Fire

 6:16 a.m.

"Eric? The lights are flashing."

Audible pops and crackles accompanied each surge and dim, between 1–3 hertz. Something was definitely wrong.

I jumped up, listened more closely, and rushed outside. The transformer box next to our house, only five feet from the edge of our home, called out angrily, sputtering obscenities with each gushing of flame. Each bout of fire was only a foot in height, but it was especially strange seeing the fire emit from what I'd previously thought of as only asphalt. Smoke billowed from the transformer's core, telling me that fire may well also be in the box itself. The plumes were punctuated with each scream of the transformer; it reminded me of smoke signals. I immediately ran inside.

I called out to Katherine as I rushed upstairs: "You need to call out from work. I have to turn the breakers off."

The noise ceased as the circuit breakers were all turned off. I grabbed my phone and rushed downstairs, telling Katherine I would be calling 911 as I went outside.

The visible fire had stopped and the noises were gone. But the transformer itself continued to emit huge quantities of smoke. I called emergency services while I watched from a distance.

I can't recall his opening line; maybe he identified himself as a 911 operator first. But within two seconds of the phone call being answered, I was already prompted to give my address. I was then asked to repeat the address for the recording, asked for my name, and only then prompted to share what the emergency was. I get why they asked for the address twice before anything else, but why ask for my name? I suppose it may help to calm some people down, or perhaps help to identify people after the fact, but these seem insufficient reasons to ask for a name before asking about the emergency.

Two minutes later, I was off the phone and came inside to help Katherine and inform her of what was going on. She was in an inner room, using a lantern to see; together, we moved to the room closest to the front door, then I went outside to wait for the fire department. It did not take long for them to arrive.

I'm happy to report that all is well now. The fire department ensured nothing would get worse while the power company was called in to fix the issue. Once the smoke had stopped, the firemen left and the professionals began working on the issue. A pre-teen sized hole was dug; huge equipment was brought in on the street beside our home; and half a dozen workers did all that they could to resolve the issue. I was told I could turn my breakers back on, and, ten hours later, the electricity was back on in our home.

During those ten hours, a shipment of groceries arrived, Katherine played on her Switch, and I read voraciously. Overall, it went well. I am grateful to live in a place where people will come to help if we're ever in an emergency. In retrospect, the worst part of the day was surprisingly not that when I witnessed the small flames, nor hearing the loud pops, nor watching the continuous plumes of smoke while I talked to 911. No, the worst part was my reaction when the power came back on. I don't know how I ever got so spoiled, but I caught myself muttering a rather ungrateful "finally" as the power resumed and I was once again able to put my feet up in a power chair. I'm so embarrassed by my immediate reaction, and after only a moment's thought afterward, I chastised myself for being so jaded. Now, with the proper distance of it being 9 p.m. and the whole ordeal being over, I am properly thoughtful. I'm grateful to all those who helped us; I'm grateful to Katherine for noticing the problem so quickly and prompting me to act; and I'm especially grateful that the fire stayed away from our home proper.

Review: Time to Orbit: Unknown

The Javelin Program by Derin Edala
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I've always been fascinated by sociology in science fiction. Whether they're Belters from Corey's The Expanse, or various individuals in Banks' The Culture, seeing the sociological ramifications of various sci-fi premises is always something that scratches my rationalist itch.

I also love a good mystery in science fiction; these are somewhat more rare, usually showing up with unfair deus ex machina, but occasionally something like Clement's Mission of Gravity will present a hard sci-fi mystery that the reader can technically figure out from context, but which is difficult enough that you'll usually fail to do so. Good mysteries will always reward a second reread, like Palahniuk's Fight Club. Good mysteries in the hard sci-fi genre are almost nonexistent.

So consider my surprise when I come across Derin Edala's Time to Orbit: Unknown series. This is rational science fiction (my favorite kind!) focusing on a series of entirely fair mysteries (so rare!) about sociology of all things! This is a rarity of rarities, and it does not disappoint.

The main character of the two books in this series, The Javelin Program & The Antarctica Conspiracy, is the sociologist Dr. Aspen Greaves. They are, without a doubt, one of the best protagonists in a rational sci-fi mystery that I'm, aware of. (Part of this might be because the great hard sci-fi mystery writers are generally only good at _natural science_ mysteries, not mysteries of motivations or sociology. (Clement in particular is *terrible* at dialogue, to the same extent as he is utterly amazing at setting.)) Aspen, despite originating from a society that is foreign to me, proves to be an excellent reader surrogate. I'm not sure how exactly Edala was able to accomplish this, but it is easy to imagine myself in Aspen's shoes, even as they evaluate the various cultures of those around them.

I haven't even spoken to the plot of the Time to Orbit: Unknown series, but, honestly, I don't think I need to. The fact that the setting is a deep space colonization ship; that the characters are all from various cultures in the Sol system far enough in the future that everything is not quite what you'd expect; and that the mysteries are all entirely fair, predictable if you spend enough time thinking about them, but difficult enough that you'll never figure them out before reaching the point in the text where they are resolved — these are all superfluous to the fact that I just plain enjoyed this series.

If any of this would also appeal to you, then I heartily recommend Derin Edala's two books in the Time to Orbit: Unknown series: The Javelin Program & The Antarctica Conspiracy. I fully endorse this story as a rationalist sci-fi sociological mystery. Well done, Edala.

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Review: The Fifth Defiance

The Fifth Defiance by Walter
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Good superhero stories are hard to find. All too often, the protagonists hold the idiot ball, never really utilizing their powers in ways that would make sense in real life. It's often even worse for the antagonists. Yet occasionally a superhero story comes along that breaks these conventions: Walter's The Fifth Defiance is one of them.

This is a world where the strongest of the strong is a tyrant, bringing the entire world into ruin. Four times the world has risen up against her, and four times they have failed. This story recounts the fifth defiance, an attempt by our protagonists to take down the tyrant once and for all.

I really enjoyed this tale. The characters act rationally; the story beats are surprising and fruitful; the twists are fair and never really come out of nowhere, even if it may sometimes at first seem so. It was a genuinely fun (though harrowing) read.

With that said, there are some major issues that bring the text down. In the middle of the book, the author begins writing a questing prequel that is almost entirely unrelated to the main story of the fifth defiance. While it may be good on its own, not all readers who enjoy rational fiction superhero tales will also be interesting in the questing genre of allowing readers to directly influence the characters, plot, setting, and everything else the writer decides to put from pen to paper. Combining these two stories in the same text was a huge miss. So much so that I recommend skipping all "Regime Quest" chapters when reading the main story. If you are into the questing genre, you can then go back to read Regime Quest afterward.

The depictions of rape and unrestrained violence would ordinarily be a miss for me, but in this book they truly do make sense in the context of the story. This story is not just an excuse to write graphic scenes — it genuinely uses these scenes to propel the story at various points. With that said, some readers might want to skip The Fifth Defiance for this reason alone. The graphic scenes occur spread throughout and they are relevant to the story; it's not the kind of thing you can just skip over whenever they come up. With that said, they are written almost like the author has aphantasia: while graphic, there is no Melville-style depiction of every squicky thing that happens. I found these scenes to be quite bearable.

Which brings me to the part of the book that I disliked the most. Unfortunately, this is spoiler territory. If you want to go in completely blind, skip the rest of this review. I'll try to be as vague as possible, but what I'm about to say is still what I'd consider to be a medium-sized spoiler.

I disliked the ending. I won't say why, as that would be too spoilery, but fellow readers will know exactly what I am referring to. I went along the ride with this author from beginning to end, enjoying the ups and downs, getting excited as new revelations came up that changed the entire perception of what was going on in this world. And then: that ending. It is not that the ending is bad, per se. I understand why the author did it, and I can tell that the author planned this weird style of ending from the very beginning of the story. It makes sense to the story, and so I cannot call it bad writing. The concept itself is fascinating, but the execution left me in a state of denial. In the moment, I could not believe that that was the final chapter, and I did not like the author for having put me in that position. Now, hours after experiencing it, thinking about it as I write this review, I appreciate how unusual and surprising the ending was. It still sucked when I first read it, and that ultimately means I truly disliked it overall — but there is a sort of interestingness to reading an ending like this that maybe makes it worthwhile. This is not something that I can imagine a professional editor to ever allow in an ending, so seeing it here makes me somewhat appreciate the twist, even if I hated reading it in the moment.

Overall, I enjoyed The Fifth Defiance. Some parts were sloppy; there were times when I felt like the author didn't want to write a section and so they did a time skip so they wouldn't have to. But overall, I think the story worked. Walter could definitely use a good editor, but even without one, I'm glad that this story caught my attention.

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Responsibility

What has in retrospect been the most difficult summer of my life is finally coming to a close. Today, a wheelchair finally arrives, and on Monday it will be taken out to the school for its inaugural journey.

Life as a caretaker is hard, much more so when the person you are caring for lacks the equipment they need to properly live. I am gladdened to know that this period is finally coming to a close, but it brings to mind all the other times I was responsible for another, and how I handled these events throughout my life.

My first true period of responsibility came as a preteen. I had been expelled from a boarding school and the money my parents had paid for it was forfeited. I was told I would have to pay them back as part of my punishment, so I began working at the family car lot. I turned what should have been responsibility into opportunity, focusing my efforts only on what I found enjoyable to do and overworking sufficiently such that at the end of my "punishment" I was owed what was to me back then a not so insignificant amount. Looking back, I am sure that my father organized this deception to try and instill a work ethic into me, but at the time I genuinely thought I was "getting one up" on him.

Later, I learned a worse lesson. When my father learned that I had caused a teen pregnancy before I could even drive, I was told in no uncertain terms that I had to get married, be a father, and take care of my new family. I did not know it at the time, but my father's childhood experience of becoming the de facto parent of his several siblings at thirteen years old merely because he was the eldest son was marred because none of his extended family were willing to take in the siblings as a unit. This recusal of responsibility by his supposed close family members scarred him; becoming a parent of his siblings at thirteen himself was his experience of growing up: living in a house without an adult, ensuring food was available, making sure the kids went to school, helping raise their infant brother.... For him, the event was his mother dying suddenly and his father being unavailable. For me, it was teen pregnancy. But to my father, the implication was the same: I must not be like his extended family members who refused to take in his brothers and sisters. I must stand up to my responsibility and raise this child. And so I was forced into marrying far too young. 

I thought I could handle it. I put on a good face, not letting the girl know that I felt pressured into this, but, behind the scenes, I felt I had no choice. It took months before it became clear that I just could not handle the responsibility, but even then I tried to force it. I did not bond with my biological daughter, but I never entertained the idea of abandoning my responsibilities, mostly because my father instilled in me the idea that I had no choice — that, even if I were failing at every side, the important part was to stay and continue and never abandon. Thankfully, my then child wife had no such compunction, and she correctly came to the conclusion that life would be better for us all if she left.

I was distraught at their leaving, even though it was honestly the best decision that could have been made. I was never going to leave on my own, even though I failed at every moment in that domestic life. I stubbornly thought that, even though I hated life, even though I did nothing to make life better, it was still my responsibility to stay and endure. So I did — until she made the decision for me and left abruptly.

I see this problem with responsibility show up again and again in my life. Whenever I feel as though I need to take care of something, whatever it is, I would focus not on taking care of it well, but instead on ensuring I never abandoned the task. It was as though the primary goal was not to do anything well, but to instead just remain focused on constant effort. In some ways, this was a blessing: unlike many of my peers, I have a tendency to always slowly improve in whatever I do. I never get stuck in a rut; I identify things that can be done better, and I change them, one at a time, such that after years and years pass I am a demonstrably different and undeniably better person than when I began. But this process is slow, and it eschews an important practice that I never truly took to heart: failing early and often is more likely to get you to something truly successful. Instead, I would doggedly pursue whatever task I had set before me, slowly getting better and better at it over time.

Don't get me wrong: this is one of my better qualities. Katherine loves to recount how amazing she found that I would change my routine in small ways to get better and more efficient year after year. But it is also one of my worse qualities: instead of voluntarily stepping away from a difficult task, I will try to improve continuously even when it is clear that anothers' skillset would be better suited to the task. This is a fail state that I have to consciously avoid, even to this day. It just is not automatic for me to abandon a task, no matter how ill-suited I may be for it.

It meant I was a terrible middle manager. I just could not delegate well. I would focus on tasks that I was bad at, improving all the while, but really some of these tasks should have been contracted out. I was better in oversight positions; acting as a board member, I could almost instinctively identify failure points and ways to improve — but when I was an actual employee, I would focus on fixing these problems myself instead of properly sending someone better suited to the task. It took many years for me to realize that my true skillsets are in the identification of opportunities and possible fail states, and not in the day to day operation of regular tasks where no improvements can be found.

All this is to say: this summer has been amazingly difficult for me. Tasks this summer have all been rote, with little room for improvement. I have been navigating finding a new home, identifying sources of funding to afford something nice, caretaking for Katherine, and running the usual chores that help a household go. It doesn't sound like much, but almost everything I've done this summer has been the kind of thing that I am particularly poor at doing. It has been a grueling experience.

So I am gratified to know that it is now, at last, coming to an end. I still will have much to do: finding a new home to purchase is certainly at the top of my upcoming list; but at least I will finally not be spinning my wheels with tasks that I am not well suited for.

I look forward to whatever will come next.

Death of a Friend

Crayon art by Jon Gronberg.

I didn't know Jon Gronberg as well as I could have. We met online in 2021 when a mutual friend introduced us, and we started playing games, sometimes weekly, over the next three years. I never saw Jon in person. I always interacted with his multitude of screen names: metatroid, antocitizen, arkanoid, etc.. I never saw his face; we only spoke via voice chat on Discord. But he was a friend, nevertheless, and life is now less with him gone from it.

Jon was a consummate gamer. In a condolence letter that Katherine and I wrote to his mother after his death, we talked about the games we would play, and how skilled he was in various genres. This was the Jon I knew: a fun person to play with.

We also wrote about the conversations we would have over Discord. As Katherine put it: "He strongly advocated for what he believed in during our many and varied talks, and he liked to have extensive and deep discussions on philosophy, politics, ethics, and even just jokes while we played." This was also the Jon I knew: a debater with strong communist beliefs.

And, of course, I cannot fail to mention how helpful he was with charitable work. He volunteered his time to problem-solve technical web stuff for me on a regular basis. He was always ready to lend a hand. Looking at his professional website, I see that he worked with lots of various charities over the years, not just mine. This was also the Jon I knew: a kind, giving person who loved to do good.

We didn't always see eye-to-eye. Our politics differed; our choice of how to relax differed; sometimes even the genres of games we preferred differed. But he was always, first and foremost, a friend whom I enjoyed playing regularly with.

The mutual friend who introduced us knew Jon as a close friend for twenty-five years. This loss has truly hurt him. He mentions it briefly in his latest blog entry. I don't know how to best be there for my grieving friend. They were close in the ways that only decades-old friends can be. The loss of such a close friend is hard for me to fully wrap my head around. Our mutual friend (whom I've known for 11 years) is now at a silent retreat for a few weeks. Hopefully it will help him to clear his mind and process the grief well, but it does mean that I have no way to contact him nor help him through this grieving period. I feel inadequate to the task.

I will miss you, Jon. Thank you for all the good times.