It seems appropriate, this being the week of thanksgiving, to make a list of everything that I – hi, I’m Sarah, and I’m a writer. I’ve tried to give it up, but … oh, heck, not very hard – am thankful for as a writer, living in this, the early decades of the twenty first century.
First, let me pile on to register my disapproval with the lack of moon colonies, spaceships to Marsh and, oh, yeah, flying cars. No, I don’t really care if they’re impractical, I want them because cool.
Turned out, though, the future didn’t look like we expected. It didn’t turn out glitzy and superabundant. Perhaps it never will, since we’re humans and the question is always “abundant with what?”
I mean, very few among us are starving (looks down at waist. We could use a little more starving around here) but very few of us in this economy are exactly well off or unworried, either.
And yet, with all this, the future also did not turn into the rusty and decaying future so beloved of seventies leftist writers and other dystopians. We’re not all sweating in factories, skulking amidst the rusting remains of the past, and living at the mercy of the state. Okay, maybe that last, but even then not the way they expected.
Because you see, on their way to taking over the institutions, the left ran into the obstacle they never saw coming: technology.
I grew up in Europe and I don’t remember a time when I didn’t know the essential industries to take over when communists (or the feared Soviet invasion) took over a country: News, entertainment, communications, education. The military, of course, would have to be co-opted or defeated. But those other industries? Once you had them you could co-opt the military, or give the impression of a “popular revolt.” You could change people’s minds, or if not, you could make everyone who opposed you feel like they were lone nuts and people of no account.
For those who are looking at that and saying “but that’s what happened here!”… Yep. The left has only one playbook, and it involved the long march through those essential industries, the ones that told people what the world was like and allowed them to create an image/ideal of how it should be.
Note technology is not among those fields. Oh, I know that a lot of computer technicians (but not all) are left. Most of all, the firms are left, since being on the left has become a way of signaling class (high class) so executives all make the appropriate noises.
But there are still no-go zones, and those are the ones where technology is created. Engineering, technical work, the harder sciences. Those were left untouched by the long march, because math and physics are immune to both bullsh*t and guilting to “give the other side a chance.” Calculations are either right or they aren’t.
And ignored by the left, the sons of Martha were building structures that replaced the ones that the left had taken over. (Something the left doesn’t seem to realize is that they have the Mierdas touch. Everything they touch turns to offal. They’ve managed to take the magic out of movies, the creativity out of books and the news out of the news business.) With official structures in crisis, the unofficial is superseding them.
I know right here, in the belly of the beast, it doesn’t look like we’re doing much. But look back just ten years, and you’ll see the difference.
So this Thanksgiving I’m thankful for the sons of Martha who created the structure that allows for blogs and communication among peers; for e-tailers; for indie publishing; for online schools.
I’m thankful that we can save ourselves from the wreck being wrought upon us by our so-called elites.
Yes, they still have some sway and some of the technology is not quite there to supersede things like Hollywood. But it will be. It’s a matter of time.
Don’t allow them to have their Brave New World. We know it’s not a how-to. Build under, build parallel. Ignore their corrupt structures and make your way.
We live in the future, and the future belongs to us.
The day John Salmon graduates from college, he thinks his turn has come to go out and conquer the world, but instead the world comes to conquer him. At the campus chapel, he encounters an attractive young woman named Jill. She warns him to walk away from a mysterious stranger who will soon arrive offering adventure and world travel. But why would he listen to her, a complete stranger herself? She exits in a hurry, frightened even, but leaves behind a curious device resembling a wristwatch.
John finds he can’t walk away from Cyrus, the mysterious stranger, and this decision casts him into the dark places of history, racing against that damnable clock.
The clock keeps ticking, counting down, running out…
Juzeva, the princess who sacrificed everything to try to stop a war, and instead found herself caught in a web of evil and deceit…
Sevry, the last king of the war-ravaged land of Savaru, tasked with finding Juzeva’s secret, the secret that can bring Savaru back to life…
Lucie, a sheltered young noblewoman, unaware of her true heritage and the power she has to restore a lost land…
Then a mystery from the past becomes real and sweeps Lucie away to adventure, danger, and a love that will change her life and the lost land of Savaru forever.
Ancient, cold, and perilous.
Its truth forgotten in the mists of time, the old bridge harbors a lethal secret. Neither marble statues awakened for battle nor an ancient roadbed grown hungry, something darker and more primal haunts the stones and the wild river below.
Kimmer knows the stories, but she doesn’t know why the crumbling span feels so fraught with menace. Her way home lies across the ruin. Dare she take it? Or will horror from the lost past rise up to claim her, when she does?
If only Mama were well. If only Papa were . . . not like this.
Clary needs a miracle, but wonders rarely step forth to solve life’s problems. While her mama lies wearily abed and her papa spends the day . . . elsewhere, Clary struggles to look after her younger sister and their baby brother. And longs for more than making do. If only.
Then, one spring morning, Clary and Elspeth visit the old bramble-grown quarry to pick wild cabbage leaves. Hidden within the rock’s cleft, Clary’s miracle awaits. But this miracle sports razor-sharp talons, world-shaking power, ravenous hunger, and a troll-witch to guard its sleep. When it cracks the egg, will Clary survive?
Something wondrous this way comes!