11 Potential Problems with Amazon's Delivery Drones

Yes, yes, I know, this is fairly old news, but in case you haven’t heard, Amazon plans to go airborne with unmanned delivery services by 2015. What? That’s right, Amazon drones! Basically, this means you could have your packages delivered in as little as 30 minutes. Check out this video they shot while testing a prototype:

 

 



 

For the sake of open-mindedness, I’m going to swallow my amazement and try to think of ways this could go wrong.

1.    The drone could leave again too soon after a delivery, run out of juice, and crash-land in some poor old lady’s wig.

2.       The little boy at the end might run outside before his daddy can stop him and sabotage the vehicle.

3.       The daddy might be a bad man and purposefully sabotage the vehicle.

4.       A redneck conspiracy theorist (or a hunter with bad vision) might attempt to shoot it out of the sky.

5.       Along those lines – how could delivery affect hunting? Think about how many drones there could be after ten years, mingled with all those ducks. There would be a lot more restrictions and financial penalties.

6.       People with bad intentions could easily send out their own wicked drones, and we wouldn’t be able to tell the difference (think terrorists and kamikaze drones).

7.       The drone might get caught in a lightning storm.

8.       Skilled hackers could find ways to track valuable deliveries and redirect the drones to their own homes.

9.       While the drone is dropping off the little package on your front porch, your dog might just decide that it looks like a chew toy.

10.   It might get stuck landing in a bush.

11.   It might land in water. And die. Just imagine someone watching from the porch of their lakeside home as their new iPhone descends into the murky depths.

Can you think of any other potential issues with Amazon Prime Air? What's your opinion?

No Looking Back, You Cheater!

This was perhaps the hardest writing exercise I've ever had to endure, which is surprising, given that it's also one of the most common. My inner editor was screaming and tearing at me. Feel free to post your own efforts in the comments or on your blog - I'd love to see them! :)  

Write for ten to twenty minutes without any planning whatsoever. Complete improv. You're not allowed to change ANYTHING once you write it (except spelling errors). Go!


David shuddered as he gazed down the mountainside. There was nobody out tonight. Not that he expected any different, given the date and the time.

Today was different in many ways, but perhaps the most significant of which was that today, of all days, was the one day that he would remember for a very, very long time.

The last day like today was five years ago, on February 14 of 2430. Always Valentine’s Day – David wondered why. Perhaps it was because memories were so critical to the spirit of the holiday. Memories were what made it a holiday. The loving silences, the hand-holding on a park bench. Apparently, none of the other days mattered as much as that one.

As the bitter wind tore at David’s coat, he tried to remember the day before. He was here, wasn’t he? On this mountain, on this trail. Vestigial wisps of sensation tugged at his thoughts, reminders of the cold he had experienced. It has to be here.

David had been following a trail for as long as he could remember, which happened to be twelve hours, thirty-seven minutes. Not a rabbit-trail or the trail of a lover’s perfume, as he ought to have been. A trail that was lost in his mind. It led him through the physical world, out of the city, past the Coastals, and into the outlying forests. Whenever he crossed his path from a previous day, he experienced a sort of déjà vu. When he did not, he would veer off and eventually find his way again.

But what was I doing up here?

Luckily, David had thought to wear boots. There was no way of knowing where the day’s journey would lead, and so he had decided it was best to be cautious.

Other than the boots, though, he wasn’t exactly prepared. He had neglected to bring food, and now his stomach was pinching in complaint. He had also failed to bring chap-stick, and the cold, dry air was making him regret it.

Four long chirps rang out from somewhere in the forest canopy. Echoing around the mountain, David could have sworn they sounded like the electronic bells the schools always used.

Fifteen miles from the City. What’s ringing?

Yanking his boots out of the deep snow, he trudged toward the noise. The sun had finally summited the mountain and was now sweeping its light down towards him on the other side. An eerie quiet followed the chirping.

Then, suddenly, thunderous noise, like giant rocks falling on rocks, boomed in all directions. David screamed and tripped while trying to locate the source. Sitting at the base of a wet tree, he curled up and waited for it to end. It sounded like the entire mountain had split and was now sliding down it’s massive face.

David didn’t understand what happened next.

Déjà vu.

Where did it come from? Surely, he had never heard such a horrible din which pierced the hands he held against his ears. There was no stopping it, no blocking it. He could only wait.

Wait… wait.

A hand brushed his shoulder – a hand that he did not control. David realized that he had closed his eyes and allowed them to flutter back open, only to witness the strangest thing. A girl, about his height, brown-hair, angel-eyes, and elfin features, was seated right in front of him. Completely, undoubtedly, hovering.

David’s heart jumped into his throat. He didn’t know whether to move, or if he could move anymore. As of that moment, his arms were arrested at his sides, unresponsive to the commands of his brain.

“I have something to tell you,” said the girl, without moving her lips. Her voice came from everywhere, but seemingly from nowhere. The world was crumbling around them. “Do you want to hear it?”

Words floated out of his mouth before he could catch them. “Tell me the words.” With horror, David realized that he had not consciously made an effort to speak. His lips had not moved. And yet, the voice that responded was his own.

Wait. No, who are you? he tried to say, but the air moving through his windpipe made no noise. It was like suffocation, like a cloth had been stuffed in his mouth.

The girl leaned in until her icy breath prickled his ears.

And she spoke the words.

David let his mouth drop open, knowing full well that no sound would come out, even if he tried to speak. What he had just heard was divine, absolutely the most important words anyone had likely heard in the history of the world. He wanted to thank her, to burst out into tears, but it seemed he was incapable of everything but staring.

He now knew why the world forgot, why there was never anything before waking up, except on those few days. He knew why there was no hope, and why people did bad things. Everything came into crystal-clear focus. Death was not an obstacle, not even something to fear, but rather a step, a pinprick in the fabric of existence. David decided that perhaps it was time. Perhaps it was okay to die.

And then, only then, he woke up.

 

Ye Olde Faithful Kindle

This weekend I bought a Kindle Paperwhite on a whim. I had watched my friend since the start of school enjoying his e-reader device, and thought, “Why not? I’m an avid reader, too!”

Admittedly, not the wisest financial decision.

I went for the newest model because A) I’m kind of a tech-snob, and B) it was shiny. Literally. The Kindle Paperwhite is the first of Amazon’s e-readers to utilize e-ink technology and have a lit screen.

At first, it seemed too good to be true.  Wouldn’t built-in light cause eyestrain, and therefore defeat the whole purpose of using e-ink? Turns out, the Amazon design team is a little smarter than that. Eyestrain occurs when a device is backlit, meaning that the light comes from directly behind the screen and is pointed at the viewer’s eyes. The Paperwhite is not backlit. It is lit from the sides of the screen, pointing inward. And so, to my delight, I was able to read deep into the night with a perfectly illuminated screen and not suffer through an eye-piercing headache.

The list of “pros” also includes a Chuck-Norris battery, a surprisingly useful vocabulary-builder application, integrated access to Goodreads (a reading-based social network), and an awesome X-Ray tool.

... It's hard to explain the awesome.

Unfortunately, it’s not as pretty as I’d hoped. In all the advertising, the screen is shown radiating with angelic whiteness, casting godly rays in all directions. The reality is that the lighting feature gives off a mostly-white-but-slightly-blue glow that seems a little colder than it should (at least on the lower settings). Not that the look really matters – it functions exactly as it’s supposed to – but upon realizing that the packaging had exaggerated, my inner raccoon died a little.

Aside from that minor disappointment, the only thing I would say is this: if you are thinking about buying a Kindle, you should probably get a case as well. I used mine for two days before I decided that the device felt too thin and fragile, even though it’s not. It is actually pretty sturdy, but feels thin and breakable, so much so that I was afraid to put it in my backpack. After spending ten bucks on a low-end leather case, however, I am much more comfortable bringing the device with me to school and on drives. With the case, it weighs about as much as a small book and feels just as comfortable in the hand (possibly even more so, because you don’t have to fight the binding to keep it open).

Overall? Not sparkly, but built and designed well, hence the "Ye Olde Faithful". 

 

Possibly my new best friend.  

From Concept to Story

Today I paid a visit to the Internet Movie Data Base (IMDB.com). It was this week’s most painful experience.

On the very front page, on the featured trailers banner, was my story.

 

Just kidding. It was Wally Pfister and Jack Paglan’s story, titled “Transcendence.” As soon as I saw it, I knew what it would be about. Supercomputers. An anti-technology rebellion. A man uploading his own mind onto a computer in an attempt to save his life.

(Go here for the trailer)

If you were to go into my room, dig through my drawer, find my "Idea-Log," open to page 33, and look at the top margin, you’d see something along the lines of, “Transcendent Artificial Intelligence – scientist uploads brain to computer – gains massive power – society fights back against immorality.”

MY. STORY. I can’t tell you how heartbreaking that is.

On the bright side, the movie looks good. Not only does it feature Johnny Depp and Morgan Freeman, but the story seems deep enough to give the sparkly visuals a good flavor. I commend the writer, Mr. Paglan, on his ability to take an interesting concept and put it in its best light. He was able to do something that I couldn’t, not after years of writing, rewriting, and plot-diagramming. He must be a better human being than I am.

But I’m still whining. This needs to be a constructive experience.

First: What separates his idea from mine?

Well, for starters, the words in my notebook were a skeleton. Not a story. I had a concept that needed setting, characters, relationships. Emotion. From what I gather, Paglan’s story involves a wife that is involved in the whole uploading process. That’s powerful. She’s also his “partner in science” – a nice and relatable dynamic for anyone who gets high on the pure pursuit of knowledge. She is caught between the safety of the world and the life of her husband. An impossible choice.

Duty versus love. Science versus morality. Dichotomies that are intriguing on so many levels.

Second: What is there to be learned from this difference? What do mainstream writers / directors do to bring a concept up to story status?

Let’s see if we can trace a path from the skeleton to the story, starting with, “Transcendent Artificial Intelligence.”

Stories are all about conflict, so we need problems. Problems. What’s wrong with super-intelligent computers? They might turn against us. They might hack our bank accounts or steal our private information and hold it at ransom. They might un-encrypt nuclear launch codes and start a World War III.

Somebody will have to realize this possibility before it becomes a problem. Someone has to speak up. That person will likely amass a fair amount of followers, all believing that the safety of their world is teetering on the edge of a perilous scientific cliff. Because they are desperate, they will resort to violence. Even terrorism.

Anti-tech group. Check.

What’s the other side of the coin? What advantages are there to having genius computers? If every device has access to the internet and its fellow computers, they will be able to compute solutions to humanities greatest problems faster than we could ever imagine. Being the creator of such a device must be exciting. Intoxicating. One might begin to love the computer like his/her own child. Or more than a child.

Love of technology interfering with personal, human relationships? Maternal? Fraternal? Marital?

The computers could find the cure for cancer. They could come up with a perfect system of government. They could unveil the mysteries of God and the universe. They could solve death itself.

Interesting… now death is a token in the game. Is it a race against time? Maybe a father tries to save his son from a terminal illness by creating a super-intelligent computer. But why not twist it a little more?

Maybe we should introduce a villain. Perhaps the president of the anti-tech group? Ehh… he’s just a man, a motivational speaker at best. Leaders are typically not the scary guys. In this case, the leader is probably a political junkie. The anti-tech group will put tension on our protagonist(s) outside of the main good-guy / bad-guy conflict.

So someone else, then. Someone not trained to be a moral leader. Someone adventurous. Someone predisposed to obsession over things like power and creation. An engineer.

Our scientist.

But how can the scientist be the villain? And how can he be intimidating?

What truly makes a villain scary is when they are powerful and unpredictable. This is where the other part of our concept comes in: “scientist uploads brain to computer – gains massive power.”

Our former protagonist now has a mental link to the internet. He can access the whole of human knowledge just by searching his mind. He can perform billions of calculations every second. He is drunk with the power, and quickly becomes a villain. Worse, he is growing too fast to be predictable.

But, then, who’s the protagonist? I heard a quote once that said something like: “The best villains are the ones who are personally related to the protagonists.” The most logical choice, in this case, is a coworker. And then add a little bit of love (emotion-potion) and wallah!

Our protagonist is a coworker and a spouse to the digital scientist.

What’s left? We know that our spouse/coworker protagonist is going to have to choose between the world and her husband. Bu how the heck is she going to be able to do that? That’s a huge choice. In order for our audience to be satisfied at the end of the story, they need to have closure, but we have just introduced a new type of problem: that of conscience. Even after she chooses to shut down the computer, she won’t be able to stop thinking: I just killed my husband. Killed him. Ended him.

She has to realize that it’s okay to let him go, which can happen in a couple of ways. Maybe she finds an old journal of his, in which he proclaims that he would rather die than become evil. Or maybe she discovers that he was evil all along. He hired the anti-tech group to shoot him, knowing that they would be forced to upload his mind to the computer. He planned the whole thing.

Bitter betrayal. And then? Finally. Sweet revenge.

And so there it is, from concept to story. A straight, continuous line. The latter is certainly a lot deeper and more interesting. Now, if only I could do that with my other ideas, I would be a very successful writer!

What are your thoughts?

Horror-Stories and the Devil

After some crazy Truth or Dare at a party last weekend (involving polar-bear jumps into the cold swimming pool) my friends and I decided it was time for a movie. Of course, a movie.

Of course, a horror movie.

Mental sirens. I had decided long ago that horror was just not my genre, and that I preferred sleep to the bone-chilling thrill. But the title gripped me. Devil.

Most horror-stories I've heard of contain one brand or another of satanic possession, but I'd never heard it put quite so bluntly. Devil. Like in the journalism industry, when they get you to click on articles by inserting those magic words "gruesome" or "disturbing," some twisted part of my brain convinced me to stay in the room for what could only be an "uplifting" movie about Satan.

It actually wasn't that bad. Granted, I couldn't sleep that night, but from a story perspective, it was really thought-provoking (if you want the trailer, go here).

It got me thinking: what strategies do directors and writers employ to create that terror in their audience? I mean, everybody at the party knew that Devil was a work of fiction, but that didn't change their reaction. It didn't change my reaction.

Here are a couple of things I've picked up on:

• The main character(s) are always alone when bad things happen. I guess this is a way to instill a feeling of hopelessness in the viewer. There's no one to help. Nobody will hear him scream. It also brings on a sort of paranoia, especially when "aloneness" seems to be following them. Don't stay in one place too long. Everybody will leave. Don't go the short way home, traffic is better. Don't talk on your cell phone or you'll be distracted and go somewhere alone.

• Smart directors will want to keep you on your toes, so they'll mislead you with the music. It will play but nothing bad will happen. This will keep you from hiding under your blankie every time it starts. I've wonder if... oh, my... will he die this time? When's that thing gonna pop out? Maybe...? No, I guess not. *sigh of relief*

• The best horror movies infiltrate your mental "safe-houses." These are places that, after all your years of life, you have come to accept as safe. For example, if the monster manages to break into the Lead's dreams (Nightmare on Elm Street) it will automatically set you on edge. In Devil, the "safe-house" is an elevator. Who actually believes that they're going to be murdered by Satan if they walk into an elevator? I'd be more concerned about dying from the music.

• Above all, too much exposure to the "monster" will kill the fear. This is what ruined the movie "When a Stranger Calls" (go here). It would have been scarier if the bad guy had never been shown full-on and if he had gotten away. Instead, the director filmed plenty of shots with the psycho (perhaps this contributed to the 4.9/10 rating).

I'm curious to see how this will apply to my writing. Obviously, music isn't an option, but some of the other techniques could be very effective.

What techniques have you used to create fear in your audience? If you have a story you would like to share, I would be glad to review it. Send me a link or post in the comments!

A Letter to Orson Scott Card

"Who's your favorite author?" asked my dad knowingly.

I didn't hesitate. "Orson Scott Card!"

"Knew it." He smiled. "Thought I might let you know that if you ever want to write a letter, I can almost guarantee you a genuine interaction with the guy."

My mouth dropped open. Like, a real reply? Like, not from his secretary? I wasn't expecting such a grand finale from our conversation about networking.

Everywhere I turn on the internet, writers are saying, "get connected! Grow your network!" And I think that is a very legitimate concept. Every friend you make is another person who you can help and who can help you - a sort of authorly symbiosis. 

Now, sitting on the edge of confidence, letter composed, I'm not so sure that my dad's connection will be enough to earn a thoughtful note. Nonetheless, I would love to fine-tune what I have so far:

Dear Mr. Card,

My name is Drew, and I am an aspiring teenage author who has long respected your books, Ender’s Game and Pathfinder. Both stand out to me as incredibly unique and inspiring stories. Given your talent and success, I felt you were the best person to approach with a couple questions I have about English class:

What do you think is the value in analyzing archaic literature, if anything?

What can be gained in conforming to a professor’s writing guidelines when you’d rather use your own stylistic structuring (again, if anything)?

 

I would be interested in hearing your thoughts!

Thank you for your time,

Drew

 

What do you think? Too short? Too many colors? Too anything?  

Ooh, how about this: what questions would you ask a prolific writer like Orson Scott Card?

My plan is to send this off after a few days on the blog and after my dad reviews it. So if you have anything to ask, speak up! :)

Penny Prompt - Something Ugly

Here's another penny-prompt that I did last weekend:

 

 

2) Write about something ugly–war, fear, hate, or cruelty

Johnson swung the barrel of his rifle around in a complete circle, taking in the vast ruined city. ETA of his rescue-chopper was thirty minutes and counting. The air was ghostly quiet.

Might as well do a sweep.

One devastated building blanketed in ivy drew his attention, partially because of the enormous letters painted beneath the ropy vines. He squinted, trying to make out the faded characters.

“ST. MATHESON’S RE----- -OME FOR CHILDREN”

“Refuge home…” he mouthed, intrigued. It looked like it come from an aged fairy-tale. Old brick, faded colors that could’ve been happy – plus, fairy-tales always had orphanages. We drove these kids out. Guilt struck deep beneath his armor as he thought of his own child, only three years old, back home.

He stepped up to a hole in the brick wall and peered in. It was dark and covered in rubble, but he could see light further down the hallway. Probably a battery-powered emergency light. Most public buildings had them.

Despite the fact that nobody was supposed to be there, Johnson couldn’t help but step lightly as he entered the building. It felt haunted, like the ghosts of all his victims had converged on this one spot. A sickening idea struck him: what if there are bodies here? Childrens’ bodies? Now that it occurred to him, it was probably true. Everybody had been taken by surprise when his team swept through, not just the militia. Even the friendlies, even the ones who weren’t supposed to get involved.

On second thought, maybe he ought to go and wait out in the open.

Johnson turned and stepped back into the sunlight. Today wasn’t the day for violence. There would be other opportunities to forage through the tangled, mystical ruins on supply-runs with his team. Natives from the neighboring town would come in and remove the dead. Maybe then they could –

Johnson’s ears perked up. He thought he heard… no, it can't be…

He listened closer.

The sound came again.

“Oh my God!” he shouted, ripping his radio out and pressing the button. “Where are you, Mariel?”

Static. “Captain, are you alright? Are the hostiles back?”    

“The hell they are! I’ve got a survivor on –"

“What are you saying? Calm down! Nobody survived that attack, sir, everyone’s gone – ”

“Don’t talk to me!” He screamed. “I hear it right now! Somebody is crying, I can hear it! Get a medic, now!” He dropped the radio and brought his rifle up to ready position. His own heartbeat was knocking the air out of his lungs. Looks like it’s into the dark, after all.

Muffled static. Finger on trigger.

Muscles tensed, like a prowling cat, Johnson tried to maintain composure. Nobody’s supposed to be alive. Nobody is alive. He proceeded quietly into the darkness, chanting the words over and over in his head.

The sound grew more and more distinct as he advanced through the black hallways. Just a friendly, he began to think, no longer able to accept that he was hallucinating. The crying was too loud, too clear. He kept his eyes forward, ignoring the eerie, peeling wallpaper decorated with flowers and clouds.

There was a shadowy doorway just up ahead. That’s where the sound was coming from, he could tell by the way it echoed. With his lips, he formed the words, “who’s there?” but no sound came out. Fear had caught him by the throat.

SCHHH! “Captain?”

Johnson yelped and pulled the trigger. A deafening bang cut him straight to the bone, and somewhere in front of him, rubble was knocked loose. Johnson disconnected his radio and brought his gun straight back up, panting heavily.

Damn it, damn it, damn it, please, Lord, help me…

There was a moment when he couldn’t hear because his ears were ringing, but then the noise subsided and all that was left was a soft crying. Exactly as before. It hadn’t changed at all. It was a quiet, weak voice, and… somewhat familiar.

Fear turned to terror. Icy terror.

“Oli?” he called out, voice trembling. “My s- oh, God, my son?”

The crying stopped abruptly. Like it had been waiting all along.  

Penny Prompt - Finding Gold

I've never been much a fan of one-line prompts. They always seem too constricting, too boring, too sappy. But today, after a long while just staring at my computer screen with a blank expression, drool running down my chin, I decided to look into them. And, while my opinion of one-line prompts hasn't changed, I've found at least one benefit to using them in my day-to-day writing.

They are absolutely inexhaustible. Yes, indeed, I will never have to wonder. I could write my whole life and never finish with all the ones on the internet.

And that is why I have elected to call them penny-prompts.

 

1) You’re digging in your garden and find a fist-sized nugget of gold

 

I had a smile on my face the whole day. It was time. Finally, it was time.

 

After twenty whole years, I circled around the ruined house and into the backyard, carrying a shovel from the truck. There was the same muddy lump in the corner, only now it was covered in grass and dandelions. Nature had offered its own respects to the shrine of my childhood.

 

I began to dig, without hesitation. Normally, such an occasion would require a moment of silence, but this felt different. This was me. I wasn’t doing this for anyone else. Little Me was still down there, the curious, wild ten-year-old who dressed up like a pirate for school. He needed the new me, the old me. He needed my advice more than anything.

 

The sun grew hotter with each shovel-full of dirt. Finally I struck something hard – like a pirate, looking for treasure. Brushing away a thin layer, a rotting piece of wood came into view, littered with holes and worms.

 

Blood pounded in my temples. Hey, little guy.

 

With the shovel, I worked around the piece of wood until I had carved out an entire box. Then, with a grunt, I lugged it up and out of the hole.

 

Geez, how did I lift this thing?

 

The padlock on my old treasure chest was still there, but it was easy enough to break away from the wood. My breath caught as it fell onto the grass.

 

I am about to go back in time twenty years. Three, two, one…

 

The lid swung open. So did my mouth.  

 

“What in the…”

 

The little pirate inside me had a heart attack. Neither of us had ever seen so much real gold in our lives.

The Book Blogger TMI Tag

A fellow blogger suggested I fill out a pass-along questionnaire. She also happens to be my only (current) reader, to the extent of my knowledge. So thank you, Magic Violinist! This will be good practice.

How old are you?

I am sixteen, going on seventeen…

What book are you reading?

Angels & Demons, by Dan Brown. Highly recommended.

What are you wearing?

I can’t tell. It’s too dark and I’m not motivated to get up and move.

OTP? (One True Pairing – favorite fictional relationship)

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson in the BBC series. Priceless (but probably not romantic).

Blogger or Wordpress?

Let’s see… out of the one I’ve used, I would say… the one I’ve used!

Going outside being active or staying in and reading a book?

What’s "outside"?

What is the last book you read?

The Da Vinci Code, by Dan Brown.

What is the book you’re going to read next?

The sequel to The Da Vinci Code, presumably by Dan Brown.

eBooks – yes or no?

That depends. If it’s on an e-ink reader, then yes. No eye-strain and a Chuck Norris battery (I recommend it for your next intergalactic vacation). Otherwise, my eyes just end up throbbing, and that’s no fun.

Where do you prefer to read?

A masculine variation of this would be awesome:

 

Because, you know, it’s important to preserve one’s dignity while reading about vampires… and headboards…

Who is the last person you tweeted?

Well…

Who’s blog did you look at last?

Yours, my only (current) reader!

Who is your favorite Blogger?

I don’t follow many blogs, but I do have a few that I check up on, including DeeJ’s, Andy Dudynsky’s, and that one dude who’s been popular on Facebook lately… is it Matt Walsh?

Who is your favorite booktuber?

Gesundheit!

What do you do when someone tells you reading is boring?

Who is the last author you spoke to?

Brandon Mull, author of the Fablehaven series, Candy Shop War series, and Beyonders series. Whaddayaknow? He’s Mormon too!

Who is the last person you texted?

I faintly remember texting at one point in my life…

Who is your all-time favorite book character?

Probably Ender, from Ender’s Game (see last post). Other than that, I love Severus Snape, Dumbledore, and Robert Langdon. Oh, and Emma Watson – uh, I mean, Hermione… 

UKYA or USYA?

Assuming that “YA” is “Young Adult” and that we are referencing genres, not people, I would have to say USYA. If you’re talking TV, though, definitely UK.

What is your preferred drink whilst reading?

H2O. It slows the progress of the inevitable headache.

If you hated reading, what would you be doing instead?

Programming some rad text-based games, or possibly talking to other human beings.

How many bookshelves/bookcases do you have?

Oh, how I wish I had shelves! How I wish they lined the walls and piled on the floor and hung from the ceiling!

Right now: 0 shelves, 2 crates, 2038495720345345873 piles.

In my future home: A library.

If you had the choice to meet all of your favorite book bloggers or all of your favorite authors, which would you pick? You can only pick one.

Authors, without a doubt.

Insta-love: yes or no?

Nah, too shallow, at least at first. Of course, one thing that I’ve learned is that there are always exceptions. To EVERYTHING. Except gravity. Don’t count on being the exception to gravity.

Favorite author?

Ooh… It’s a three-way tie between J.K. Rowling, Orson Scott Card, and Dan Brown.

Rowling for fantasy, Card for sci-fi, and Brown for brain-boggling weirdness.

What is the number-one book on your wishlist?

Right now? Probably World War Z. I’ve heard that’s a good one.

Do you prefer books with female or male protagonists?

That ain’t what it’s about. I love any book that grabs me by the spinal column and dunks me in a pool of emotion.

Which is your favorite book-to-film adaption?

The Harry Potter movies. And there’s probably others that I can’t remember off the top of my head.

What is the last song you listened to?

“If you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands” *clap, clap*

Which do you enjoy reading more – negative reviews or positive reviews?

Whatever these are: http://slightlyviral.com/beware-sugarless-gummy-bears-on-amazon-com/

Who are you going to tag?

Ummm… *cricket chirps*

My imaginary friend.

Ender's Game - A Review

 

It seems appropriate that my first real post be a review of my favorite book.

Ender's Game. How did you know?

This year, there was a new movie BASED on the book. I capitalize “based” because it really, really, failed to capture the imagination of the story. You see children being swept away to a school in the sky, a school where they are trained to be soldiers. They are preparing to combat an insectoid, hive-minded alien race called the Buggers.

From the outside, a pretty typical sci-fi.

The book offers a much more personal account from right inside the main character's head, where it’s most interesting. Andrew Wiggin. Also called Ender. He’s a boy-genius with an emphasis in strategy and social manipulation, but he also possesses something that many of his peers lack: a strong moral compass. Throughout the novel, he struggles to live up to his potential, but also to stay faithful to his morals within a system that is, by nature, cutthroat and unforgiving.

One of the main plot devices is the Battle Room, which is a unique concept that Orson Scott Card, the author, developed while imagining how one would train for zero-gravity combat. The team rankings and individual statistics each player earns during the mock war are the core of Battle School, and so they occupy a large portion of the book. The thing is, the physical play-space is always changing, so it never gets old to watch and feel through Ender’s strategic perspective.

A personal favorite quote of mine:

“In the moment when I truly understand my enemy, understand him well enough to defeat him, then in that very moment I also love him. I think it’s impossible to really understand somebody, what they want, what they believe, and not love them the way they love themselves. And then, in that very moment when I love them.... I destroy them.” – Ender

Ender’s older brother, Peter, is also a genius, but he was rejected from Battle School because of his inborn cruelty, which Card gives us a glimpse of pretty early on. He tells Ender to play “buggers and astronauts,” but is really just looking for an excuse to beat him up. Not even forest animals are safe – Peter has a disturbing habit of capturing and impaling squirrels on sticks.

Ender frequently compares himself to his brother and even cries when he matches up too well. It really gives you a sense of how profoundly sensitive he is, a nice contrast to the cold-killer-face he puts on in order to fulfill his duties as a soldier.

The whole story is a wonderful blend of emotion, adventure, and philosophy. If you haven’t read it yet and are into science-fiction…

Read it. There’s really no excuse not to.

Oh, and just a side-note. I haven’t read a lot about Orson Scott Card, but people tell me he’s got some whacked-out politics. DON’T LET THAT STOP YOU. I promise – there’s not any evidence of that in his books (at least the ones I’ve read).

Besides, good lit is good lit, right?