Joe Haldeman wrote… | David Emeron: Reflections upon Reflections

I certainly am no literary critic; however sometimes… This kind of thing just comes up:

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Tony Lawrence says:

March 6th, 2013 at 1:55 pm Edit

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What works would you consider being “awesome, wicked cool?” I’ve just read and reviewed his novel, “Worlds Apart,” which I thought could’ve been presented better in writing.

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David Emeron says:

March 7th, 2013 at 1:32 am Edit

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Well, young man, I do not usually “give crit” as oft-times is it so refereed here on wordpress. Still I do make an exception here and there when the author is a well published, very established professional who has certainly heard and read much worse than anything I will say or write–no doubt from his own editors.

Although I did enjoy the Worlds novels, they are in fact of the type I mentioned–well written, engaging enough, I suppose. Our Mr. Haldeman certainly knows story structure and has a polished hand. But still, for him, these novels are lacklustre. If perhaps he was not capable of writing a variety of novel that is much more original and interesting… perhaps then, it might seem less so; but all the while reading them–and the Forever series–I could not help comparing them to those very original works of which I know he is capable.

I confess, I have not read all he has written; however, if you had perused my entire entry above, you might have see me make mention of “Buying Time” and “Mindbridge.” “Mindbridge,” for example is one of those very original works. Even from a distance, quite literally (in that even if the pages are too far away from your eyes to read) many of them appear fascinating.) Since this was the first novel by Mr. Haldeman that I read–and I read it when it was new, so many years ago–and, since it amazed me so, and was so very original and entertaining, it tended to be the standard by which I “judged,” so to speak, his other work. He has not written exclusively such works as “Mindbridge” by any means–many of his works are quite conventional. I meant every word I wrote up above. His “normal” prose–while it might generally not seem so coming from another writer–seems lacklustre coming from Mr. Haldeman, of whom I know to be capable of much more interesting, entertaining, and thought provoking work.

Decades later, I came across “Buying Time,” also very original and Haldemanesque in its originality, perhaps even surpassing Mindbridge in this way. It made me laugh in ways in which I have not done before, and made me think, and was entertaining and unpredictable, but most of all, his unique presentation–some might call them gimmicks; but he uses them to such effect that I would not call them such–was most definitely something a man perhaps the better part of a century younger than I might term “awesome,” or “wicked cool.” I dare say, my socks were, by this novel, “knocked so far off,” that I never did recover them. At least in the laundry I generally lose but one at a time.

I hear tell of other novels of his which are at this level of originality, but I do not know which they are at present. “Buying Time” was written a great deal of time after “Mindbridge,” and it shows. Like it or not, you will no doubt perceive this if you read them both.

There was a decade or two in which I read exclusively science fiction, and at that time, he was perhaps my favourite–at least in some respects.

It was in fact, “Mindbridge” that caused Steven King to pen his now famous and much reprinted quote regarding Mr. Haldeman; something to the effect of: “If there was a Fort Knox for science-fiction writers who really matter, we would have to keep Joe Haldeman locked up in there.” I am paraphrasing, of course; the Google search box is very far away from my mouse cursor at present, perhaps a whole 8 or 9 inches!

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via Joe Haldeman wrote… | David Emeron: Reflections upon Reflections.

A Death In the Family

Sarah A. Hoyt's avatarOtherwhere Gazette

Recently there has been a fight raging in SF. (Sarah stands back and lets the understatement sink in.) Okay, what I mean is that one of the facets of the permanent, rolling SF/F fandom/writers/whatever fight has revolved around Star Trek.

Like all family fights that got ugly fast.

Some say we love Star Trek for the engineering, and then Gerrold said it was for the progressive social morals. And then…

You don’t want the details, do you? All family fights are weird and confusing, and it all devolves to “I know what you did at your first communion/bar mitzvah” flung at the face of someone past fifty. And it’s all irrelevant when death strikes, when disaster threatens or when outsiders attack.

First, let me say I started by not paying much attention to Star Trek. By the time it played in Portugal, I was already a science fiction fan, baptized…

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My first…

…I am afraid I am not sure what to call the phenomenon.  I think I shall leave it to the reader to decide what “this” is; but I have learned thence that a rabbit hole only becomes deeper if one tries to remove it by digging.  I did not generally think the comment box was the best place for a such as this, but It would have been just fine if I had realised a bit earlier and not encouraged all this:

The general advice here keeping with the above analogy is:

Do not feed the rabbits; they will only dig faster.

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There Comes A Time | My Own Worst Enemies

Today, I find myself feeling very sad.  Although I should say straight away that it has nothing to do with the sadness I see here.  Completely unrelated, is it.  But how you feel, or at least what you write about how you feel, is how I feel.  Just at this time.  Not always.  I have no good reason for it.  But I felt it earlier, and felt comforted to see you.

While you have been away, I have been rather ill (nothing serious, just a protracted stubborn cold which has “taken out” for weeks, much younger and stronger men than I)  It put me quite behind in my sonnet writing.  And now I have this strange feeling.  This.  Having descended over me.  I have no good reason for it.  But one or two difficult correspondences led me there, I think.

I do not presume anything regarding the way you, nor anyone else, might feel.  I do know that sometimes…   perhaps it is because I am not of the true “cyber” generation…  that I feel remote… distant…  helpless…  and perhaps also unable to comfort those who feel as I do.

I merely began writing a sonnet tonight, or rather, this morning, inspired by those correspondences.   Something regarding humility.  These were not of great consequence–these emails back and forth:  A precocious young man and a vexing but adamantly pursued area of interest; A young lady concerned with matters of faith–and my odd relationship with such matters;  A writers’ group whose kind invitation I nonetheless feel I must decline.  A few other such things…  So that now I feel myself quite melancholy.  Quite at “sixes and sevens,” as it were.

Yesterday, I found myself, finally well enough to get back to writing and so I spent a very enjoyable evening answering comments.  By no means have I gotten to the end of them, but I did make a considerable dent in them.  Still, as the night wore on, I felt I was perhaps delaying my actual work by engaging in this much more enjoyable and carefree activity.

And today, I found, quite by accident, a number of emails waiting for me–they were in the wrong place and so I might have missed them altogether, as they were sent to the address I have which is set up to collect automatic responses and such other annoyances that blogging generates–and stubbornly refuse to be turned off.  I believe I have gone a good deal further in see that people find and use the correct public email when they wish to send me some correspondence which, for what ever reason, they prefer not to appear on the blogoshpere; but I have found that no matter how technically adept one might be, it can sometimes be most difficult to ferret out such things.  Particularly on wordpress.com where one has no control over the code nor any database access.

In any case, In answering comments yesterday, I came upon a number of yours which of course were “404” if I tried to respond to them.  Still that led me to your gravatar link and I noticed there was a new image there… haunting and somehow befitting of your new site.  And then this morning, not long ago, I found your nickname among the handful of new “follows” that had come along in the last hours.

I felt happy to see someone familiar, although clearly I was well on my way to feeling most unhappy.  But following the link to your new site, I found your latest work to somehow fit my melancholy.

There are doubtless many grammatical errors and omissions in the above, however, in all sincerity, I truly do feel a bit too melancholy to go back through it all.  I will however quote this in my “reflections” sub-blog, and perhaps I will correct it later if and when the mood comes upon me.

There comes a time,

when all strength is lost.

When efforts collapse,

and people pay a cost…

Read the rest here:

Nexus « Roxi St. Clair

I am flying
in a holding pattern
that’s contrived outside
the space of time.

It’s from before
the ignition of the
first human fire,
before zero and
the powers of ten.

Above, below, ecumenical
it reflects its purpose
and mine.

The boundless cosmos
seems insignificant
for I am enraptured;
by empirical sapience
here, all is silent.

Slowly,
I breathe.

Steady is the sublimity
of my wings.

The thread of illumination
parallel to sempiternity –
navigates me.

Definition of “School System” | Words Of Birds

A comment regarding education I once made.  I wonder if too much perspective is necessary at this late date for its true understanding.

I’m afraid the traditionalists are what is needed–not the ones of which you write, however–those who once taught by means of illuminating real books rather than textbooks–which contain little more than survey material.

Although, to the matter of textbooks: I came into possession of a now 130 year old “Appleton’s” designed for forth year students–who would be some 9 years of age. It was, in fact a survey work, just as any modern composition text might be. (Such things were devised to allow less qualified people to teach–frontier situations, for example, very well intended) However it is more sophisticated, and demanded more thought in follow-up questions and proposed projects and assignments than did a similar book I have which was published in the mid 1980ies.   This more modern textbook was designed to teach college freshman–so they would be some TEN years older than those who had learned from the old Appleton’s!  I am not exaggerating as I write this. Regarding the older textbook, the reading selections therein were much more demanding, the questions afterwards were similar, but required much more thoughtfulness and much greater understanding.

I shudder to think what such a book would look like today. I did have an experience with such a book in, I believe it was, 1998, and the degradation even from the 1980ies book was severe. It even had little cartoon drawings interspersed throughout in order to keep the college sophomores’ attention. The sophistication of the reading selections was of a character far inferior to its 1980 counterpart and, of course, was dwarfed by the Appleton’s to an unbelievable degree.

I am not a teacher; however I do know two excellent ones who reluctantly left the field and have gone on to private teaching. We have spoken much about such things, and they would, no doubt tell you the same as I.

What, I wonder, would the scholars writing for Appleton’s 130 years ago think if they knew how well they had succeeded in the long term in the way of enabling the unqualified to teach?

via Definition of “School System” | Words Of Birds.