weeks away, while autumn lay faint upon the landscape, wrapping colored leaves around it to stay warm.

Maybe because she saw it as her last chance, Alice let her gaze stray from the spreadsheet and wander as if by chance to the front door. She peeked at the little tin of peanuts on the corner of the desk, imagining them covered in melted chocolate, and then at her billfold, remembering the lonely five-dollar bill inside.

She could hear the truck inching along the street, its peppy song faltering at her hesitation.

“Oh!” She dug through the billfold to claim her prize and ran out onto the lawn. The white truck was already two houses down so she cried out, waving the bill over her head.

The truck’s red brake lights glared at her.

Alice hustled along the side of the truck, panting, and stopped to consider her choices. As she did, two small figures darted from the truck and ran in irregular spirals on the lawn behind her, chittering and jabbering.

Happy customers? The vendor’s children, glad to be temporarily free?

Alice focused on the list of enticements.

A voice spoke from behind her: “That’s the wrong truck.”

The two spiraling figures halted. Alice thought she saw one turn its head for an instant, revealing what looked like a gaping skull, but it quickly averted its face. She realized it must be wearing some type of mask, although it was still early for Halloween.

Alice pivoted to see a small, blond-haired girl on the lawn behind her, standing with arms crossed and lower lip jutting out. The girl wore a blue dress with the faces of Anna and Elsa on the front and looked to be about six. When Alice checked, she could see the girl’s mother sitting on the porch steps, absorbed in her phone. A teddy bear lay forgotten on a blanket near the porch as the girl approached Alice.

Alice knelt down so she was almost at eye level. “Would you like to go ahead of me, sweetie?”

“No, it’s the wrong truck,” the girl insisted. “Run away!”

Alice blinked away the enchanting images of ice cream treats to see both childlike figures turn grinning skull-faces toward her and extend clawed hands in her direction. When she looked over her shoulder, she saw a plume of black smoke rising over the top of the truck like a wave. Dark shadows moved inside. The girl hadn’t been fooled, and now Alice wasn’t either.

Alice clutched at the bill in her hand and closed her eyes against the horrific visions. She wanted to live! She wanted a better job, friends, someone who cared what happened to her. Ice cream wasn’t the answer.

All Alice had to do was scoop up the little girl and run …

Then Alice heard the girl scream and opened her eyes.

Not two feet away, the girl’s mother was leaning forward, extending a hand with two crumpled bills in it toward the gaping maw on the side of the truck.

“No, Mommy!” the girl cried. “Stop!”

“Mommy will be with you in a minute,” the woman said in a faraway voice.

Something dark inside the truck was reaching forward.

It was as plain as the spreadsheet in Alice’s empty house: the little girl had left the safety of her blanket to warn Alice and now she was about to lose her mother because of it.

Alice took one last look at the little girl’s tear-streaked face before jumping up to knock the woman aside.

“No,” Alice said in her loudest voice as she held out her hand, “I was here first.”

She felt something cold and scaly close on her wrist. The five-dollar bill slid from her grasp, to be replaced with something even colder and squishy. Alice didn’t look at it as she took a large bite.

It was the most delicious treat she’d ever tasted. Chocolate and vanilla, with a hint of peanuts, all swirled together into near perfection. Alice smiled.

The wind sucked in its breath. The purple sky spat lightning and coughed thunder. Smoke enveloped the truck, Alice, the shrieking goblins. With an orange flash and a popping sound, all of them vanished.

Mother and daughter were left clutching at each other, kneeling on the lawn with their heads pressed together. After a few moments, they looked up.

“She was a nice lady,” the girl said.

The mother shook her head. “Who? I don’t remember.”

“That’s okay, Mommy.” The little girl smiled at the vacant spot near the curb, where the last wisps of smoke were dissipating. “I do.”

©Diane McCallum 2016

Advancing

Will someone please tell me how it got to be October? It's been almost a month since my last post! It certainly doesn't seem that long and I apologize for it.

September was quite a challenging month at work, both in workload and issues that arose for me and my co-workers. Things are working out, for the most part, but it kept me busy and I was often so tired when I got home that I plopped in front of the TV and didn't do anything, including thinking about my blog.

Just in case work wasn't overwhelming enough, Elon Musk and another co-worker decided to jump into the mix (although not with the purpose of overwhelming me). You might have heard about Elon Musk and SpaceX's plan for Mars exploration and colonization. He's looking at the 2020s to start, which is amazingly soon if you think about it, and his plans are detailed. If you'd like to see the video (which is long and rather technical in places, but also fascinating), try this: Elon Musk Mars Plan Or here's a shorter, more visual look: SpaceX Interplanetary Travel

A co-worker had mentioned the longer video to me so I watched most it. At first I was right there with the plan, but it wasn't long before he got into the technical aspects of the propellant and engines, leaving me behind. I'm certainly not an engineer.

As I contemplated that, my co-worker mentioned the D-Wave computer, which I'd never heard of (that was embarrassing). I Googled it today and it only took a very short time before I found myself floundering. The big problem is that it's based on quantum physics, which is a subject I must admit my brain can't wrap itself around. I've tried, but the concepts are so fantastic that I'm not able to envision or make sense of them. This made the D-Wave computer almost opaque to me. I can sort of understand cooling atoms down until they're almost motionless, and I can almost envision them merging in waves, but then I get lost trying to understand how that would lead to computing anything, especially when it's not clear whether the results would be statistically reliable or whether alternate universes are possible or not.

Whew! I'm not giving up on either of these things, the Mars plan or the D-Wave computer, but I might have to let myself marvel at them without completely comprehending them. I drive a car without knowing the intricacies of its computer, so I guess this is the same thing.

The only thing that gives me pause about this is that I write science fiction. Shouldn't I understand the science? Well, I can try, but I'm not always going to succeed. What I must remember is that I can't pretend to understand something I don't. Believe it or not, there are things in my novels that I couldn't fully explain (besides what's going on in Nick's head, I mean), but I do my best not to make it look like I understand them. Does that make sense? I know nothing about machinery but one of my main characters is a mechanic. I try to say what he's working on without making it obvious I don't know how to do that. I don't make up some kind of tool or piece of equipment so mechanics everywhere can exclaim, "What?! She doesn't know what she's talking about!"

I'm also not going to throw a D-Wave computer into my next novel just because it's the latest thing. I'll leave that to writers who understand it. As for the colonization of Mars, that wasn't even a possibility when I started writing my novels, so I'll just have to live with it if I didn't foresee it. That's the risk a science fiction writer takes. (I feel like I got a few things right, though. Autoguide, anyone?)

I guess I'm trying not to get too overwhelmed. If I think I have to understand everything related to space exploration or include all of the latest technology in my novels, I'm going to write mush. I might do that anyway, but I'm trying to avoid it!

Meanwhile, I can marvel at the latest advances. I hope you will, too.

Shaken

By now you've probably heard about the earthquake in Oklahoma this morning. It was 5.6, centered a little north of Pawnee, OK, and we felt it in Pittsburg, KS. I was in bed when it felt like a strong person had grabbed the frame and was shaking it vigorously. I could hear items on the dresser rattling. My brain ruled out a passing truck and something hitting our house before it settled on "earthquake." It shook us a little, but no damage was done.

I've also been a little shaken figuratively.

When I first published Outsider, I thought I'd probably sell about three or four copies, mostly to family members. To my amazement, the people at work were excited to hear I'd been published. They lined up to buy the book and asked for my autograph. One even wanted to have her picture taken with me. This was followed by a whirlwind of books signings and an interview for the local newspaper.

Hindsight now tells me the truth: they thought "published" was the same as "famous." They thought I was already there ... and after a while, I believed it, too.

Lately, with book sales at zero, I've realized that we were mistaken. I'm not a failure, because I have four books published, but I'm not really successful either.

That's okay. Not everyone can be Stephen King or J.K. Rowling and I'm fine with that. The problem is that I spent too much time worrying that I didn't try hard enough or wasn't good enough ... and that's dried up my writing. That's not okay.

I'm going to try to go back to that feeling I first had when I saw Outsider pop up on amazon.com: happy and excited. I'm going to try to reacquaint myself with my characters. I might try to introduce myself to some new characters. Most of all, I want to reorient my thinking so that I don't obsess over how many books I've sold and instead concentrate on the joy of writing. That's what matters to me.

I was a little shaken, but I hope no damage was done.

Closing Ceremony

Tonight is the Closing Ceremony for the Olympics, which I always approach with mixed feelings.

On one hand, I'm a little relieved that I'll have more personal time. It seems I've spent the past two weeks alternating between work and the Olympics, to the detriment of housework or anything else.

On the other hand, I'm a little sad. I watch so much of the Olympics because there's always something to watch. There are sports I will never see on TV otherwise, so I can learn about them and see what I've been missing. There is plenty of drama and pageantry. There are the beautiful beaches and mountains.

But most of all, there are the athletes. I realize that we had a few this time who didn't exactly acquit themselves well, but those were a minority. Overall, I saw many inspirational people from all over the globe, who demonstrated humility, hard work and skill. I saw people in tears because they were able to compete against the best in the world ... and it didn't matter if they won a medal or not. They were at the pinnacle: the Olympics!

I saw people from all over mingling with each other, talking and sharing stories. Nationalities and religions took a back seat to connections, to humanity. They had more in common than they had differences.

And that is what I will miss the most. The Olympics offer us a glimpse of what we could all be: people with much in common, who want to win but never to humiliate, who recognize the skills in each other and respect them. We could all be the runner who tumbles to the ground, jumps to her feet and then stops to help her fellow competitor, even at the risk of her own victory. We could all reach out and shake hands.

There are many reasons that can't really happen, but the Olympics remind me of the possibilities.

So I say "thank you" to all of the Olympic athletes. May you have as much success in the rest of your lives as you did in showing us the meaning of sportsmanship and humanity.

How It All Began Part 2

Here's another excerpt from my first novel, Outsider. (Part 1 was last week. I hope you've read it!)

          Sean heard the cell door behind him slide open and turned to see a guard standing in the doorway.  It was the same one who had delivered his breakfast.

         The guard stepped into the cell and surveyed the contents, his eyes pausing on the bulky gray pressure suit hung on the wall next to the door, although he kept Sean within his peripheral vision.  Sean had already inspected the suit, finding it to be nothing more than a spacesuit with built-in oxygen supply but few accessories.  He’d never seen one up close, but there wasn’t much to see so he’d mostly forgotten about it since his first examination.

         “We’re having a safety drill,” the guard said.  “You’ll have to put that on.”

         “Safety drill?” Sean repeated.  “On the last day?”

         “Just put it on.”  The guard took a step back while Sean approached the spacesuit, and Sean noticed that he glanced once down the hallway.

         Sean struggled into the suit, which resisted his efforts to fasten it.

         “Let me help you,” the guard said.  “Keep your arms in the air.”

         Sean obeyed while the guard tugged at the zippers.

         “Where’s your partner?” Sean asked.

         “Busy.”  The guard paused.  “But he’d hear me if you try anything.”

         “I’m not in here for murder,” Sean said.  “You’re safe from me.”

         Sean noticed that the guard kept an eye on his prisoner’s hands while he secured the suit.

         “I don’t understand why this is necessary,” Sean said when the guard reached for the helmet.

         “Just a precaution.  I’ll be back to remove it when we’ve landed safely."

         Once the guard had locked the helmet in place, he said something, but Sean couldn’t hear the words.  After the guard backed out of the cell, Sean turned toward the porthole again and this time his eyes picked up movement out there, although it was a few seconds before he became aware of it.  There was a small cluster of stars coming toward him, which couldn’t be right.  Sean squinted at the moving lights until he recognized them as another spaceship, but he couldn’t see much of it because only the cockpit lights were on.  As he strained to make out any details of the ship, he realized that it had picked up speed as it approached.  Although the sight made him suspect that this was more than just a drill, he couldn’t figure out who would threaten a prison ship.  There couldn’t be anything of value on board.  Unless it was a case of mistaken identity, it just didn’t make sense.  Nevertheless, he instinctively ducked when the ship passed overhead.  Then he straightened up and laughed.  False alarm.

         There was a distant roar, barely audible through the helmet.  Sean checked to make sure the helmet was secure and then he felt ridiculous, standing there like an awkward monster, but that didn’t last long.  The next thing he knew, he was on the floor as the ship rocked.  He tried to grab at the bunk bolted to the floor but he slid away from it when the cell tipped.  He bounced off the wall back toward the cot and managed to grasp a leg of it.  He was rolled back and forth for several seconds.  Then there was an orange flash and everything around him disappeared in a yellow-white glare that burned itself onto his vision.  Try as he might, shaking his head and blinking, Sean could not dispel the painful glow his immediate world had become, a world in which he felt himself falling.  He was no longer holding onto anything and flailed his arms around wildly, trying to find something to break his fall.

          There was nothing.

Thanks for reading!

How It All Began

Here's an excerpt from the beginning of my first novel, Outsider.

            When Sean Foster woke up, he lay very still on the cot, letting his eyes focus on the wall in front of him. He felt full consciousness returning, but he wouldn’t let himself turn over, not until he reminded himself that he didn’t know where he was.

            He rolled over and his eyes swept the room, taking in the metallic-gray walls, the steel door, the porthole reflecting the harsh light from the ceiling. If he could just concentrate hard enough, he might convince himself he’d never seen this place before. His eyes settled on the light fixture in the ceiling, a rectangle of plastic covering the two fluorescent bulbs that simulated daylight. He tried to put all of his concentration into staring at the bulbs, one of which was just beginning to flicker a little, but then his ears betrayed him by picking up the faint hum of engines. Abruptly Sean saw the cell for what it was, and he put the palms of both hands to his eyes before he sat up.

            It was stupid to think that’d work anyway, he thought as he looked down at his dull brown uniform.

            By now he knew the sequence: first brief terror, then anger, to be followed eventually by resignation. Once he reached that point, Sean slouched back against the wall, staring at the beige loafers waiting on the floor beside the cot. He knew it was no use asking the guards again for something to read; there was nothing to do but wait.

            His thoughts were interrupted by a jarring sound of metal scraping metal. The door of the cell slid open slowly and two guards appeared beyond it, one holding a tray while the other rested a hand on his holstered gun.

            “Breakfast.” The guard holding the tray was husky, with no trace of flab, and he stood a few centimeters taller than Sean. He had a face resembling a wind-carved sand dune, topped by short, black hair. His dark eyes checked the cell, as they had every other time he delivered a meal here, but the scan had become cursory by now.

            Sean stayed where he was, knowing the routine. This allowed the guard to enter the cell and set the tray on the floor just inside the door before stepping back again.

            “Thanks,” Sean offered.

            “Yeah,” the guard said on his way out. After Sean heard the lock take hold, he retrieved the tray and sat back on the cot to eat. It was the usual, a couple of tasteless pancakes with a tiny squirt of syrup, a crumbling piece of toast that soaked up the egg pretty well, a cup of orange juice, and some weak coffee, each in its own little plastic container. Sean no longer noticed the food; eating was merely something to do. Today, however, he didn’t do much of it, barely managing to down the toast and juice before he had to give up. There was no use forcing himself, so he set the tray next to the door and returned to his position on the cot. The guard didn’t comment when he came to pick up the tray half an hour later.

            A few moments after that, Sean turned his head to look at the porthole again. He could still recall his mental images when his apologetic lawyer first mentioned space: purple aliens, flashy spaceships soaring past brilliant planets, glittering asteroid showers. It had all seemed exciting enough, but he had yet to actually see any of it. From his position on the bunk now, the glaring reflection of the ceiling light made the void beyond the porthole invisible. He didn’t want to look out again, but then he thought, twenty years, and that was enough to get him off the cot and across the short distance to the porthole. This might be his last look for another lifetime—at least it seemed like that to someone only twenty-four years old—so he might as well take advantage of it.

            As he bent toward the small glass circle, he caught a glimpse of himself reflected there: Sean Foster, a medium-sized young man whose light-brown hair needed a comb and whose brown eyes looked a little puzzled. Some hardened criminal, he thought.

            His image blurred into the void outside the spaceship. As usual, all he could see were stars. There were billions of them out there, more than he’d thought possible, but they were only a temporary distraction from boredom and, especially today, dread. It was the third day, so the ship must be nearing its destination. He pressed his nose against the cold glass, wondering without enthusiasm if he would see the prison planet before it became merely the ground under his feet. At the thought of a prison door slamming shut behind him, Sean felt fear crawl up his spine and over his shoulder blades to nestle in his hair. It didn’t matter what space was really like because he wouldn’t see it again for twenty years, maybe more if they forgot about him. He was so far from his lawyer, the courts, anyone who might care about him, that he might as well have ceased to exist. Sean had been caught off guard by his sentence, but he wasn’t going to let the horror of the prison term sneak up on him, too.

Please feel free to leave a comment. You can purchase Outsider or any of my other novels by clicking on the images on the right side of this page. Thanks again for reading!

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