It has not just a parking lot, but an entire parking garage. And a vaguely Ballard-esque high rise in the background. Don’t forget that.
You guys have a great weekend.
It has not just a parking lot, but an entire parking garage. And a vaguely Ballard-esque high rise in the background. Don’t forget that.
You guys have a great weekend.
Specifically, I used Photoshop to remove the light switch on the wall directly above Krissy. Because it ruined the composition, that’s why! Man, Photoshop is handy sometimes.
In other news, I’m off to Penguicon in a couple hours, where I’ll be doing a reading (with Dave Klecha) and a panel and otherwise just, you know, hanging about. Come say hello if you’re there. If you’re not there and you say hello, that’s fine, but I may not hear you. Sorry.
As a heads up for folks:
My May is going to be super busy with things that don’t involve being online, including writing and travel, so that means that I’m planning to spend most of May offline. I’m not closing down Whatever because I’ve scheduled Big Ideas, but content here is likely to be those pieces and the occasional photo of cats and/or sunsets and the even-more-occasional entry with words (one’s likely to happen on my birthday, for example).
Also, and for the same reason, I’m likely to cut back substantially on social media in May. My current plan is to sign on in the evening if at all; we’ll see if I stick to that, because social media is like crack. But that is the plan.
So if things seem a little sparse here in the next month and you don’t otherwise see me online much, you’ll know why. I’m not dead or sick or in hiding. I’m just busy with work in the real world, and sometimes that’s the priority.
First off, gaze upon Chuck Tingle’s latest story, above (and for sale here). That’s kind of awesome.
Second off, I see some people here and elsewhere swearing they’re going to put anything that was on the Sad/Rabid slates or recommendation lists below “No Award” this year. Bluntly, you’ll be foolish if you do this. As I noted in my LA Times piece yesterday, the Puppies this year slated things that were already popular outside their little circles, like, for example, The Sandman: Overture, by Neil Gaiman.
Come on, folks. Does anyone really think Neil Gaiman holds active membership in the Puppy brigades? Or Stephen King? Or Alastair Reynolds (who specifically asked to be dropped from the Puppy lists, and was ignored)? Or Lois McMaster Bujold? Or, for that matter, probably Chuck Tingle? I mean, hell, someone put me on the Sad Puppy recommendation list for a while*, despite the fact I rather publicly dropped out of consideration for awards this year, and the fact that many people who identify as Sad Puppies wouldn’t piss on me if I were on fire.
Don’t give credit for the Puppies slating already popular work and then acting like they got it on the ballot, or for dragooning unwilling and unwitting people onto their slates for their own purposes. That’s essentially victim blaming. Rather, use your common sense when looking at the work and people nominated. The Puppies would be happy if you didn’t do that, mind you. I’m hard pressed to understand why you would oblige them so.
(But then the Puppies win! Yeah, folks, about that: They’re going to proclaim victory no matter what; they did that last year when they got their collective asses handed to them at the Hugo Award ceremony. We totally meant to lose! It validates everything we did! Well, fine, whatever. Personally, I’m going to ask what I always ask: Is this work worth giving a Hugo to? That’s a question that has an answer irrespective of any Puppy “strategy.”)
Third off, and on the subject of victim blaming, I do see a number of people exclaiming that because the Puppies have stuffed ballot boxes yet again, it’s the Hugos that suck and are horrible, etc. Folks, no. The Hugos are a nice fan/industry award, and didn’t do anything to deserve the nonsense that’s happening to them, except to have an exploitable flaw in the nominating process that previously no one really exploited because no one wanted to be that asshole. The people who are currently exploiting that flaw in the process are the ones who suck and are horrible, and the ones being assholes. They’re targeting the Hugos because the Hugos don’t actually suck or are horrible, and because they know that doing so hurts other people, and they like that, because, again, they’re assholes.
So, please, differentiate between the two, would you? It’s actually kind of important to make that distinction. And as a bonus, making the distinction gives at least some honor to the people who are working behind the scenes of the Hugos, this year and last year, who have had to deal with malignant trolls fucking with a thing they love. Giving them that tiny bit of honor would be nice, too.
Fourth off, one of the finalists for Best Short Story, Thomas May, who was on the Rabid Puppy slate, has left the ballot, for admirable reasons. All respect to him for a difficult decision. I don’t believe this should be a signal for folks to hint to other finalists that they should follow his example, for reasons I outline above, i.e., this year’s slates were filled with people and work the Puppies put in for their own strategic ends, and are essentially blameless for an association that is unintended and/or unwanted. If you’ve got a mind to pester people about this, please consider not. Let them do as they will, just as you do what you will when it comes time to vote.
(* Yes, I know the Sad Puppy recommendation list was open to all to put things on it. I also suspect, perhaps uncharitably, that the Puppies know their own and used the recommendation lists with that fact in mind. This is why I suspect I wouldn’t have gotten many votes out of that “recommendation” in any event. This is also why I’m not entirely convinced it wasn’t used for slate-y purposes (and a further reason why I’m not inclined to hold a work being on that recommendation list against it). That said, and as with last year, the Sad Puppies were a sideshow to the Rabids, who straight up slated.
I also recognize that many Sad Puppies don’t like being conflated with Rabid Puppies, but, you know, it was the Sads that brought the Rabids to the party, and I expect there’s still sufficient overlap in goals and strategy to tie them together, so, yeah, color me not entirely convinced. If the Sads want to really differentiate themselves, a change in branding would be the very smallest start.
With all that said: Be aware my point of view re: the Puppies also comes from being a direct target of their ire for several years running. Your mileage may vary.)
I just wrote a much longer piece going over last nights results in detail, but other than the line where I called Ted Cruz “a malignant teratoma with a law degree” it was just boring as hell, so, here’s the shorter version:
Hey! Cruz! Kasich! Sanders! You got no shot! Let it go!
They won’t, of course. They all think they’re going to get something at their conventions (Cruz and Kasich: A presidential nomination that they won’t get and which would be toxic they moment they pried it from Trump even if they could; Sanders, rather more reasonably: A seat at the table when it comes to strategy), so I expect they’ll keep trudging along. But the rest of us don’t have to pretend that these three aren’t in garbage time, as far as their presidential chances go, do we? The rest of us don’t have to pretend they’re doing anything other than “playing for pride” at this point, right?
My only real regret with respect to any of these three is that Cruz didn’t emerge as a stronger presidential contender this cycle, because this means he’ll be under the delusion that he’s got a shot in 2020. I mean, on one hand, okay, that’d likely give Clinton her second term? But, oy, Cruz all over the TV, again. For months. Just shoot me into space, already.
Anyway: Come on, guys. Wrap it up. It’s time.
Thoughts on this year’s Hugo finalists (the list of which you can find here):
* First, as part of my new gig at the Los Angeles Times, I wrote an analysis of this year’s ballot there, so head on over there if you want to see it (Note it’s geared toward a general audience, so there a lot of explanatory stuff in there folks here will likely already know). As I’ve already written substantially on the Hugos there, what I write here will be brief.
* Overall, the nominations in several categories look pretty decent to me – Best Novel is particularly not bad at all! At least a couple of categories are a tiresome shitshow, however, thanks to the Puppies, again.
* Which we knew might happen again, remember? Fixing the slating issue was a two-year process. This is year two. Keep working on it, folks.
* The Puppies are once again trying to troll a bunch of people (the Best Related Category is one particularly obvious troll) and while I don’t mean to downplay the basic craptasticness of their actions, I’m finding it all that difficult to get worked up about it. I mean, I know the Puppies are hoping for outrage? Again? But as noted, we’ve seen this act before, and this time it’s just boring. Yes, yes, Puppies. You’re still sad little bigoted assholes screaming for attention. Got it, thanks.
Bear in mind I’m a direct target for their nonsense; at least two of the finalist works go after me in one way or another. I’m very specifically someone they’re trying to get worked up (and to tear down). And yet I just can’t manage it. I’m pretty much over the Puppies. There’s only so many times a toddler can throw a tantrum before you just shrug. You still have to clean up after the toddler, mind you. But you don’t have to let the toddler dictate the terms. Pity these particular toddlers are grown humans.
Aaaand that’s about all the energy I’m willing to expend on the Puppies this year: A tiny bit of pity, and then consideration of the things on the finalist ballot worth my time – which, fortunately, there are several, and would have been no matter what the Pups did.
It’s not often that a highly successful military science fiction series involves me in some way. But here’s Marko Kloos explaining how I was in a small way tangentially a part of the creation of his highly successful military science fiction series, of which Chains of Command is the latest installment.
The first book of what is now called the Frontlines series came to be because of a highly effective motivator: last-minute deadline panic.
Eight years ago, I applied for a slot in a writing workshop called Viable Paradise. I knew a few people who had attended VP, and they all spoke highly of it. When I checked the roster of instructors, I was happily surprised to see the names of some heavy hitters in the SF business: Steven Gould, Laura Mixon, Elizabeth Bear, Patrick and Teresa Nielsen Hayden, Jim McDonald and Debra Doyle, and some guy named John Scalzi. To top off the list of arguments for attendance, the workshop was reasonably affordable, geographically close (it takes place every year on Martha’s Vineyard, and I’m in New Hampshire), and took only a week, which was eminently swingable on both my stay-at-home parent schedule and stay-at-home parent wallet.
The only trouble was that I heard about the workshop a week before the close of the submissions/application period, and I needed a few short stories or novel chapters to send in as application pieces for evaluation. I had neither.
So I sat down and wrote a few chapters of a fantasy novel that, in retrospect, should have been titled “The Journeys of Generica: Book One of the Derivative Kingdoms Saga.” At the time, I thought it was decent enough, and I gave the samples to my wife to read. She did so, and then tactfully suggested that I may want to send in, uh, something else.
With six days to go on the application deadline (and having to subtract two days from that to account for Priority Mail), I was in a bind. While I had always wanted to write SF or fantasy, I had no finished or even reasonably progressing projects in either genre on hand. I had two trunk novels sitting on my hard drive, but they were general fiction. I had recently read a novel called Old Man’s War by John Scalzi, and figured that because I enjoy reading military SF, I’d probably enjoy writing a military SF story. I served in the German military during the tail end of the Cold War, and I had always wanted to have a vehicle to make use of all the little sensory details and experiences from my own military service, and baking it all into a Military SF novel seemed like a good idea.
The boot camp sequence is practically a trope in the Military SF genre, and “Young Person Goes To War” is shorthand description for three quarters of Military SF debut novels. That’s not a terribly bad thing—when you go to the zoo, you’re either happy to see the giraffes again or you aren’t, and Military SF readers in particular like to see the giraffes, so to speak. But I had this idea in my head to put a different spin on my version of Space Marine Boot Camp. Current recruiting practice treats the new applicant as a valuable resource because the military usually has to work hard to fill all its slots with volunteers. Most future boot camps in fiction do the same—the old saw about tough drill instructor love, motivating the recruits to excel and be All They Can Be.
What if you had a future military that was so swamped with applicants that the D.I.s wouldn’t have to give a rat’s behind whether their charges make it through training or not? What if the D.I.s could wash people out at will because they knew exactly that five hundred applicants would stand in line tomorrow to take that slot?
From there, it was a simple exercise: thinking up a near-future version of North America where life sucks. Overpopulation, pollution, rampant crime, scarce resources, a population limited to 2,000-calorie-a-day rations of processed crap that’s made to taste awful on purpose to discourage overconsumption. Things would have to be so awful so much for the majority of the population that the prospect of death in battle would seem a fair trade for a shot at a paycheck and food that isn’t made from soy and recycled human waste.
With only a few days to think about the world-building and actually doing the writing work, I drew that crapsack world in rough sketches—just enough detail for the reader to get the idea, not so much that I’d have to spend weeks and months making up maps and diagrams and elaborate timelines. So Terms of Enlistment, the first Frontlines book, established the main conceit of the series, the grunt’s-eye view of the conflict, told in first person perspective. We see what the protagonist Andrew Grayson sees. We know about the world and its technology what he knows—no more, no less. It sort of puts the tech and the political machinations into the background bit and makes them scenery. With that kind of storytelling approach, other things move into the foreground: all the sensory details and awfulness of battle as experienced by the guy who doesn’t have a god’s eye view of events, filtered through the worldview and morality of a twenty-year-old kid from the future version of the projects.
With Chains of Command, the Frontlines series is now four books strong, with a fifth one in the works and a sixth under contract. My hasty half-ass first few chapters set the foundation for everything that followed, and it turned out to be a fortuitous restriction. With the immediate viewpoint and the broad-stroke pictures of the world as Andrew sees it, I was free to focus on character development instead of meticulous world-building and exposition. And as Andrew gets older and more experienced, the novels start addressing things that he would begin to think about after a few years of service to a system that tries to hold the lid down on a pot that’s about to boil over. Do you always follow orders, or are there just and unjust ones? At what point do you use your own judgment and question authority while fulfilling your oath of service? Military SF is often focused on the pulling of triggers (complete with three-page descriptions of the weapon system to which said trigger is attached), but how do you decide when not to pull the trigger?
Frontlines makes an attempt to address that conundrum, and it has been great and challenging fun to let young Andrew Grayson mature over the course of four novels and find his own answers to those questions.
Lots of news in the last couple of weeks about Amazon Kindle Unlimited scammers, who are creating 3,000-page books filled with mostly garbage because that’s what lets them take advantage of the way Amazon pays authors participating in the KU scheme: Amazon tracks the last page synced and pays out by how far into the book someone’s gone (as opposed to read).
This is bad news for actual authors with actual books, because a) actual books are generally much smaller than three thousand pages, and b) Amazon doesn’t pay a set rate per page — it defines a KU “pot” of money for each month and then pays out to authors by the number of pages they register readers as having gotten through, as a proportion of total pages read on the service that month. So if (purely as an example) Amazon defines the payout pot for KU as $1 million for a month, then all the authors participating have to split that $1 million — and the scam artist with the fake 3,000-page book is going to get a larger chunk of that $1 million than the actual author with a 300-page book.
Bear in mind that no matter what compensatory scheme Amazon does for its KU system, someone is going to find a way to maximize it. Before the current “pages read” scheme, Amazon paid out when a certain percentage of a book was gone through, which drove authors to create very short books that would hit their payout percentage with just a couple of page flips. It was this gaming, presumably, that caused Amazon to change how it did its payout. If and when Amazon changes its payout scheme (again), people will find out how to game the system under the new rules. It’s what happens.
(Nor is adjusting one’s work to take advantage of the market a problem; publishers have always done this. Is the money is cheap paperbacks? They will make cheap paperbacks. Is the money in hardcovers? They’ll make hardcovers. What, novellas are the next big thing? They’ll all make novellas! Likewise, if Amazon is saying to self-pubbed authors (and, by extension, scammers) “[X] is the way we decide to pay you,” then it’s rational to do [X].)
The problem with the Kindle Unlimited scammers isn’t really the compensatory triggers of KU or the fact that everyone, legit author or otherwise, is looking for the way to squeeze as much money as possible from it. The problem is: who bears the immediate economic brunt of the scammers taking advantage of whatever scheme Amazon decides upon? Well, it’s not Amazon, that’s for sure, since its financial exposure is only what it wants to pay out on a monthly basis; scammers in the system or no, Amazon only pays what Amazon wants to pay. The readers also get off lightly; their economic exposure is only they flat fee they pay to access KU.
So that leaves the actual authors, whose share of a fixed amount of money is being diluted by bad actors who see how the system can be gamed and are cheerfully gaming it as fast as they can. It is the authors’ problem because Amazon doesn’t pay out like it has to pay out for printed books, where each unit sold has a contractually-defined royalty that is independent of any other book or author and how well they are selling. Again, Amazon pays from a pot it defines and controls and which is limited; in effect pitting authors against each other, and all of them against the scammers. In this case the scammers are winning because it takes almost no time to create a scam book, assign fake accounts to “read” it, and profit; meanwhile writing real books actual people would invest their time in is still the same time-intensive effort it always was.
Is this fair? Well, life’s not fair, and in business (which this is) you get what you contractually agree to. Kindle Unlimited authors presumably know that they are only going to get what Amazon is willing to give them for their participation; they also presumably know that their marketplace is “fair,” with regard to scammers, to the extent that Amazon wants to make it so; they also presumably know that their ability to force Amazon to do anything to deal with scammers is exceptionally limited because the KU agreement privileges Amazon over individual KU participants to an extraordinary degree. KU participants, by participating, have agreed to let Amazon shift the financial risk over to them.
(Well, some of them. It’s my understanding that there is a tranche of authors — generally hugely best-selling, generally not self-published — whose participation in KU is through other deals where their compensation is not tied into an Amazon-defined pot. Good for them! And another reminder of the issue of “fair” in publishing — nothing’s fair, everything is what you agree to in contracts.)
That being said, if Amazon doesn’t eventually deal with the scammers, then it will become their problem: Authors, quite reasonably, won’t want to participate if scammers are taking money that should be going to them, and readers won’t see the value of the KU subscription if authors stay off the service. Humans are bad-experience avoidant, and it doesn’t take many bad experiences to keep people away. It’s in Amazon’s best interest to fix this. Eventually. I’m pretty sure it will.
But only to a point. Amazon is very very very unlikely to ever make Kindle Unlimited a scheme that doesn’t rely on a fixed payout, defined by Amazon itself. And that is why, at the end of it, KU (and, to be clear, other subscription services with a service-defined payout pot) will always disadvantage authors in terms of how much they can make, and why these authors will always suffer first and foremost from scammers — because there’s only so much money for authors in the scheme, and that’s the money scammers are taking. There will always be scammers and people who will game the system; so as long as the KU scheme pays out from a fixed pot, authors participating in it will always be the most vulnerable to their actions.
Amazon should deal with its KU scammers. It should also compensate KU authors for their work independent of how other authors are doing, or what they are doing, or what scammers are doing. The first of these is rather more likely than the others. If you’re an author participating in Kindle Unlimited, know what you’re getting into, and the fact that it’s you whose money is on the line when the scammers game the system.
I’m occasionally reminded that I don’t know the name of every plant around my house. This is an example: I call this one the “puffball shrub,” because, well, here’s a puffball. I’m sure someone has told me what kind of plant this is. It’s just that the information rolled out of my head after they told me. Nevertheless, it is pretty. So here you go. Have a puffball.
Columbus has clouds!
My event in Westerville went well, and now I’m kicking back in my hotel room here in Columbus, where tomorrow I’m a featured author at the Ohioana Book Festival. If you’re in the area, come on down. It will be lovely to see you. If you’re not in the area, well, enjoy the clouds in the picture.
I’m heading east today, slightly, to participate in two events: Today, at 1:30 pm. I’m appearing at the Westerville Public Library for a reading and a signing. I’ll be reading not-yet-published material, so if you want new stuff from me, that’s where to go. Then tomorrow I’m at the Ohioana Book Festival all day, where I will be doing a panel and signing books. Come see me at either! Or both! Both are entirely free to the public. See you there!
This is not a good day.
Let’s go crazy anyway.
Do I have a couple of thoughts on the New York primary? Why, yes! Yes I do.
* Hey, remember when Ted Cruz decided to mock “New York values” back in Iowa, a nicely-coded way for him to say that the God-fearing conservative white people of Iowa could trust him because he wasn’t down with minorities or gays or liberals or Jews? Turns out New Yorkers remembered too! Which is why, out of that delegate-rich state, Cruz pried out exactly zero delegates. Meanwhile, Trump has won at least 89 of the 95, with John “Ha Ha Ha Suck It I’m Still In It” Kasich receiving at least three, while outpolling Cruz by a double digit margin.
To put it another way, New York just gave Trump more than eleven times as many delegates as Iowa gave Cruz. I understand why Cruz made his “New York values” snark — Iowa’s the first caucus in the nation, Cruz wanted momentum out of the gate, and he figured in his gormless, delusional way that he’d be much better off in the delegate count by New York than he is, and possibly even that Trump would be out of the running by now. But in retrospect, Cruz bought those Iowa delegates dear. Cruz was probably never going to win New York, especially with Trump in the race, but it’s possible he might have shaved off a few to several delegates by not losing so badly in assorted districts. Guess not!
Which is to say that Cruz, a gross and despicable avulsion that yet managed to sprout opposable thumbs, just murdered any realistic chance he had of ever catching Trump in the delegate count, while at the same time giving Trump a hell of a boost going into next week’s primaries. FiveThirtyEight’s delegate tracker, which measures how many delegates each candidate needs in each primary to win the nomination before their party’s convention, currently has Trump at 95%, which means in the future he has to do only slightly better than he is now to get the nod. Cruz, meanwhile, has merely 57% of his number — he would have to basically run the board at this point to catch up.
He’s not going to. Cruz comes out of New York looking like a loser, I mean, hell, Kasich won an infinite multiple more delegates in New York than he did. Next week’s primaries don’t look good for Cruz — Trump has double-digit polling leads in Connecticut, Maryland and Pennsylvania, and Cruz is neck-and-neck in polling with Kasich in the latter two states (I don’t have polling data for Rhode Island and Delaware, which also go next week). Four of the five states are “Winner take all” or “Winner take most” in terms of delegates. Next week is when Cruz is absolutely, positively mathematically eliminated from winning the nomination outright, while Trump is positioned to win the nomination before the convention.
* But Trump still might not get his delegate numbers! I hear you say. True enough; after next week he’s got Indiana, which might be friendlier to Cruz, and there are a few other states like Nebraska or South Dakota that might go toward Cruz rather than Trump. But, thing is, even if Trump doesn’t ring the bell, he’s going to come really close, while neither Cruz nor Kasich is getting anywhere near it. It’s not just about who makes it to the nomination, I think, it’s also about the margins the remaining contenders have coming in if no one does.
I mean, let me be clear in case there’s confusion on the matter: I don’t want Trump to be the GOP’s candidate in the general, because humanity deserves better. I don’t want Cruz either, because he’s a necrotic self-regarding blight on the face of American politics — but I’d be happy if the GOP fielded him because once he lost, and he would, oh my, how he would lose, then he’d be done as a serious presidential candidate and would nevermore potentially darken the door of the White House. But I can’t see how the GOP can realistically deprive Trump of the nomination if he’s substantially ahead of his competition and reasonably close to the finish line.
They might want to, and they might still even say fuck it, we’re not going to win this year anyway, so the hell with Trump, and then give it to Cruz or even someone else not currently in the mix (sorry, Kasich). But this really is 2016, not the 1920s, and having the party boffins override the will of a plurality of the party member votes is a dangerous game, especially with some Trump folks open to basically harassing delegates to keep them in line. Bypassing Trump is not going to end well. And if Cruz does get the nomination over Trump despite coming in with hundreds of fewer delegates, well. There’s not enough popcorn in the world for what comes next.
In the end, I think New York effectively buried Cruz’s presidential chances. He’s going to be firing up sneaky parliamentary tricks from now to the convention, but yeah. In terms of making the Oval Office his own, Cruz is a political dead man walking.
* Which makes nice segue for another candidate who I suspect lost the White House brass ring in New York: Let’s talk about Bernie Sanders, shall we? My Facebook feed last night was basically a wall of denial talking about all the ways that Sanders could still pull this one out of the bag, with added imprecation aimed at New York for having a closed Democratic primary, which shuts out independent voters, i.e., the folks these Sanders supporters believe would have carried their man to victory.
Let me address the second part of this first. To begin, speaking as an independent voter, I actually find it entirely unobjectionable that a political party might decide, hey, let’s actually let party members pick our candidate. Is it nice when non-members get a vote? Sure; I took advantage of that myself with this last Ohio primary, when I voted on the Republican side of the fence. But had Ohio’s rules nixed that, I would not have griped about the unfairness of it, because I am not a party member, nor do I want to be (ugh, junk mail), and that’s a choice I willingly made.
I get that it’s cool and hipster to be independent and keep all your options open (or whatever), but the price for that is that you only get to go to the party if the party lets you in. New York keeps the indie rabble on the street side of the velvet rope. Them’s the breaks. If you’re an engaged voter — and you should be! — you should know your state’s primary voting practices, including when you need to register to be participate in party primaries — which, in New York, is very early.
(But we didn’t know about Sanders back then! comes the cry. Okay, but, so what? You know, Sanders launched his campaign in May of 2015, and as I understand it the deadline for changing one’s party affiliation for the New York primaries was in October. So that was four months at a minimum to get on it. And while I certainly will not defend the deadline as reasonable, it also wasn’t a secret, nor was it particularly difficult to register for a party. There was time. In my mind this doesn’t rise to the level of actual disenfranchisement.)
To continue, the idea that the potential flood of independent voters an open primary might have engendered might have turned the tide for Sanders is kinda suspect. To date there have been thirteen open Democratic primaries, and of those thirteen Clinton has won ten, and of the three that Sanders won, one was a virtual tie (Michigan), and the only blowout Sanders had in the format was in his home state of Vermont. Sanders’ best format for wins is actually the caucuses, which reward the especially fervent — he’s won six of nine closed caucuses and all three open caucuses. Meanwhile in addition to the 10 of 13 open primaries, Clinton’s won three of the four closed primaries (the one of these Sanders won: “Democrats Abroad”).
(In addition, Clinton was a senator from New York and actually, you know, lives there.)
So, no, I’m not hugely convinced that allowing indies to vote would have resulted in a Sanders win in New York. Sanders narrowing the gap of the loss? Sure, maybe, but it should be noted that Sanders narrowing the gap wouldn’t have done him much material good if Clinton had walked away with a net gain of delegates on him; she was already up by a couple hundred delegates.
* Which brings us to that first thing. People, and particularly Sanders supporters, seem to forget that Clinton has margin to burn, and thanks to the proportional delegate allocation of the Democratic primaries, Clinton doesn’t have to win another state. All she has to do is keep her losses close, so that Sanders can’t trim up the (now) 230-some-odd pledged delegate gap he has and get ahead. To be clear, for her own sake and the sake of optics, she should win some more states between now and June 14, when the last primary (DC) happens. But she doesn’t have to.
And I get that this may be frustrating for Sanders enthusiasts. Also frustrating for Sanders fans: Sanders has closed the gap with Clinton in national polls and has recently been within the margin of error, meaning that statistically speaking the two of them are basically tied in terms of popularity. But unfortunately for the Sanders folks, for the primaries, it doesn’t actually matter how many states you win or whether you’re up in a national poll. What matters is delegates, delegates, delegates. Right now, Clinton has more pledged delegates, and there’s a very good chance she’ll add to that number next week, as she has polling leads in Pennsylvania, Maryland and Connecticut, all of which (and Delaware) have closed primaries.
(Also, and this is not trivial, according to the FiveThirtyEight delegate tracker, Clinton is overperforming in terms of the delegates she will need to reach the nomination before the convention — she’s at 108% of her number, whereas Sanders is currently at 92% of his number. Note that before NY, she was at 107% and Sanders was at 93%, so the gap there is widening, too.)
With that all that said, look: Clinton isn’t snatching this primary season from Sanders by legerdemain, pulling a Cruz and trying to sneak up on her opponent’s delegates to knife him at the convention. Currently she’s won more contests (21 to 17), gotten more votes (10,387,916 to 7,699,652), and again, won more pledged delegates (1,444 to 1,207). She also happens to have a lock on the superdelegates, by a 10-1 margin, in fact, but she doesn’t need them at this point (and Sanders’ folks, it should be noted, are looking at them hungrily). She’s winning the primary season the same way Obama did in 2008: By grinding the damn thing out, delegate by delegate.
I personally like that Sanders has given Clinton a run for her money — I think he’s driven her out of her political comfort zone a bit and in any event having a Clinton coronation in the primaries would have made her more of a target in the general, even if the GOP is doing her a huge favor by blowing up — but ironically (or perhaps not so ironically) the vibe I get off of Sanders and a large number of his supporters is the thing I think they would like to accuse Clinton and her supporters of: Entitlement. Their own fervor plus the fact that Sanders has done better than the oddsmakers would have predicted has meant that when Sanders has not won a state there must be a reason the state was taken from him rather than simply, you know, lost by him. Thus in New York, the cry that independents were somehow disenfranchised by not being allowed to vote in a primary of a political party they don’t actually belong to.
The shorter, more accurate answer is: Dudes, he just plain lost. He’s likely to lose some more states next week. Even if he does win, if he doesn’t win by enough, he’s still going to be behind in delegates and over time Clinton may well cross that delegate finish line before he does. It’s rather more likely she will than not.
Sanders supporters should not stop grinding it out — please don’t — but they should entertain the fact that the reason Clinton is winning right now is because she is actually winning right now. And that maybe if she takes the nomination, and I expect she will, it will be because she actually earned it — just as if Sanders takes it, it will be for the same reason.
Paolo Bacigalupi has made a career out of imagining the some of the less pleasant futures that are possible given humanity’s current path, written brilliantly enough to keep you turning the pages even as you realize to your horror he might turn out right about these things. The Water Knife, a hardcover bestseller now releasing in paperback, is no exception, and in this Big Idea, Bacigalupi writes about when he was writing the book, the present was influencing the future world he was creating.
(Disclaimer: I liked this book enough to blurb it.)
When I began writing The Water Knife in 2011, the Texas drought was in full swing: record-breaking temperatures, low reservoirs, dying cattle, and a governor who was encouraging people to pray for rain.
As I worked on The Water Knife in 2012, I attended a drought conference in Colorado, my home state. Snowpack in many areas was nearly non-existent. Tourism and agriculture were hurting. Reservoirs were at historic lows. Forest fires were tearing through parts of the state, and those places that burned then turned into mudslide zones when rains finally did come. And at the drought conference, no one could utter the words “climate change.”
By the time The Water Knife was published in 2015, the western United States was in the grip of a new epic drought. The Sierras had no snow. Hundred year-old orchards were dying. Reservoirs throughout the state were draining dry. Above Los Angeles, they were pouring plastic balls into their reservoirs to slow evaporation. Desalinization plants were once again under discussion, despite the costs and environmental complications. In Nevada, Lake Mead sank to to historic lows, and Las Vegas finally completed a multibillion megaproject to dig Intake Number Three, a last bid attempt to allow them to pump from a reservoir that had been sinking for a decade. In the Northwest, fires raged through tinder dry forests, and a heatwave seized hold of Portland, Ore.
When I conceived The Water Knife, I was aiming to create a visceral experience of a future that I feared was rushing toward us. I thought I was being sober and serious when I set the Big Daddy Drought of the novel some decades still into the future.
By the time the book actually came out, snowpack in the river drainage where I live was at 1% of normal.
In some ways, the droughts of 2015 made The Water Knife seem prescient. The news was stuffed full of stories of wells going dry, battles over water rights, farmers watching worriedly as dry cities turned their thirsty gazes on farmers’ water rights. And then of course, there was Syria, collapsed into a civil war that looked a lot like what a model for a real water war might look like. Not a war over water, but a war sparked and exacerbated by drought and food scarcity, that was already starting to put domino pressure on other countries as refugees began to flee the horror of their collapsed country.
There it all was: fires, scarcity, refugees.
It made The Water Knife seem, if not predictive, at least entirely reasonable.
But the feeling I really had was that I had missed the story. Even though I had been trying to write a future of water scarcity that would seem both real and believable and imminent, as I went out on book tour, I realized that I had been deluding myself as much as an idiot climate denier like Rick Pray-For-Rain Perry.
In attempting to make the book seem reasonable and “realistic,” I had set my climate disaster a comfortable few decades still in the future. But the the uncomfortable reality that even I don’t want to honestly face is that we simply don’t know when climate disaster will come. Science tells us that that climate disaster is out there, looming—more and more likely to occur—but no one can say exactly when. And as I toured the parched western states last year, it was a little frightening to realize that even someone like me—who spends most of my time being anxious about what tomorrow may bring—would prefer to delude myself into believing that while the risk is out there, it won’t come yet.
That’s our problem. The same problem we humans always face. Our human instinct is to pray and hope that even if bad things are coming, that they aren’t coming yet. I make fun of Rick Perry because hides from the data that says his state will increasingly become a desert, but really, we’re all in denial.
I certainly was in denial, even as I wrote The Water Knife, even though I couldn’t see it.
We want to keep flying around the world, and driving our cars and expanding our cities into deserts. We want to keep buying gasoline and importing our gadgets from around the world, and enjoying the fruits of our technological age. We want so desperately to keep going with our immediate comforts, that we willfully avoid the fact that Not Yet might turn out to be Right Now.
Right now, El Nino has been kind enough to dump some rain on California and some snow in the Rockies, and so we might be tempted to think that today really will turn out to be Not Yet. But down in Australia, where drought has run for the last decade, the reservoirs outside of Perth aren’t just low as they are here in the States—they’re empty. Syrian refugees continue to swamp Europe, people desperate to get away from the conflict in their own land, and the dams and rivers of the middle east are strategic assets for the warring powers. And of course, here in the United States, we see demagogues and fear-mongers gaining in popularity, the politics of fear of outsiders who might need desperately to move as their own parts of the world become uninhabitable.
One thing I do think I got right in The Water Knife is that climate crisis and collapse won’t come all in a rush. It will be a slow accretion of problems, accidents, and missteps. A steady accumulation of stressors and shortages that finally trigger political and social unravellings, that then cause further domino effects. The Water Knife isn’t about a lone hardy band of survivors after a climate apocalypse, it’s a story about millions of people, all trying to adapt and shift, after spending too much time believing that Not Yet meant Never Will, and I think I got that right, because I see my own instinct to keep making bargains with against my son’s future, telling myself that I still have time before a true catastrophe. Telling myself that we all do, even if it’s just another decade or two.
Some people say that a story like The Water Knife is unrealistic. A broken future that will never be, because we won’t ever be that stupid, or selfish, or lacking in foresight.
I do hope they’re right.
It’s her birthday! Please feel free to wish her a happy one.
The crab apple blossoms this year are a little on the underwhelming side, due to a late freeze killing a fair number of them, but there’s enough for this bumblebee to work with, and she’s working on them indeed, in the late afternoon sun.
Hope your weekend was a good one.
Because it’s been a while, and while the Scamperbeasts get most of the photographic attention these days, Zeus is still a mighty beast. Enjoy him in all his majesty.
Other than that, for those of us in the US, celebrate that today isn’t tax day (for federal, at least), and that you get the whole weekend to try to jam through your forms and deductions. If you haven’t already filed, I’m wishing you the best.
(Yes, we filed before. And yes, we owed. I, uh, made some money last year. The taxes on that income were not trivial. It actually hurt to see the sums. But we paid them, because on balance we’re not overtaxed and also the roads don’t pave themselves, etc.)
Have a great weekend, folks.
In North Carolina, the legislature passed an absolutely appalling discriminatory law, and the effect was that companies started rethinking upcoming business in the state and some notable creative folk, including Bruce Springsteen and Sherman Alexie, pulled out of upcoming events. This has prompted articles like this one and this one, where people are making the argument that when creative folk pull out of doing events in North Carolina, innocent people like children and business owners are punished.
My thought on this is: Yes? And? Boycotts are by their nature designed to cause economic and social distress, are they not? In order to create economic and social pressure to change whatever it is that is being protested, in this case an absolutely unjust law that among other things singles out a particular group of people for discrimination? And if in this case the boycott is of the state of North Carolina, because the state itself passed the law, then yes, causing distress to the children and businesses of North Carolina by depriving them of things that they would otherwise have if the state didn’t have that unjust law is pretty much directly on point. Children have parents who vote. Businesses are owned by people who vote and who can also pressure state legislatures.
This is what a boycott is and does. The bookstore owner in the NY Times article says “we’ve had authors’ backs when their books were challenged or their events protested. We need authors to have our backs, too.” As much as I sympathize with the bookstore owner who complains that she’s being punished for a law she personally abhors, the target of the boycott is the state, not her. The state will be happy to fill its tax coffers equally from the people who have the “right” sort of views as it is from the people who have the “wrong” ones. If the state can look and see that a boycott is having no real net effect, economically and socially, it’s not going to be particularly effective. As a tool of change, it’s a failure.
Boycotts are meant to hurt. Strikes, which are a similar action, are meant to hurt, too — and again, that’s the point. These sorts of tactics are not designed to spare the people who don’t think they’re involved (or shouldn’t be); they’re designed to remind them that they are involved, whether they like it or not, and that their participation is required, again, whether they like it or not. I’m sorry for the bookstore, and for the kids of North Carolina, but Bruce Springsteen, Sherman Alexie and anyone other creative who decides that their conscience does not allow them to go to North Carolina are not wrong.
I understand the bookseller would like their boycott to pass her by; I understand why the other writer wants authors to think of the children. Let us also make space for the argument that those authors are thinking of the children and are leveraging what they have — their notability and the desirability of their presence — to make sure some of those children are not actively discriminated against by the state. Let us also make space for the argument that they are using their influence so that they can “have the backs” of people who the state has just declared to be second-class citizens, and that at the moment, those backs have priority.
And yes, in both cases that might hurt. But again, that’s the point.
I’m having one of those weeks (so far, anyway) when I sit down to write something here and all I come up with is… meeeeeeeh. Which is to say I don’t feel I have anything of particular interest to say on any particular subject, so I’m unmotivated to try to pretend that I do. Even that thing about Stephen Hawking and the Russian billionaire planning to send tiny robots to Alpha Centauri using lasers has me all “I’ll wait ’till they actually build something to get excited.”
This would have worried me more in the past, but these days I’m pretty sanguine about it. Have nothing to say? Cool, when I do have something to say I’ll post about it. In the meantime, I’ll post a cat or sunset pic, it’s all good.
On that note:
I’m not saying I got the Scamperbeasts so that I would have pictures to post when I couldn’t be bothered to think of things to write here. But I will admit they do come in handy.
Who dares to broach The Book of Forbidden Wisdom? And who dares to write it? Gillian Murray Kendall, who has done the latter, talks about what that book means and represents in the world she’s created for it.
GILLIAN MURRAY KENDALL:
The evil brother of Lady Angel Montrose interrupts her wedding and threatens her life in order to get information from her about the location of The Book of Forbidden Wisdom. Lady Angel, her sister, Silky, and her best friend, Trey, flee in the night on their own quest to find The Book, which all believe contains great power and the access to great wealth. On their journey, they are joined by an itinerant Bard—the same one who played at Angel’s ill-fated wedding. Angel, whose marriage was to be one of convenience, finds herself drawn to the dark allure of the Bard—at the same that her friend, Trey, makes it clear he has always loved her.
The Book of Forbidden Wisdom is a tale of wild adventure that explores the nature of good and evil as well as the power of art to transfigure life; it is about a quest for wisdom and power that becomes, too, a quest for love.
Well, no. At the heart of the book lies a big idea: in the land that Angel and her sister, Silky, are forced to flee, the Great Aristocratic Houses are built on the sweat and tears and lives of the casteless and of vagabonds. And when Angel and Silky run from their evil brother, they are leaving behind a crushingly oppressive set of social mores: men and women cannot so much as touch before arranged marriages; the aristocracy and the casteless live in different worlds—one of unimaginable wealth, and one of poverty.
Once on the road with a Bard, however, Angel finds herself questioning everything she has been taught. Bards are landless, almost vagabonds, but traveling with the Bard makes it clear that all of her stereotypes are false. And the time comes when rules have to be broken.
Because Angel drowns. Or so it seems. After she groggily comes to after being submerged in flood waters, she notes that: “This thing is this. If an arrow pierces your heart, or a horse stomps on your head, you’re dead. Sometimes, though, with drowning, a person has a second chance.”
That second chance comes from the Bard—who she realizes is neither vassal nor freeman. Neither caste nor casteless. He saves her. Even so, Angel’s best friend, Trey, is horrified that, to bring her back to life, the Bard must actually touch Angel. Angel’s sister, Silky, on the other hand, seems to understand that the rules are changing:
“’That man,’ said Silky to Angel, ‘took you to the bank and squished the water right out of you. Trey was going to punch him for touching you, but I wouldn’t let him.’”
Despite the fact of saving Angel, the Bard wants no part of the Great Houses. But circumstances throw the characters together.
Angel is glad that the Bard will accompany them, although at first she sees him as others might, as belonging to “a caste so low it almost didn’t count as a caste, a caste forbidden from marriage to the landed, from carrying weapons, from fraternizing with nobility.” After hearing the bard sing, however, she has to acknowledge that he carries his own kind of power and a kind of magic—that of art, of song, of fiction. Bards, she realizes, are not “below” the Great Houses, but “beyond.” And Angel knows now that it would never be enough to thank the Bard for saving her life by giving him the tokens of the Great: by “paying him off with jewels” or “giving him the freedom of [her] lands.” And as the Bard travels with Angel and Silky and Trey, slowly the differences between the landed and the casteless erode.
The Book of Forbidden Wisdom, after all, opens with a prophetic dream, in which Angel sees “the casteless rise where the Great had been.” And it ends— well, I’m not going to tell you how it ends, except that major plot elements are resolved, while inroads are made into the caste system. And the power of literature lies behind the changes.
The quest, after all, is after a book—The Book of Forbidden Wisdom—which is something not just forbidden but subversive.
Perhaps all books are so.
The firemen of Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 would agree.
So would those everywhere who burn and ban books.
Luckily, one can’t burn or ban the ideas in them.
Someone who read The Book of Forbidden Wisdom asked me: “But what’s next? You make it sound as if there might be some kind of revolution in your next book.”