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A Father’s Day Flashback

Father’s day. I’ve posted a lot about my father here down the years, but I’m not sure I ever did better than my post for Veterans Day, November 11, 2015. Today’s schedule is a little tight, so what I want to do is post that entry again in its entirety. I’m also posting a very old photo of my father and his two kids, taken Christmas 1957. I was 5; Gretchen was 13 months. I have few good photos of my dad while I was growing up because my mother knew nothing about photography and didn’t like fooling with his expensive twin-lens reflex. So maybe this was taken with another camera. I simply don’t know. I scanned the snapshot print and here it is. He taught me a lot before he was struck with severe oral cancer in 1968, two months after my 16th birthday. He might have taught me more had he remained healthy longer, but what he did teach me…hey, read about it below. The Kleenex box on my desk here is empty, and I need to run to the pantry and fetch another.

fatherkidstrains1957

November 11, 2015: Kick Ass; Just Don’t Miss


Veterans Day. I haven’t posted much lately. Hey, how many more times do you want to hear “I threw another metric shitload of stuff into boxes”? That’s been my life, more or less, for several weeks.

Well, today, I was packing books and other things in my office into boxes (yet again) and happened upon the little box of things that came to me from my father: his gas company tie tack, a Lane Tech prom favor, his Holy Name Society lapel pin, one of my grandfather’s medals from WWI, his WWII service medal, his Ruptured Duck, his corporal’s stripes, and finally–by then I had to reach for a Kleenex–his WWII dog tags.

My father signed up for the Army the day after Pearl Harbor. He was 19. He wanted to be in the infantry, but he had a crooked leg and a limp and didn’t qualify. The Army told him to finish his freshman year of college at Northwestern, and told him there’d be a spot at radio operator school waiting for him in June. There was some grumbling, especially since he hated the accounting curriculum his father had browbeaten him into taking at Northwestern, but so it was. That June he went to Scott Field in southern Illinois, and became one helluva radio operator. He was in the AACS (Army Airways Communication Systems) and could copy Morse in his head at 30+ WPM and hammer it out on a beat-up Olivetti mill all night long. He had a job and threw himself into it with everything he had–that was his way–but what he really wanted to do was shoot Germans.

This always puzzled me, and it had nothing to do with my ancestry–or his. It took me decades to figure it out, and I had to dig for clues in a lot of odd places. He told a lot of stories, and I heard a few more from my mother and Aunt Kathleen, his sister. Once I was in my forties and had put a little distance between myself and my father’s long, agonizing death, I could deal with the troubling reality: My father was a wiseass, a snot, a fighter, a dare-taker. He was suspended several times from high school for fighting (and once beat the crap out of a much taller kid after the kid had stabbed him in the stomach in wood shop) and took a fifth year to finish. Limp or no limp, he had at age 45 broken up a fight in Edison Park single-handed, while my little sister watched in astonishment. He was literally throwing teenaged boys in every direction until they quit beating on a smaller boy at the bottom of the pile. Limp or no limp, he dove into deep water once and hauled a drowning man back to shore under one arm. (He was all muscle, and swam like a shark.) I used to think of him as brave, but no: He was fearless, and that is not the same thing.

To be brave is to do what you know you have to do in spite of your fear. To be fearless is to just wade in and kick ass, damn the consequences. There were consequences, like six stitches in his stomach and being held back a year in school. I hate to think what might have happened if he had made the infantry. I might have ended up being some other man’s son.

He knew this, of course, and as I grew into my teens I think he was trying to guide me away from fearlessness and toward bravery, not that I had ever shown the least measure of fearlessness. (One of his weirdest failings as a parent was this unshakable assumption that I would grow up to be exactly like him.) He had a saying for it: “Kick ass. Just don’t miss.” The lesson was not to let fear paralyze you, but instead let it calibrate you. Fear can turn down the volume on your enthusiasm and force you to take stock of your resources and your limitations. I got that, and have done as well as I have by balancing enthusiasm with discernment. Only one other piece of advice from my father (“If you’re lucky and smart you’ll marry your best friend”) has ever served me better.

As I’ve mentioned here a number of times, our Colorado house is positioned on the slopes of Cheyenne Mountain such that we can hear the bugle calls (and cannon!) from Fort Carson, two miles downslope. We hear taps most nights, and I realize (now that most of the house is at last in boxes) that I won’t be hearing it a great many more times, and almost certainly not again on Veterans’ Day. Tonight I will go out on the deck again and salute both the brave and the fearless, my father and countless others who have kicked ass in the service of their countries. Some missed, many didn’t, and the lucky ones came home to tell their stories and raise their (sometimes peculiar) sons.

I am by no means fearless, and I sincerely hope that I never have to be truly brave. However, if I ever have to kick ass, I will. And thanks to a man who knew the difference between bravery and fearlessness, when that time comes, I will not miss.

Odd Lots

  • An AI company went bankrupt after it came out that its supposed “vibe-coding” AI was a team of 700 Indian software engineers. Even Microsoft fell for it, and threw gobs of money at them. Which brings up an interesting question: How do possible investors (or anyone else) know where (and even what) an AI is?
  • Not everyone thinks that vibe coding is slam-dunk easy. A Stanford prof does it, and says it’s intellectually exhausting—just like “manual” coding is. The trick with all AI work is knowing how to create the prompts that will deliver the desired results. Although I’ve not tried vibe coding with an AI yet, my experience with text and images suggests that “prompt engineering” is the real challenge, and to me, prompt engineering looks like programming in yet another English-like language.
  • Meta signed a 20-year deal with Constellation Energy, to help fund new nuclear generation capacity, starting with a plant in Illinois. If carbon is indeed the problem, nuclear is the solution. I have had some peculiar experiences with AI over the past months, but I’m willing to root for AI as a way to bring nuclear power back from the grips of those Atomic Scientists who simply can’t force themselves to go fission.
  • In case you missed it: Lazarus 4.0 is out. Compatibility with Delphi is high. The 4.0 system was built using FreePascal 3.2.2. Go get it here.
  • Here’s a wonderful short-ish article on Mark Twain’s rowdy early years in (bogglingly) rowdy Virginia City, Nevada.
  • Today is the semiquincentennial of the US Army. Also the sestercentennial. Oh, and the bisesquicentennial too. Big words rock. I love ’em. And next year will be all those big words for the US itself, not to mention Carol’s and my 50th wedding anniversary.
  • Classmates continues to send me nonsense. I supposedly have a private message waiting from a Maria G., who was in De Paul University’s Class of 1971. (The message was posted in 2007.) Well, I have that yearbook, and she’s not in it. (Her name, which I won’t quote here, is very unusual and I have been unable to find her online.) Some years back Classmates asked me if I knew a girl named Linda something, who was in the Lane Tech Class of 1970, like me. Uh…no. Lane was an all-boy school until a couple of years after I graduated. I gave Classmates money once. I won’t be giving them money again. They make up stuff like a…like an AI.
  • Well, as far as I’m concerned, the famous TED talks are now over. An Australian prof who did all the necessary research was tossed out of the TED universe for a presentation that cast doubt on the perpetrators of useless COVID reactions like lockdowns, and showed evidence that the not-really-a-vaccine (you can get it and spread it!) caused more harm than good. TED stated right out that criticism of political and health leaders was verboten. Read the whole thing. (H/T to Sarah Hoyt for the link.)

Rebus-ish

Long past time for a little silliness here. When I was (I think) five or maybe six, the Latin Mass was the only Mass, and I remember wondering what the priest was saying but especially what the choir was singing. The choir, having a dozen or so members, was louder than the celebrant—and, well, fuzzier. So consider the Agnus Dei, which was one of the numerous things the choir sang during High Mass at our church in that era:

Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi
Miserere nobis

What I heard was a little different:

On this day, they told us we got a moonbeam.
We say, “Hey, we know this.”

This was repeated three times. The fourth stanza ended in “Dona nobis pacem,” and in truth I don’t recall what I heard in that. I got a kid missal when I started grade school, and that put an end to the mystery.

But I was thinking of that when a sort of puzzle occurred to me: Using words to encode other words when both sets of words used (mostly) the same phonemes. That’s basically what I did with the Agnus Dei. The encoded version would be nonsense, of course, but if read could suggest the original.

I was reminded of something called a rebus, which you don’t see much anymore: The use of small pictures or icons to represent phonemes. Decades ago, I drew a rebus on a valentine card I gave to Carol. Above my signature, I drew a picture of a bumblebee and a tunnel with tracks running out of it. Carol looked at the valentine, giggled, and said, “Be cave?” It’s been an inside joke between us ever since.

So consider this encoded stanza of a forgettable and mostly forgotten pop song from the early 70s. You don’t need to remember the song to decode the puzzle. (If you do remember the song, well, you’re probably as old as I am, and just as into goofy pop music.)

Hare shawl deer swear bear
Anne eye dried nought two stair
win isle luck tatter tulips.

See if you can decode it. The phonemes aren’t absolutely identical between the uncoded and coded text, which makes it harder to decode and thus more of a puzzle.

I call this sort of puzzle rebus-ish, since it’s a rebus done with language, and not pictures, nor single letters, which are called gramograms, as in the canonical gramogram conversation:

FUNEX?
S,VFX.
FUNEM?
S,VFM.
OK,LFMNX.

I do wonder if somebody else has put forth this kind of puzzle and coined a word for it. I’ve never seen anything of that sort. Independent invention is a thing. I independently invented the blog in the late 90s, having never seen the word nor read one of the (very few) blogs that predated my VDM Diary.

So see how long it takes you to figure it out. And if you’re so inclined, concoct one of your own and post it in the comments. Try it!

Why I Am a Skeptic

Years’n’years ago somebody asked me if contrarianism were just another word for skepticism. My answer was No—but I couldn’t explain why at the time and said I would think about it. I did the promised thinking, though I don’t think I’ve ever explored the issue at length here on Contra or anywhere else. Well, it’s time.

My first insight on the question was that contrarianism is broad, whereas skepticism is narrow. Fleshed out a little, that insight became this: Skepticism is targeted; we’re skeptical about something, not simply skeptical, period. I’ve since refined that insight to its current form:

Contrarianism is a mindset; skepticism is its mechanism.

Contrarianism welcomes (and sometimes celebrates) doubts. Skepticism examines those doubts to determine if they have any value. I explored the notion of contrarianism here on Contra in my entry of January 1, 2009. I didn’t get into skepticism in that piece since people so easily confuse the two.

The scientific method is essentially systematic and disciplined skepticism. The example I often cite is that of the supposed Law of Parity. Some physicists had doubts about the Law of Conservation of Parity as observed in nuclear physics. They did some new experiments in the 1950s, and demonstrated that parity was not always conserved.

I take a little heat from some people over my skepticism of dark matter.  We don’t know what true dark matter is made of, but I’m pretty sure it’s not subatomic particles as we understand them. For once, the Grok AI answered my question “What is dark matter made of?” by admitting that we don’t know: “Dark matter’s composition remains unknown.” I have a (personal) hypothesis, since we only know dark matter by the shape of space, and the shape of space is affected by gravity: Dark matter is gravitational distortion of space caused by mass existing in a higher dimension. I don’t claim it’s true, but until more and better research answers the question, that hypothesis remains my best guess. (And I’ll bet there’s a story or three in it!)

Skepticism operates in many other realms than that of science. My skepticism is most active when I confront conventional wisdom, those often bogus things that “everybody knows.” Back in 1970 or so, “everybody” knew that we were about to enter a new ice age. A few years later, when winters didn’t get any worse, the coin flipped and then it was global warming. This sounded fishy to me, and my skepticism kicked into high gear. There are loads of lists online of apocalyptic scare stories about climate that never came even close to being true. I continue to research climate, but as climate research has now become utterly political, I won’t discuss it further here.

Skepticism goads the skeptic into learning new (and often useful) things. I heard the tired old saw, “Fat makes you fat” a great deal in my early life. I went largely low-carb in 1997 by not drinking sugar-sweetened iced tea because I threw a kidney stone. I lost 5 or 6 pounds in a few months. This startled the hell out of me. Over the next several years I researched diet, and when I happened on Gary Taubes’ book Good Calories, Bad Calories, I began to understand. I am now 20 pounds lighter than I was in 1997 because I only rarely have carb dishes like pasta or rice, I rarely drink sodas, and mostly adhere to our diet of meat, fish, eggs, dairy, and salad. Skepticism of conventional wisdom (“Fat makes you fat”) drove me to do that research, and I’ve learned a lot in the process.

It’s important to remember that good skepticism is to some extent skeptical of itself. I overrode my skepticism of the government’s declarations on COVID, and got the Pfizer vacc and its booster. Mercifully, I stopped there, but I remained skeptical enough to get a supply of HCQ and Zinc Sulfate via a telemed MD just in case. When we finally caught COVID in ‘23, the HCQ/Zinc protocol knocked the damned thing out in 5 days. Well, the Powers finally admitted that the Pfizer vacc won’t keep you from getting it or spreading it. It is thus not a vaccine at all, but a form of pre-treatment that carries side effects we’re only now pinning down. Like climate, the side effects issue has become completely political, and I won’t discuss it further here. The lesson is just this: Keep your skepticism on a short leash, and pay attention to its sidebands; i.e., issues to either side of the core object of your skepticism.

Skepticism has other benefits. Skepticism fosters an open mind. Skeptics are scammed a lot less often. Skeptics don’t get swept up into fads and tribal tarpits as easily. Skeptics readily admit when they’re wrong about something, largely because skepticism causes them to be wrong less often.

In short, skepticism has made my life better and taught me a great deal. More than that, in conjunction with my contrarianism, it’s kept me a free man. And that’s why I am a skeptic now and always will be.

More Grok. More Crock.

Everybody’s going nuts over AI—and tossing endless billions into the AI funding pot. I’m skeptical (about that and plenty of other things) and I run tests now and then to see whether that skepticism is justified.

Hoo-boy! Got another Grok crock in a hammerlock, to coin a (useless) phrase.

Last night when I was beginning to wind down for the night, I decided to throw another question at Grok, the X/Twitter AI. Here’s the question: "What are Jeff Duntemann’s humorous works of SF and fantasy?" Here’s what it said:


Jeff Duntemann’s humorous works in science fiction and fantasy, based on available information, primarily include:

  1. Firejammer (Science Fiction, 2017): A short novel (or novella, depending on classification) that’s a playful homage to 1960s-90s pulp sci-fi. It follows a shapeshifting alien, Flammenwerfer O’Bernt, who crash-lands on Earth and gets entangled in comedic misadventures with humans. Readers on Goodreads (4.0 rating) praise its lighthearted, humorous tone, witty dialogue, and absurd scenarios, comparing it to Douglas Adams or Robert Sheckley. Its brevity and focus on fun make it a standout for humor.

  2. Short Stories in Ten Gentle Opportunities (Fantasy/Science Fiction, 2016): This collection of short stories blends humor with speculative elements. Notable stories include:

    • “Whale Meat”: A comedic fantasy tale about a magical spell gone wrong, with absurd and whimsical consequences.

    • “Drumlin Boiler” and “Drumlin Amplifier”: Part of Duntemann’s Drumlin series, these stories mix fantasy with quirky, humorous worldbuilding, featuring magical artifacts and eccentric characters in a steampunk-inspired setting. Readers note the dry wit and clever premises.

    • Other stories in the collection, like those involving time travel or oddball tech, often carry a satirical or lighthearted edge, though not all are overtly comedic.

Notes:

  • Duntemann’s humor leans toward witty, satirical, and absurd rather than slapstick, often poking fun at genre tropes or human quirks.

  • The Cunning Blood (2005), his other major novel, has some satirical elements but is primarily a serious hard SF thriller, not a humorous work.

  • His short fiction, especially in Ten Gentle Opportunities, is where most of his comedic fantasy and SF shines, as he experiments with whimsical ideas and quirky characters.

  • Limited information exists on other humorous works, as Duntemann’s output is relatively small, and some stories (e.g., from Drumlins or Soul Bent series) remain unpublished or obscure.


If you’re the least bit familiar with my fiction, you’ll probably spot some elements of Grok’s acid trip. (Calling them “hallucinations” is a slander on the word “hallucinations.”) So let me lay them all out in a bulleted list:

  • Firejammer was published in 2019, not 2017.
  • It takes place on an alien planet, not Earth.
  • Although there is some humor on the surface, the novel’s theme is serious, and there is plenty of danger, mayhem, and potentially fatal situations.
  • There are no shapeshifting aliens in the story, certainly none named “Flammenwerfer O’Bernt”. (The German word Flammenwerfer means “flamethrower.”) I checked several search engines and saw not one hit for “Flammenwerfer O’Bernt.” Grok made it up from whole cloth.
  • I checked Goodreads, where Firejammer has 3 reviews. None of the reviews emphasize its humor, nor compare the work to Douglas Adams or Robert Sheckley. Maybe this is picking nits, but the novel has earned a 4.6 rating there, not 4.0.
  • Ten Gentle Opportunities is humorous. But it’s a novel, not a collection of short stories.
  • “Whale Meat” is a dead serious fantasy story, without any humor at all.
  • I have attempted but never finished (much less published) a time-travel story, and don’t much care for them as a category.
  • There is no story named “Drumlin Amplifier” by me or anyone else. Intriguing title, though.
  • “Soul Bent” is not an SF book series. It’s a rock band.

You get the idea. I think the problem is this: If you ask an AI like Grok about a well-known figure, author, musician, whatever, you’ll probably get correct answers, with perhaps an occasional slip. I’m not famous but I’ve been around for a long time and there is plenty of material about me online. It looks like, when Grok doesn’t have enough information for a quick answer (what I quoted above happened in less than ten seconds) it starts making things up.

The one thing Grok simply can’t say is, “I don’t know.”

I am supremely puzzled by one thing: Grok completely botched descriptions of two of my books, both of which are published on KDP and have detailed descriptions posted there.

Anyway. You get the idea. Be careful with AI. I think of it as the poltergeist of computing: It throws data around, emits odd statements, and tells lies anytime it damned well pleases.

New Edition of FreePascal From Square One

Once I got The Everything Machine published on KDP this past March, I went back to a project I’ve tinkered with for almost 15 years: FreePascal from Square One, a 354-page PDF providing an introduction to programming, using the FreePascal FOSS compiler and the Lazarus IDE for editing and building. I need to mention here that the book does not go into Windows programming, OOP, software components, or the Lazarus GUI builder. I have a concept for a second book for those topics, and have written some of it, and borrowed a little from my portions of The Delphi 2 Explorer. No schedule yet, but I work on it when time permits.

FreePascal from Square One really is a free ebook. It’s a distillation of the four editions of my Pascal tutorial, Complete Turbo Pascal, which first appeared in 1985 and culminated in Borland Pascal 7 From Square One in 1993. I sold a lot of those books and made plenty of money, so I’m now giving it away, in hopes of drawing more people into the Pascal universe.

The book begins at the beginning of the beginning, and explains the ideas behind programming, drawing on metaphors from daily life, before jumping into coding. I’ve turned loose increasingly polished revisions on a regular basis since 2011 or so. This one has things none of the earlier revisions had: A new chapter on simple Pascal file I/O, and a clickable table of contents.

The TOC thing made me nuts for awhile. I tried to make it work using InDesign, but InDesign (my 2005-era copy, at least) can’t do it. I know it can be done—I have a couple of technical ebook PDFs with clickable TOCs—but needed to buy a high-end PDF editing tool to make it work. The product is PDF X-Change Pro from Tracker Software. It’s not free, but if you do any amount of work with PDFs, it’s essential. The Pro-level product comes with a 1,372-page manual—in PDF format, of course. It took me most of a day plowing through that monster manual to find out how to make clickable links in PDFs, but once I located that part, adding links to the TOC took me less than an hour.

It’s not tied to TOCs. You can define a clickable rectangle anywhere in a PDF, and specify what page that clickable rectangle will send you to. I drew rectangles all around the lines in the TOC, then right-clicked each rectangle and specified a destination page number for each line.

If you want the book, it’s right here. You’re welcome to share it around, post it on your site, or give it to anyone who might be find it useful. If you’re interested in FreePascal and Lazarus, here’s where to go to download them. They’re as close as you’ll get to Delphi in the free software universe, and it’s about the only programming environment that I use these days, unless I duck back into x64 assembly. Give it a try. It’s bogglingly good.

Do Italics Demean or Exalt?

I recently stumbled across a weirdness in the culture of writing: People (editors mostly, but some authors) objecting to the use of italics to set off literal text in another language. To them, the practice is othering, which after sniffing around for a bit I found a number of definitions. The Cambridge Dictionary’s definition is this: “The act of treating someone as though they are not part of a group and are different in some way.” There are others. What the definitions have in common is that othering is about people, not words in a language. I would use the word “shunning,” which is specifically about people, to demonstrate their otherness.

There are a lot of different uses of italics: simple emphasis, a term’s first definition, literal thoughts of characters, formal names of books, plays, ships, and so on. With one exception (stay tuned) I rarely use words from other languages unless they are being absorbed into common English usage and are already chin-deep. With a lot of these, the italics could go either way: Do we italicize “bon mot”? How about “fin de siècle”? or “que sera, sera”? I lean toward italics; again, stay tuned.

People who have read Drumlin Circus or The Everything Machine (and if you haven’t, please do!) are aware of the Bitspace Institute, a cult on the drumlins world obsessed with returning to Earth. They other themselves by excluding women, wearing distinctive clothes, living in a ritual-rich, monastic sort of setting—and speaking classical Latin among themselves, especially in front of non-Institute people, to further demonstrate their otherness. Here’s a sample, from The Everything Machine:


With one foot set a few decimeters ahead of the other, McKinnon tipped
his head back slightly and shouted his command in the Tongue: “Ego Alvah
McKinnon, Consul! Regulam ordinis nostri violastis! Arma ponite, exite et
ante me flectite!
” [I am Consul Alvah McKinnon! You have violated the Rule
of our order! Lay down your weapons, come forth, and kneel before me!]


(McKinnon is the senior consul of the Institute. When he speaks a command, Institute men are required to obey.) The use of Latin is a characteristic of the Institute, so across the novel are short exchanges in “The Tongue” as they call it. I put a translation within square brackets after each Latin section. It’s part of the atmosphere surrounding the Institute, and I want it to be noticed. So in a way, it’s another use of italics as emphasis.

In my YA novel Complete Sentences, Eric’s mother speaks some Polish here and there:


Charlene set down her kielbasa. “Mrs. Lund, How do you say ‘Thank you’ in Polish?”

Dziękuję.”


Here, that dziękuję is Polish is obvious from context. This isn’t always the case:


It might be too late. Bialek poked at the lock’s keypad. Szczury! Someone had gotten to it first!


You might guess from context that it’s some kind of expletive, and it is. Here, “szczury” is Polish for “rats”. The singular form is szczur. Now, there’s a problem with some words, especially from Slavic languages: If you’ve never seen them before, they could look like typos or evidence of corruption in the underlying file. The word “tak” in Polish means “yes.” Used alone, some readers might think it’s a misspelling of “tack.”

Another issue is that the same word might exist in two languages and mean very different things. In Tagalog (the language of the Philippines) the word for sister is “ate.” “Taco” in Japanese means “octopus.” “Slut” is Swedish for “the end.” There are lists of more here and here. My position is that italicizing a word from another language will warn the reader not to jump to conclusions. What italicization means is “this is a word in another language.” There is no judgment whatsoever in that caution.

To the contrary. English is famous for absorbing words from other languages into itself, essentially “othering” those words away from their origins and dropping them heedlessly into the English stewpot. In a sense, italicizing a word from another language honors it as a part of a language and a worthy culture that should be respected, and not treated as just another word collection that we can pick and choose from to fatten up our English.

All that said, it’s really not something worth fighting over. From what I read earlier today, the AP Stylebook recently picked it up. No big deal; I learned on and remain a Chicago Manual of Style guy. I just wanted to point out that most arguments of this type can go both or many ways, and there are nuances that should not be conveniently ignored in the cause of self-aggrandizement. I’ll keep writing the way I’ve always written. Others may do what they want. English survived Finnegan’s Wake. It’ll survive the nuanced uses of italics, whatever those turn out to be as the years roll on.

Odd Lots

  • I wrote about the dearth of color variety in cars a few years back. This morning I ran across an article about the same topic. And not only in cars, but in clothes and much else. He sees color variety as way down, along with color saturation.
  • He may be on to something: There’s a new style of houses being built here in our area that I refer to as “Etruscan tombs” because they’re entirely white and all right angles, without curves or any kind of ornamentation. They look like they’re made of limestone or white marble:

BoxyWhiteHouse

Trunk Archaeology: The Song That Wasn’t

Digging through a box of my (very) old manuscripts, I’m finding things I wrote long ago that I had more or less forgotten about. One of those is a song. No, scratch that. It’s not a song. It’s a lyric. A song has to have a melody. And in trying to write a song, I discovered that I have no talent whatsoever for creating new melodies. I think it was Mozart who said that tunes were always walking into the back of his head. The one time I tried to compose a tune, they ran screaming.

Carol and I attended a couple of high-school Catholic retreats in 1970 or thereabouts, and also took part in a new wrinkle in Catholic culture called a “guitar mass.” These were held in the church basement, and included songs that weren’t anything like the hymns we knew. They were melodic, upbeat, affirming, and strong in their statements. One of these was a well-known song by folk guitarist Ray Repp called “To Be Alive.” It was manic and borderline political and I’m sure rubbed traditionalist church people the wrong way, but considering the pre-Vatican II church that we all grew up in, it was bogglingly infectious. Less bouncy and more thoughtful was “Easy Come, Easy Go” by Kevin Johannson, which I much liked and often whistled when I was working in the basement on a telescope or something.

I’m pretty sure it was “Easy Come, Easy Go” that prompted me to write a song in a similar vein, with perhaps a little more religion in it. I got the lyric down quickly. Words, no sweat. Music, heh, no chance. Here’s the lyric to a tuneless song I called “I See God”:

In every sunrise there’s a glow,
In every dawn a light
To help me look and see and know
The things that fly and crawl and grow
That weren’t there last night.

For every day is different; new buds on life’s tall tree.
And I see God in everything, in everything that be.

I know things change with time and tide;
Today will soon be gone.
But though today’s grown old and died
I watch the tears today has cried
And see tomorrow born.

Then all its shape and all its sound will sing new songs for me
While I see God in everything, in everything that be.

Life’s a very precious thing,
Whatever turns it takes.
And glad I live the days that sting
For hurt’s a very tiny thing
Against the good He makes.

For as He brought me to this day, He brings this day to me,
And I see God in everything, in everything that be.

Sure, it’s sentimental. Corny, even. Remember that I was 19 when I wrote it. Keep in mind that it’s not a poem. It’s a lyric. And without a tune it’s incomplete. I had no idea what to do with it back in 1971. So I did what I was good at: I wrote an SF story around it. Really.

The story (called “I See God,” natch) involved a race of high-gravity aliens who gently take over Earth without saying why or what they’re up to. They are building enormous inexplicable machines all over the planet, with high-tech roads running between the machines. One of the aliens, Caeliph, suffers a vehicle malfunction while tearing down a road from one machine to the next. He ejects from the vehicle and watches it go into a ditch. In poking around the rural area he finds himself in, he encounters a small group of human teens, who when they see him, shrink back in fear from a “tightfist” (what humans called the aliens) but also shout “I see God!”

It turns out that this quirk originated with one of the older teens who plays a guitar. Every time one of the kids sees something he or she has never seen before, they say, emphatically, “I see God!” The leader of the group plays the song for Caeliph and the group sings it. They explain it as best they can, but Caeliph is an engineer, not an anthropologist. Humans are not supposed to know that the Ynyr (the tightfists) are building a hyperdrive for planet Earth, because the Ynyr know that the Sun will soon go nova. Their plan is to move Earth to a similar star system before the Sun blows up and takes Earth with it.

When Caeliph is picked up by one of his colleagues, another Ynyr, Gwerrbach tells him that the humans appear to be catching on to the Big Plan. “They are more intelligent than we thought,” Gwerrbach says. It’s the first time Caeliph has heard one of his colleagues admit that humans aren’t stupid. “I see God,” Caeliph says with a certain wry satisfaction, and roars off into the sunset to continue his job of saving Earth.

Even I could tell that the story wasn’t good enough to try to sell to one of the magazines, so I tossed it into a box full of other manuscripts, and went on to other, better ideas. I wrote the first draft of “Our Lady of the Endless Sky” in 1972, and sold it (my very first sale) to Harry Harrison’s Nova 4 anthology in the fall of 1973.

Sure, not every story is publishable. But every story is practice, which helped me down the road as I began to sell my tales to the mags and anthologies on a regular basis. I offer this advice to writers: Whether or not your juvenalia passes that test, don’t erase it or throw it away. Above all else, it’s the best way possible to remind yourself how far you’ve come.

Is That Tablet Broke, or Just Crashed?

Way back in 2019 I bought a Samsung Galaxy Tab S3 tablet, and used it mostly for the sake of the Kindle Reader app. I bought a couple of games to run on it, but for the most part is was Kindle plus debris. About a month ago, I took the S3 off its charger and woke it up. The screen came up just fine…but the touchscreen didn’t work. No matter what I touched or slid or tapped, nothing happened.

I’d never seen that particular failure mode before, but any time a computer gets weird, well, reboot. The S3 had been marvelously reliable up to that point, though recent games had animations that strained the S3’s ability to render. So I pressed the wakeup button down and held it.

Two icons appeared on the display, allowing me to select restart or power off. I tapped the restart icon. Nothing happened. I tapped the power off icon. Nothing happened. Holding the button down after the icons appeared did nothing. I started to wonder if the touchscreen had somehow failed. Well, there’s another way to power down a tablet or any other portable device: Set it on a shelf and wait for it to run its own battery down.

It took two weeks. During those two weeks I got restless and bought a nice new Galaxy Tab S9, figuring that the S3 was not coming back. The S9 is a little bigger than the S3, with more memory and a much faster CPU. I installed Kindle and a couple of games that I like. It’s a marvelous piece of work, if a little bigger than the S3 and slightly more 9X16-ish.

So after the S3 sat on a shelf for two weeks, my pressing the button no longer brought up the icons or anything else. Outa juice. I plugged it into its charger and went back to whatever I was doing. Two hours later, I pressed and held the button, and the S3 booted. The touch screen was not dead. Once it had a full charge, it came up and was fully functional. So the touchscreen hadn’t failed. Something, somewhere, probably whatever software managed the touchscreen, had crashed.

And now I have two tablets. I’m not complaining; having a spare for something I read on a lot is a good idea. But assuming the S3 was dead and dropping it in the recycle box at Best Buy had crossed my mind. I dislike dumping old hardware, so…lesson learned: Drain the battery, boot the tablet, keep the spare.