Is there a twelve-step program for that?
Attempting a formal bow and succeeding no better than Cherie Blair, I offer Her Greatness my own favorite 12-step program:
1. Say into the mirror: people have the goddess-given right to make damned fools of themselves.
2. Say into the mirror: I cannot save the literary world single-handedly.
3. Say into the mirror: Even if I could save the literary world single-handedly, if the goddess wanted me to do that she’d have included it in my job description.
4. Say into the mirror: I am not the last rational person on this planet; it only seems that way.
5. Say into the mirror: I have my own child to worry about: I do not need to worry about the children on the sffworld forums as well.
6. Say into the mirror: It’s not as if I honestly believe I know all the correct answers. <Say this whether you believe it or not. If you don’t believe it, then say it three times while turning around with your index finger resting on the tip of your nose and one foot off the ground.>
7. Say into the mirror: They don’t pay me any attention anyway.
8. Say into the mirror: It’s not as if I don’t have better things to do. <This step is always included even when the person doesn’t have anything better to do than to seduce a spouse, guide a teenager, or spit out the next great fantasy novel.>
9. Say into the mirror: There-are-no-laws-in-writing is not a law, that if I don’t promulgate.it, will vanish from the composition books. <The Kurt Vonneguts will always appear when they’re needed.>
10. Say into the mirror: Why do I care whether the publishers are considered the worst evil to have hit the world since the printing press?
11. Say into the mirror: The internet makes everything I’ve ever claimed obsolete, anyway.
12. Say into the mirror: “F*** it!” and then go do what you damned well want to do.
Then, as commanded, I offer the first paragraph(s):
When the mood swept him, as it had this evening, to ponder the universe’s navel, Malcolm always opted for the pea. Certainly astronomical imagery abounded. The Horse Head Nebula, the Veil Nebula. The Rosette Nebula all made fine focal points. For that matter, the Milky Way could be appropriate inspiration if you wanted to consider vastness. But, vast navels seemed to Malcolm oxymoronic. So, the universe as a pea had the distinct advantage of utility. It worked for him.
Gazing at the pea, at its navel, Malcolm’s first path of inquiry took him to the Big Bang. Any universe navel must track to that event, he thought, and then he thought that The Big Bang would probably not fare well as slang for live birth. Men could handle it but he strongly doubted that women would see the humor. Anyway, if the Big Bang left remnants of an umbilical, then most of the mythos surrounding the event were probably wrong. An umbilical categorically eliminated a singularity.
His next line of thought took him to Asimov’s Foundation universe. What was the central mystery again? The Second Foundation lay at the other end of the galaxy. That was the mystery. the First was established at the rim and the Second Foundation at the galaxy’s other end. Extrapolating to the universe, all the galaxies are expanding away from one another, correct? But, doesn’t the Big Bang constitute an origination point, a common center from which the galaxies must running? Then, measure the direction of expansion for each galaxy and work backwards to the origin place. Any feasible navel must lie somewhere about such a place.
Why would a universe have a navel? Why did the pea in his hand have a navel? An artifact, a by product of its gestation. Want to know where you came from? Consider your navel. The pea carried the remnants of its pod, the universe must carry the remnants of its gestation: placenta, pod, call it what you will. The universe had a navel.
That meant there was a progenitor universe. At least one other universe did or had existed. That could mean that more than one other universe existed. After all, it takes two to tango and how can you have an umbilical without a tango?
Time froze.
T-mail happens so fast that it seems as if there is no time expenditure at all in the receiving and ‘reading’ the message. T-mails are neuronic episodes. Neurons respond to electrical impulses. Electrical impulses involve electrons traveling close to the speed of light. Things approaching the speed of light increase in mass. Thus, the common saying: t-mail is a massive headache.
Certainly, Malcolm, like most folk, was aware that electrons are damned near mass-less and photons are even more so. Still, damned near is not all the way to no mass at all and even the tiniest bit of almost-no-mass must expand as it approaches the speed of light which is why electrons are impossible to detect. They’ve gone damned near round the bend in the speed of light to energy. So, there they are: damned near no mass and damned near exceeding the speed of light. Physicists name this state complementarity.
Humans enduring complementarity in the form of t-mail tend to experience time as frozen.
Malcolm’s t-mail read: Standard Form 666: Notification of Evil Intent. You are herewith notified of my intent to conquer the known universe and all its inhabitants, sentient or otherwise. As evidence of this intent, I intend to deduct one of the triplets – Miinie, Moe, or Claudine. There is nothing you can do about this but I am required to let you know anyway. Having satisfied all appropriate regulations, laws, and commonly accepted socialisms, I remain faithfully yours, The Sacred Cow.
P.S. I am well aware of the difference between abduct, deduct, and subduct. I’ve kept up to date with my geology studies. I’ve also been to a chiropractor.
P.P.S. Minnifred, Maureen, and Claudine are also aware of my intent.
P.P.P.S. Have a nice day.
Time melted.
Beefeaters, please!
