Using Human Nature and the Rule of Three

Fire hydrant in Charlottesville, Virginia, USA
Who knew these were lethal: Fire hydrant in Charlottesville, Virginia, USA (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Nila’s post on a kerfuffle over a scathing video review is a reminder that we’re all human. In fact, it’s our human foibles that make the best hooks for stories because it is easy to see ourselves in the failings of others. In the case of the two ill-behaved authors, neither should have acted the way they did but help me if I can’t see myself in both of them.

So, for the post-Thanksgiving stupor, here’s some musings on human nature and the way our brains work.

Hours of careful research watching fail videos with my son have left me with a number of insights. One, of course, is never let your child ride anything wheeled without a helmet, nor try any stunt without a cup. But better for the writer, never underestimate a young male’s thirst for glory. It may manifest in the 21st century as really stupid parkour attempts but it has to go back to before humans could speak. Glory-seeking is a proven motivation for young heroes, especially if a woman is watching. The popularity of these videos is also a testament to the enduring appeal of schadenfreude, although in our defense, my son and I prefer the silly ones to the ones where someone gets hurt.

Parkour-pivot
Parkour-pivot (Photo credit: Wikipedia) Stickman doesn’t have any breakable bones. And where’s his helmet!

There are a few other tidbits to be gleaned from these videos. Do you know that infants and very young toddlers go stiff when they fall? It must be an evolutionary advantage, I’m guessing because it makes it easier for a parent to catch a slipping child. I vaguely recall that from my own sons’ infant days: it’s easier to catch a board than a pile of jelly, not that I ever dropped my child.

Today, while in Old Navy, I had the chance to coach my son on the finer points of life, another tradition dating back to pre-humanity (most mammals train their offspring in someway, from a lioness teaching a cub to hunt, to a mare nudging a colt into the herd.) Of course, these days, it’s not so much about where to find prey or how to make a fire but more important things like, “Son, when your girlfriend or wife is shopping, make her carry the stuff she wants to buy. That way, the shopping trip will end sooner.” My wife stuck her tongue out at me but I was simply furthering an ancient father-son tradition, really, it was more of a duty than anything else.

Something even older than mammals: organic brains are wonderful pattern-matchers. Even pre-brain ganglia do this to some extent as they desensitize to repeated stimulus. A simple fish will learn the signs of when food is around. Any animal will stay away from something that makes it sick. The first grazer by the water hole probably swiftly learned to watch out for those floating logs that might be a crocodile.

Pattern-matching, may, in fact, be the primary purpose of brains beyond the basic control of body, feeding, reproduction, etc. Every mammal learns the basic patterns related to season, time of day, and various warning signs. I remember a mouse trap experience: I bought a fancy electronic one, supposedly a swift kill. I didn’t mind the mice myself so much but when one surprised my wife in the bathroom at night, they had to go. So I smeared peanut butter, as recommended, as the bait and zap: caught one the first night. Never caught one after that. I bet it’s because the mouse voided some “this place is bad” scent as it died and the trap no longer smelled good to other mice, despite the peanut butter.

Fast forward to humans and marvel at the patterns we find. Many are real. Grumpy lady at the DMV counter? Tread carefully because she can and will make your life miserable. A bunch of young men drinking from paper bags on a street corner after dark? Maybe there’s a better way to get to where I’m going. With our mammalian brains, we are excellent at gleaning patterns, even if we don’t realize what we’re doing. With our human intellect, we are outstanding at it. Of course, this can get us into trouble.

One place is stereotypes. As someone who recognizes the pattern-matchers in our heads, I’m not actually hostile to stereotypes. They can sometimes be useful. Of course, in contemporary life, they can be also be troublesome. They can even be immoral if a stereotypes keeps someone from doing something they are well suited to do. But we all make use of them. They are a natural response of our organic brain to the available stimulus so no point pretending they don’t exist. Acknowledging them can help you bypass your evolutionary wiring and do the right thing, when necessary.

As a writer, stereotypes are a mixed blessing. If your reader shares the same stereotypes, which they often do, you can make use of them to shorten a character sketch. Some stereotypes are likely to be accepted without much issue, such as a little girl playing with a doll, but many cause a negative reaction in your reader, sometimes enough to lose them. Even the doll example might lose some readers, although hopefully fewer in this post-feminist age. It’s a gray line because one person’s stereotype is another person’s archetype. In the end, better to steer clear of them or at least be conscious of how you are using them.

Another aspect of our pattern matching is superstition. I’m not personally superstitious, except when it comes to D&D dice:  hey, I need some excuse to have so many dice because I really don’t need a pound of them for any other reason.  Even so, I don’t really begrudge the superstitious because that’s what you get when you give a mammalian brain the awesome computing power of a human brain. Especially when you look to superstition in the medieval or ancient world, it’s my opinion that for most people, it made some sense of a crazy world.

A well-educated Roman might (and did, we have many of their writings), scoff at the superstitious but for most in that day, raised on only stories and what they could observe with their eyes, it was easy to attribute misfortune, disease, war, famine, etc., to the violation of some arcane ritual or the ill-will of a displeased god.

For one, they had few valid data points to extrapolate on. Saw two different people run over by a cart while wearing a striped shirt? Maybe I just won’t wear striped shirts anymore. I warn my children of the peril. Generations later, there may be a prohibition against wearing striped shirts, for reasons unknown. (In the Imperial period there were many customs, even ritual phrases, whose meanings were lost in the mists of time.)

Those who study how people react to bad news, do so in part to understand our fascination with gruesome events. We’re fascinated by things like the following, even though the odds of it happening to you are miniscule:

Humberto Hernandez, a 24-year-old Oakland, California resident, was killed after being struck in the face by an airborne fire hydrant while walking. A passing car had struck the fire hydrant and the water pressure shot the hydrant at Hernandez with enough force to kill him.

(Wikipedia has an article for everything! More disturbing is how many of the stories I already knew because of my own fascination with bizarre deaths.)

Once upon a time, our ancestors lived as hunter-gathers in small groups. Even with annual gatherings of larger groups, they might have only known of 2000 people in their entire lifetime. If something bad happens to 1 in 2000 people, it isn’t that unreasonable to worry that it might happen to you. If it happens to in 1 in 6 billion people, maybe you really shouldn’t lose any sleep over it. Great advice but our brains are wired to worry about anything we hear about. Good for hunter-gathers, bad for media-connected 21st century humans.

It’s like the move to soft baseballs. I can see the reason for it as a parent but as an engineer, I can’t help but note that probably more kids die in car accidents on the way to baseball games than actually die from a hard baseball to the chest. Still, we do it because it’s all about control: we can’t control the car accidents (or maybe fool ourselves that we can, since we are the driver) but we can control the baseball, so we do.

Back to superstitions: they allow(ed) people to feel they had some control over what otherwise seemed a chaotic world. Superstition is just another way of organizing and categorizing the world, another way to allow a human to predict outcomes. If I don’t wear a striped shirt, a wagon won’t run me over.

It’s not so different in our age. If our infant’s binkie falls on the floor, we clean it. Of course, we know there are actually microbes that might make them sick, but how do we know this? Did we culture the floor and examine it under the microscope? No, unless you happen to be a microbiologist, you know this because someone told you, in person, through a book, a documentary, whatever. So, in the end, like the advice to not wear a striped shirt, it is just something we learned from others. We may have more convincing reasons behind it but this idea of questioning received wisdom is something rather recent, and for most of human history, perhaps not really a good trait. Maybe the advice to not wear a striped shirt is not too valuable but the advice to not swim in a waterhole that herd animals are avoiding might be really good advice. Chomp, says the crocodile.

As to those dropped binkies? For the first few months with the first baby, they get washed in the dishwasher on the anti-bacterial cycle. By the second child, he’s lucky if it gets wiped off before it’s stuck back in his month. Bad parenting you say? Not at all: it’s more pattern matching. You see, by the second child, we parents have observed all the things our children put in their mouths and they didn’t get sick! So, we skip the binkie sterilization. What’s the point? He puts everything else on the floor in his mouth. Hey, he even licks the floor.

This makes me recall a friend’s tale of his toddler coming from the backyard with half a slug in her hand.

“What did you do?” I asked.

“I fished the rest out of her mouth.”

“Why? It wasn’t going to hurt her.”

“Yeah but it was really gross.”

True. One of the perils of life in the northwest. Here’s another and it’s a pattern I learned from only a single incident, and one you can benefit from without having to suffer it yourself: when walking on decking at night or early morning in Oregon, wear shoes. Smushing a fat slug between your toes is really no fun at all.

Back to writing, there are many ways to make use of your readers’ pattern matching but one of the most powerful is the rule of the three. Myself, I love it both as a reader and a writer. It’s basically, two events set a pattern, a third incident (that violates it) breaks it. It’s a wonderful tool from D&D games to books to movies because humans pick up on the pattern without even realizing it, which means they develop a visceral expectation of what comes next. So when you break the pattern, they are surprised and entranced at a core level.

What crazy patterns have you observed among your fellows, or your own behavior? Do you make use of patterns in your own writing?

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Don Maass’ thoughts on Setting as Character

Donald Maass - The Breakout Novelist 2011
Donald Maass – The Breakout Novelist 2011 (Photo credit: jwordsmith)

If you have a chance, catch a workshop by Donald Maass. He’s advice is cutting and he’s funny to boot. Time will tell but I think he’ll turn out to be one of the few writing coaches whose advice will prove to be formative for me. My main take-away from when I heard him earlier this year was to use contrary (unexpected) emotions. Aside from its rather important value of surprising the reader, it’s simply a fantastic way to break through writer’s doldrums: don’t feel like writing a scene? Try it from a different emotional slant.

Writer’s Digest recently posted his advice on setting: treat it like a character. It’s old advice but it is especially useful for a fantasy writer and Don Maass conveys it in his usual effective and engaging way. If you like how he puts things, WD has all his books on sale for $39 (price is all of them together and there’s no shipping) which is a good deal.

Souls and Virtual Reality

poster for The Matrix
poster for The Matrix (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

You go to sleep and wake… as an elf in a tree-city much like Tolkien’s Caras Galadhon. Pretty cool, eh? You likely would experience angst over left-behind loved-ones. But how else might you react?

What fantasy reader hasn’t given this at least some thought? Myself, since as long as I can remember, I’ve spun daydreams, sometimes weeks long, of just such adventures. But what would I really think if suddenly transported to another world, maybe even in a different body? Sadly, I would be forced to alter my assessment of the chances that I’m living in a virtual world.

There has been a lot of discussion lately about whether all of us are presently living in a Matrix-like world. Some even go so far as to say it is likely that this is the case, probably because if there were virtual worlds, there would be a lot of them, therefore you’d more likely be in a virtual one than a real one. I’d like to see the analysis for those who posit this because while I think it is entirely possible, I don’t think it is all that likely.

My assessment would change, though, if fundamental elements of my current reality suddenly changed. And nothing is more fundamental than my body and the world I perceive. This is because while I think you can construct ways for people to move from one world to another or body swap (or both), and it’s an accepted fictional trope, in reality making such a move seems nearly impossible. How does one change universes? There may in fact be multiple universes but in no cosmology proposed by scientists is it very easy to travel between them. Under some theories, the other universes would not even have our laws of physics.

But even supposing you could make the leap, how do you pick out the cosmically insignificant speck of habitable space (not just a planet but the surface of that planet) and arrive at an appropriate velocity (an extension of my discussion under Teleportation and Momentum Matching.) I suppose you could posit universes that fork off our own and remain connected in some way but, even so, it still seems unlikely you could simply pop from one to the other without some sort of high-tech cocoon to protect you in transit.

Then, once arrived in the new universe, there’s all the issues of communicating there: do you already know the language? How is that shoved into your brain? And do the denizens appear human: our basic body plan may be likely, perhaps, but it isn’t likely that the other folks would be so human-like that we would find it desirable to be one of them. And what about atmospheric and microbiological compatibility? Not an issue if you get a new body but a big deal if your current one pops over to the new world. And a really big deal if the portal is bi-directional. I would be a lot less concerned about dragons ravaging our Earth and a lot more concerned about alien diseases doing the same.

On the body-swapping, how exactly do you move a consciousness from one body to another? It seems possible you could move memories, especially imperfect ones to a new body, but the actual consciousness? If you believe in souls you could imagine the soul moving along but there is no scientific evidence or justification for souls that I’ve ever come across. I suppose if the cranial cavity is the same in both skulls, you could move the brain and re-connect everything. That seems do-able. But a consciousness swap such as we’ve seen in Star Trek episodes? Cool to write, hard to imagine how that really works.

None of this is strictly speaking impossible but it seems extraordinarily unlikely to me. If I ever found myself in such a situation, I’d be forced to conclude that I am more likely a virtual entity and I was simply moved from one simulation to another. As discussed earlier, any virtual simulation is likely to have well-defined abstraction layers for speech, body perception/interface and so on. Re-targeting these to a new language, body, world, even physics system, is a small extension for any entities capable of executing a virtual world simulation that can fool us. Therefore, there is no practical barrier to moving a simulated consciousness to a new simulation. Now, that simulated entity might be very sad at the loss of his old friends and family or freaked out to the point of insanity if it suddenly found itself in a Cthulhu-esque squid body. But you can certainly imagine the transfer taking place without any messy issues of wormholes and hostile microbes.

In the end, I might not object to such a transfer, especially if it occurred at the end of a (simulated) life. But it would certainly raise fundamental questions about the meaning of life, my family and friends, and so on. These are not the sort of realizations those who run the VR show may want their VR entities aware of, as it would affect the simulation. But maybe they move people without full or any memories intact. Perhaps those who remember past-lives are simply remembering incompletely purged past-memories. If a simulated world is not complete, that is, if not all the entities are fully realized, than the fact that past-life recallers seem to remember a disproportionate number of historically “cool” lives (me, I was King Henry V in a past life), might actually make sense because in that case, any given VR entity was pulled from a limited pool of past people, which could, if the VR executor so chooses, be disproportionately higher stature folks.

One reason those who run a VR show may not want their entities aware of this is it raises the basic question of why? Is my entire life and all the pain and suffering simply for the entertainment of others? One plausible and morally acceptable reason might be for self-entertainment: we’re all astronauts on a million year journey to another galaxy and the simulations are a way to pass the time. But even then, during the simulation, you might not want to know you are in one. There are many other possibilities for the ‘why’ behind a virtual world.

For instance, imagine a future where synthetic entities have replaced organic ones. Some might argue the fate of humanity is to go extinct, the only question is whether we leave behind self-aware synthetic progeny. In such a world, the synthetics might wish to keep alive, for historical purposes or as a hedge against unknown threats, a simulation of their fore-bearers. Or perhaps, in order to “seed” synthetic consciousness with a good range of capabilities, they actually grow their consciousness in a simulation of organic civilizations. Maybe the childhood of a self-aware android is a life or two in a simulation of 21st century Earth. If I were creating synthetic entities, I might do exactly that. It’s not be a bad way to train a virtual entity’s neural network (or however it is technologically realized).

Back to the topic of souls mentioned in the title, if a soul is the “something” that makes a self-aware being unique, extracting that from an organic brain seems rather close to impossible to me. But extracting that from a simulated VR entity seems quite possible. Put another away, it may be that the only beings with souls are simulated beings. Therefore, the only way for life to develop to the point of having souls is for organic humans to create a virtual world with virtual entities, or create synthetic entities in real robot bodies whose consciousness could be moved from machine to machine. Or both: if you can have a synthetic entity running around a simulation, you could put the same being into a physical body to allow it to interact with the real world.

This leads to perhaps a disquieting thought: what if only synthetic entities are able to have a soul and an afterlife? Or what if we are all androids-in-training in the year 120,000 CE?

Climbing the Next Hill

Pixar: For the birds
Pixar: For the birds (Photo credit: Colin ZHU) Maybe they are scared of their next revision.

My revision of Shadow of the Archon finished, I updated my progress bar to show 100% this morning. I even left it there for a whole 30 minutes while I started on the next revision. Now, it’s back to 1%.

As I set out on another revision, I’m reminded of Nila’s post on Pixar Rule #18: “You have to know yourself: the Difference between doing your best and fussing. Story is testing, not refining.” Of all the rules so far, I think that one has had the widest range of interpretations in the comments section. I don’t think anyone really gets the ‘testing’ part but clearly there’s a worry about spending too much time on a project. Sometimes you have to move on.

I’m trying to be better with this project. After the first draft, as planned, I did a major revision and polish, then had some readers look at it as an ‘alpha stage’. Post that feedback (and some soak time while I worked on other things), the next part of the plan was to mark up a printed copy, revise it, do one more pass on-screen to ‘polish it’, before having another set of eyes on it. After that, we’ll see. I like the story but we’ll see what the feedback looks like.

As I reset my progress bar this morning, I was reminded of my school days: my fellow students and I worked up from 1st grade to 6th grade in elementary, from 7th to 8th in Junior high, from freshman to senior in High School and so on into college. It was bottom rung to top rung, with the reward being getting to start at the bottom again. I actually loved school so I don’t mean that in a negative way but it was funny going from high to low at each major step. Sort of like finishing a revision only to start another one (or a new first draft).

How to Make Time Travel Work

Cover of "Back to the Future"
Cover of Back to the Future

I’m talking about how to make it work in your stories, not how to build a time machine. Apologies if you are looking for engineering schematics.

Time travel has got to be one of the oldest tropes in fantasy and science fiction. Who wouldn’t want to go back and fix a mistake or just observe the past? Trouble is, basic time travel has, as we all know, fundamental paradoxes. What happens if you kill your grandfather or commit one of the endless variations? Yet, there doesn’t seem to be an end to time travel stories in sight, and, why not? They can be fun. Plus for TV shows, there’s the added bonus of getting to use all those cool historical outfits the studios have lying around.

While I usually groan at time travel, I have to confess one of my favorite Star Trek: Next Generation episodes is Yesterday’s Enterprise. And I still get a chuckle out of Back to the Future.

As with Teleporters or Lasers or the like, an author can simply ignore any issues with time travel. However, in this case, if you are too blatant with the impossibilities it is likely to kill your story with editors and agents, not to mention readers. This is one trope where some amount of hand-waving is required. Let’s look through the methods.

First off, I’m just talking about going back in time. Going forward is easy.

Don’t Pollute the Timeline

This is a favorite of Star Trek but shows up in many other places. It’s basically a way to say you are dealing with time travel paradoxes without actually dealing with them, which makes it fine for certain stories but, for me, anyway, not very satisfying.

Why doesn’t it solve the problem? Because there is truly no way to avoid polluting the timeline. Even if you avoided making contact with any sentient beings, what about that fly that changed course, causing the frog to be elsewhere when the snake wanted to eat, causing the snake to search farther afield for food, biting the naturalist causing her to spend a week in the hospital and miss meeting the man with whom she would have mothered the next Einstein? Or leave out organisms, what about changes in gravitational or electromagnetic fields? You might not think that speck of dust floating in space is all that important but maybe it’s trace as a meteor inspires a poet who writes a poem that changes the life of a person who… You get the point. History is a very chaotic system and tiny perturbations can have dramatic effect. Oh, and don’t forget the microbes time travelers will leave behind.

Echo Park Time Travel Mart
Echo Park Time Travel Mart (Photo credit: Scott Beale)

Destiny

One way to deal with this is to take the approach that the time travel event was always part of how things were meant to be. There was never an earlier timeline where the time traveler did not appear. This sounds weird but Hawkings has noted that, so far, anyway, we don’t have a good physics reason for why time runs forward. And maybe the universe is cyclical: it runs forward to a certain point then runs backward undoing everything in exactly the same way. If we were living on the backward progressing arc, supposedly we wouldn’t even realize it (we would still think as if we were going forward). Or something like that.

This method has neither aesthetic nor intellectual appeal to me. I have to confess it doesn’t even make a lot of sense to me but I’m willing to concede that smarter people than me think it does so there you go. While your story need not posit the backward replay of the universe to make use of this method, it has similar problems: that of freewill. If things can run backwards as well as forwards, then there is nothing unpredictable in the universe. Using destiny to make your time travel work isn’t any different: something must occur, therefore the characters have no choice in what they do.

There are some physicists who think freewill may be an illusion. But do you really want your story to be about characters who can’t actually make any choices? Seems to remove the entire point of a story. If you use this one, you may want to be very sparing with it and be careful of nudging the reader into the conclusion that your characters’ desires are irrelevant to what occurs because if that’s the case, why care about what happens to them?

Observability Horizon

Time travel involves a violation of known laws of physics. This is not a problem because your time travel story is speculative fiction. But that doesn’t mean we can’t take advantage of other laws of physics: if the time travel is to a place beyond the temporal event horizon from earth, there is no possibility of a paradox, at least for a single time travel event.

As any astronomy buff knows, looking into space is looking back into time. If you look at the sun, you see the sun as it was about 500 seconds ago. Look at a star and you are looking back at least a few years, maybe thousands. Galaxies are millions of years away. So, for something that is X light seconds away, if you travel back in time less than X seconds, anything you do can’t change anything that has happened on Earth. It’s harmless.

For instance, lets say you had a 10-year-old child. Let’s also say you travel back in time 11 years. If you do that on earth, who is to say something you did might not change whether your child was even born, let alone the course of his life? But instead, let’s say you travel 10 years back in time to Gliese 832, which is 16 light years away. Now, even if the first thing you did was construct a planet-destroying death beam and fired it at earth, it would not arrive until after your ‘present.’ There is no way for your time travel to affect your child or anything else on earth, at least in the present. When that death beam pulse finally gets here, it’s another matter.

Of course, you might be wondering, what good is time travel if it can’t actually affect the past? Well, obviously, this method doesn’t allow you to change events in your local space. But it could still make an interesting story. Imagine if humans are losing a war to an alien race in 2113 but they have the ability to do this sort of time travel. They send humans back in time 10,000 years to several habitable planets 10,000 light years away with the hope that some of them proceed to the point where they can arrive at the home-world in 2113 with the technology necessary to save the world. Kind of a deus ex machina ending but there’s a story there. Or maybe there is no intent for the time traveling humans to save the present, instead, this is an ark-in-time: humanity dies on Earth but lives on, propagating through time and space.

This falls apart if your time travelers turn around and go back in time to the originating world. However, just like it takes infinite energy to go the speed of light, maybe it takes infinite energy to violate the laws of temporal observability: you can try but it won’t work. It’s hard for me to imagine a mechanism that would actually cause that to be but (a) I’m not a cosmologist and (b) this might be obscure enough that this method might satisfy most readers.

Forked Universes

Another way to deal with time travel is to say that each time travel event “clones” a universe: when you travel back in time, you create a duplicate of the universe at the time you arrive. Anything you do occurs in a separate universe. You can still kill your grandfather but only the grandfather in this duplicate universe, not the one who sired your father who then made you. No paradox.

Of course, universes do tend to contain a fair amount of energy, as in mind-bogglingly vast amounts. But according to current theory, the universe sprang from perturbations in a vacuum so I am not sure this is a really a problem. The energy would come from outside the universe, maybe it doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things. Or maybe it’s the old “how many angels can dance on the head of a pin” conundrum. The answer in the middle ages was an infinite number because god could put an angel down on half of the pin, make a half-sized angel, put it down in a quarter of the remaining space, make a quarter size angel, put it down in an eighth of the remaining space, and so on without end. Maybe when you duplicate a universe through time travel you actually make two halves, like a fertilized egg dividing: same mass but now two half-sized cells. To someone in the smaller universe, things might still look the same.

The main issues with this approach for your readers is how to make the universe cloning seem plausible. Some may also wonder just what can cause a cloning event. For instance, does it have to be a sentient being, because if physical processes can cause it there would be a near infinite and ever-increasing number of universes. Even if it has to be a sentient being, you might soon have a vast number of clones out there. Of course, any person in any given clone would only be aware of his or her universe. And maybe the plethora of many universes provides a setting in itself: your characters might hop between possibilities. While they could not return to their own universe in the past, nothing says they couldn’t go from universe A to B and back to A, as long as they arrived in A later than their departure.

As a side note, you could use this for the issue of freewill instead of time travel: maybe every decision results in a universe fork. While it is true that all possible decisions exist in the set of all universes, any given individual is experiencing the results of his decisions. Not sure it really solves the freewill problem but it’s an interesting thought.

Superposition

Quantum mechanics tells us that an electron in a hydrogen atom isn’t orbiting the proton like a planet around a sun. It’s actually in a probability cloud, sort of smeared out in time and space. I think QM would say even Jupiter is in a probably cloud in its orbit around the sun, just that given the mass of the sun and Jupiter, and the distances involved, the probability envelope is really tiny: i.e., for all practical purposes it inhabits a point in a space.

What if time travel works this way? Any given time travel event adds to a cloud of timelines. What happens in the now is the sum of timelines in the past. You can go back and kill your grandfather but that will either not really happen in the present because that event is improbable or you will change the now so that you aren’t present.

Maybe to change the past, you have to go back multiple times and nudges events so that the probability sum results in your desired outcome, or at least a different outcome: this sort of time travel seems rife with unintended consequences. This is actually at the core of my next short story (see, I take my own advice to heart. While I find most time travel stories paradoxical, how would I make this impossibility possible? I’m going with superposition.)

Where in the Past Art Thou?

That’s it for ways I can think of to make time travel work but before I wrap, let’s touch on the where of time travel. Let’s say you do find a way to travel back in time. Where do you go? Not only is everything moving in space, it is moving relative to other things. There isn’t a universal coordinate system. If you want to travel back to Earth one hundred years ago, how do you specify where the earth was then, both in its relationship to the sun (and remember our orbit is not perfect, it does vary due to interactions with the other planets, even with passing asteroids) and the sun’s position in the galaxy and the galaxy’s position in the local cluster, etc., etc. Not only would it be very difficult to compute where the earth was with respect to where it is now, how does your time machine spit you out in the intended spot, and at a velocity that allows you to interact with the Earth (rather than, say, impact it at relativistic speeds?)

Let’s say you can do all that: you can put your time traveler in the exact spot and with the precise velocity vector to avoid smacking into something. Do you know where the surface of the Earth was 100 years ago? Things move, not just down but up. Continents drift: 100 years ago America was about 8 feet closer to Europe. Trees grow. It would suck to appear in the middle of an oak tree, wouldn’t it? For all those reasons, time travel might be best executed in a spaceship with enough delta-v to match the destination.

It’s all handwaving

While the Observability Horizon and the Universe Forking methods avoid time travel paradoxes, they have their own problems. In the end, all of these methods simply constitute more obscure ways to explain time travel. Even so, they may satisfy many readers’ suspension of disbelief better than “avoid polluting the timeline”. And for those it doesn’t satisfy, you might get points for trying or at least amuse them as they think through the puzzle you posed.

Pitch: That Sticky, Yucky Stuff that Sells Books

La Brea Tarpits
La Brea Tarpits (Photo credit: eddyj65)

Book pitches are especially challenging for me. I think it’s because I’m not someone who can quickly answer questions like “what’s your most embarrassing moment” or “what’s your favorite movie?” I don’t tend to organize my thoughts as sorted lists or even boil things down to their essentials (well, I do but I think I abstract in ways that aren’t useful for pitches). But it’s part of the business so it’s something I keep an eye on and Chuck Sambuchino’s guest blog on Writer’s Digest caught my attention as a succinct crystallization of what a pitch is all about.

You can find it at: The Writer’s Promise: How to Craft a Book’s Pitch.

Putting the Impossible into your Fantasy Settings

Cover of "Lucifer's Hammer"
Cover of Lucifer’s Hammer

Speculative fiction really shines when it makes the impossible possible. Not the variety of implausibility that was accidental: that can be overlooked for a good story but is never a plus (oh- there’s no such thing as a 1000 Megaton bomb in the Russian arsenal? Oops). What really grabs me is when an author builds a story around something that seems outlandish and makes it work. Larry Niven is good with that, especially when writing with Jerry Pournelle to give him some engineering ballast: what would it be like to survive a comet strike or how would a modern person take to a trip through Dante’s Inferno?

In posts like Map-Making Pitfalls, I tend to call out what shouldn’t be. But shouldn’t be isn’t the same as can’t be. As I mentioned in that post, casually putting a fork in a river that results in egress to two different seas is lazy map-making. It makes you look careless and who wants a prospective buyer thinking that when they are flipping through your book? But a powerful technique is to take these ‘impossibilities’ and turn them around: okay, this does exit. How do I make it work?

In this exercise lies the seeds of gripping, unique stories that aren’t a knock-off or variant of a hundred fantasy epics that have come before. Take Lord of the Rings. Tolkien started from mythical underpinnings, which gave him the idea of a cursed ring. Next, one can imagine him wondering, how do I make this ring so important, so cursed that it can sustain a long story arc? Because normally, a little bit of gold fashioned into a circle isn’t going cause that much sturm und drang. What if the ring is tied to an evil overlord, one so powerful he could cast the world into endless darkness? But how can the heroes fight such a foe? Maybe the ring contains part of his power, making him weaker than he would be, and so on…

Let’s take the implausibilities of Map-Making Pitfalls as an example. That post already covers ways to dial with a down-stream facing river fork: put something there to maintain the fork and make the distribution of water at the fork relevant. E.g., without the fork, an entire valley will dry up and die. That gives you some seeds for conflict right there.

Looks look at others:

Not enough forests: what could suppress forests in a climate where they would naturally flourish? Disease, blight? Sure, although that might be somewhat impersonal or smack so much of ecological activism as to offend some readers. The sauropods were such voracious herbivores that they probably shaped their landscape. What about some sort creature whose very presence destroys (or at least culls) woodlands? You could have dinosaur-like grazers but that could be a little dull (unless you made use of them as war-beasts like Ollyphants). Since this is fantasy worldbuilding, let’s go with something more exotic: the dominant intelligent lifeform are giants, really, really big giants. They knock down trees much as humans might mat grass. Where they go, humans and trees do not. Now you have the beginning of conflict: human-giant, and a reason why forests are patchy. Similarly, you could have some fire-breathing critters that tend to cull the woodland: maybe dragons prefer open grasslands with grazing herds they can swoop down and eat at will (I think I might prefer that if I were a dragon). Dragons would need vast feeding grounds and could easily keep large areas mostly clear of woods. What other reasons can you come up with for fewer forests?

Mount St. Helens erupted on May 18, 1980, at 0...
Mount St. Helens erupted on May 18, 1980, at 08:32 a.m. Pacific Daylight Time. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Gap between forest and mountains: this one is a little tougher. What would keep trees from growing all the way into the mountains? You could go with variations of the “not enough forest” ideas above but have the creatures that keep the land free of trees prefer mountains, so they just clear the mountains and the adjacent areas, something like crazed mountain goats that graze a little beyond the mountains proper. Going a different direction, what if there is something about the mountains that does not lend themselves well to trees? Maybe they are highly volcanic? In Earthly volcanic mountain chains, like the Cascades, volcanoes aren’t erupting enough to do anything more than clear local blast zones, as with Mount St. Helens, or lava fields, although Hawaii does have some relatively barren stretches. But maybe your volcanoes are more active. Makes a good place for fire giants and other such creatures. Maybe the fire giants actually perpetuate this, or even make volcanoes more common by their mining, magic, or some other methods. Now mountains aren’t just a physical obstruction that makes travel difficult:  they are home to an alien and dangerous race who, at least near their volcanoes, can harness tremendous power. There would be no wonder now why forests don’t run into the mountains: they run into lava (and harsh lava lands) first.

Compass Point Rivers: I mentioned in my last post that one reason for rivers running along a grid might be that the world overlies a computer or other structure arranged on a grid. For a more fantastic setting, what if your world has ley lines. Maybe the magic on these lines is so strong that it weakens the underlying rock, providing a preferential path for erosion leading to rivers. The same effect happens on earth when erosion is faster along a fault line leading to rivers delineating fault lines (see the San Lorenzo River in the Santa Cruz mountains of California for an example). Such a world might look as if compass roses and nav-lines had been inscribed on it with rivers, seas and bays. One glance at the map and a perspective reader would know something was unique about your world.

Moving beyond map-making pitfalls, how about flying castles? There’s no practical way on Earth that I know of to make a castle float in the sky, Castle in the Sky‘s Laputa not withstanding. But who doesn’t love the imagery of massive piles of stone floating high above? I do and have made use of it in multiple D&D campaigns as well as my current project. So, let’ s turn it around from castles can’t float in the sky to how do I have floating castles in my world? The first option is to have them and not explain them. This is, in fact, a perfectly sensible response assuming you are writing in the fantasy genre where floating castles are an accepted trope. But as always with tropes, scratching below the surface will improve the richness of your setting and will likely generate some great character and plot ideas to use in your story.

Maybe your world, like Avatar’s Pandora, has some rock strata that floats. This would mean that flying castles could only be made from certain places where this strata exists. It would also mean that the continued buoyancy of the castle depends on the strata remaining intact. Perhaps this would not be a real issue in your world, perhaps the bottom of the castle-rock tends to break away over timing, causing castles to age and fall. Or maybe there’s some way to attack this rock layer to neutralize the buoyancy or mine it away (earth elementals?).

Alternately, maybe there’s magic that imparts buoyancy. Life on a flying castle would be very different if the buoyancy was just on the lower part of the block of rock it was built on or whether it was more of a bubble that encapsulated the rock and some or all of the castle. In the latter case, those on the flying castle might be living in low or zero G. Rather than the magic just ensorcelling the bedrock, maybe it depends on enchanting objects or structures embedded into the castle or its supporting rock. Such structures could provide points where enemies might attack as well as an interesting flourish to describe in your story (maybe the structures are gigantic stone rings?)

carbon cartography
carbon cartography (Photo credit: neil cummings) These look like ley lines and nodes to me!

Or perhaps it’s a matter of lines of magic. I don’t go into this much in my current project, Shadows of the Archons, because it isn’t germane to the story but my thought is that there are ley lines in the world. These used to pass within the bedrock of the world but one of the Archons found a way to pop the ley out of ground. The lines are still anchored in the mountains (where they re-enter) but between the mountains they arc free of the world. As a first step, this allowed the Archon to tap the ley better for use in various arcane arts but he later figured out that he could pull land from the ground and float it into the sky by fixing the slab of rock on the ley lines before popping it up. (I imagine something like a sheet of metal that was flexed downward but popped to flex upward by a sudden force.) What does this mean for the world? In this case, the isles don’t move, they are fixed on the ley (I supposed you could also have them slide along the lines but I like them stuck there like a bead on a knotted string for my story.) My dragons are also able to fly because their wings can catch the ley– which means they can only fly where the ley is accessible.

There are other ways to float rocks in the sky. While they aren’t likely to work with Earth physics, they can provide enough of a rationale to improve reader-suspension-of-disbelief and, more importantly, these details can give you many hooks to hang your story and plot twists on.

In summary, it is best to avoid the unintended ‘impossible’ because that can make you look sloppy, at best, or clue-less, at worst. But figuring out how to make something that seems impossible plausible can be at the heart of memorable speculative fiction.