Last Month (January 2000)

01 February 2000

Now I'm thoroughly disgusted (as if I wasn't before). I'm going to cut back on litigation. Even though this was a resounding win, it sickens me.

The deposition yesterday was quite interesting. The deponent passed out twice, each time just after I asked him if documents that I had obtained outside of discovery "refreshed his recollection." After the second time, I terminated the deposition, reserving the right to reopen it (which must be done under Illinois law, or it's over). The defendant's lawyer appeared very nervous and upset.

I got the defendant's lawyer's withdrawal notice today. Not the normal "change of counsel" notice from new counsel, but a bare withdrawal. At least she had the guts to follow the ethics rules. It would be inappropriate for me to go into the details, but my inference (based on the specific reactions, documents, and prior sworn testimony) is that the defendant had been lying to its lawyer, she found out, and she quit because she felt unable to continue representation. Why do people think they should lie to their lawyers? The only way to breach the privilege is to attempt to use the legal advice for a further crime or fraud, and you'd bloody well better have good blackmail material if you want an even marginally competent lawyer to participate. (By the way, most big corporate defendants do have good blackmail material on their outside counsel.)

Linda Dunn has asked whether killing Martha Stewart would be considered justifiable homicide. My research has been inconclusive. I think you might be able to make a case that Martha Stewart's very existence places your life (or at least lifestyle) in imminent danger, which would allow the justifiable homicide (self-defense) defense. More important, though, is the public health risk.

Description: B. rusticus, popularly known as "bucolic plague," recently has been recognized as a serious public health risk. This bacterium secretes a psychoactive toxin that causes behavior-specific cognitive realm obsessive-compulsive disorder (axis I). Symptomology includes compulsive creation of ill-conceived craft projects from common household objects, obsessive thoughts of redecoration in a "country style" that bears little or no resemblance to historical or current rural and agricultural fixtures, obsessive claims of credit for the work (however dubious) of others, obsessive fascination with small wooden placques of marginally representational cows (often in a chaotic mixture of art nouveau and art deco styles, methods, and color schemes), and frequently secondary intoxication from spray lacquer fumes. Incidence is gender-selective (M_f > 85%).

Treatment: Treatment of the individual alone is not ordinarily successful. There is substantial risk of infection of other family members. Uninfected family members must provide firm support for a cessation program. Successful treatments have included college-level courses in art history, association with trained artists who have rejected the "country style" entirely, and, in particularly severe cases, ocular removal. Removal of all items associated, however marginally, with "country style" has not proven significantly more effective than a placebo (r=0.51, N=152). Change in residence is contraindicated, as it seems to encourage expression of obsessive thoughts of redecoration (r=-0.72, N=73). Attendance of local arts and crafts fairs is strongly contraindicated (r=-0.88, N=97).

Prevention: B. rusticus is not extremely infectious. The typical vector is television programs, frequently shown in weekend or weekday midday public television slots, that demonstrate production and use of "country style" objects. Other vectors of unknown specificity include local arts and crafts fairs, certain magazines commonly available in discount and grocery stores, and excessive association with previously infected but untreated individuals. The best prevention appears to include college-level courses in art history, although efficacy appears to taper off after menopause or metapause. Repeated doses of this treatment have some prophylactic effect, but prediction of efficacy is extremely difficult, since B. rusticus was only identified in the early 1970s.

Questions?

04 February 2000
Night Crawlers

I just love early dismissal days. I generally keep a pretty Pacific Daylight Time schedule. However, I live in Central Standard Time. Frankly, I'd be just as happy if I never saw daylight. Alphonse, go put fresh earth in my . . . sleeping area. And make sure we have enough supplies for real Bloody Marys—my, umm, professional colleagues are coming by this eeeevening. (You always suspected that something was a little off about lawyers, didn't you?)

Where was I? Oh, yes. By the time I'm out of bed and stretched enough to move around and do some work, it's usually after 11AM (Central; only 8AM PDT). Early dismissal today was at 12:45, so that left me just over an hour to do everything that must be done during the business day. Fortunately, since I'm dropping much of my litigation work (see the previous entry), that doesn't mean as much. Most of my clients are by telephone anyway; hell, I've never even met the majority of them! Thus, I do client conferences in my pajamas more often than not.

But I can't do client conferences when the kids are here. (As should be apparent, though, I can blather on in my journal.) Yes, they'll keep their mouths shut. Nonetheless, it's still a violation of Rule of Professional Conduct 1.6 for me to allow anyone other than a colleague, hired expert, or employee to overhear an attorney-client conversation. So I do no legal work when they're here; at least none that requires direct conversation. And thus, my Friday work day was one 20-minute phone call.

At the moment, they're calmed down (for two testosterone-enhanced children) watching Matilda. Yeah, I know. They don't need the example. But they're not quite ready for, say, Apocalypse Now, and the Harry Potter movie hasn't even been cast yet, let alone released on videotape. Maybe I'll try Star Wars next time. But that might not be such a good idea, as I often used James Earl Jones's voice as a model for old, wise characters in the books I read to them (such as Aslan). Oh, well. I guess childhood illusions must be destroyed sometime, eh? On the other hand, I still have most of mine: that there is such a thing as "justice;" that nice guys at least finish, and out of jail; that means shape ends, and ends don't justify means; and that I can make a limited exception to each one, but I have to justify the exception.

Perhaps now you understand why I left big-league Chicago litigation and remain really pissed off at my current profession. And why I have become one of the adults of the night—with a little bit of the children of the night in me.

07 February 2000
You Didn't Ask, and You Don't Really Want to Know

First, go read Tamela's entry for today. Good for her. Good self control. This may sound trite, but recognizing the issue really is the first step toward dealing with it.

Believe me, I know exactly what she means. Unfortunately, I've got ample testosterone for rage-fuel and the training to make rage inordinately dangerous. The real problem is that the training is very unconscious, and it's not the watered-down tournament-rules martial arts that seem to dominate over here, either. (That's not to denigrate the martial arts for self-defense, at which they are normally quite effective—except against people trained in, for lack of a better description, dirty fighting for all the marbles.) This all may seem somewhat chilling, but the standard in serious hand-to-hand is "kill in 20 seconds." All those action heroes might last as long as 45 seconds against properly trained opposition, if very lucky. Sorry, Arnold. Sorry, Bruce. Sorry, Jean-Claude. Sorry, Chuck.

Let's just change the subject before I scare off any more readers, eh?

Just a couple of not-so-nice words about the Association of Authors' Representatives' Canon [sic] of Ethics. I have a few bones to pick with them. This is a nonexclusive list.

• Canon 2 does not state who owns interest received on clients' money in the trust account. This has an incredibly easy answer. One of the few things that lawyers do well is manage this issue. In most states, we have IOLTA (interest on lawyers' trust accounts) programs that siphon the interest off to pay for low-income access programs. This makes perfect sense, because the administrative expense of tracking the interest due each client would far exceed the interest earned (presuming that Canon 2's time limits are followed). The agent community should follow suit, perhaps by donating to VLA or other representation programs that benefit poor and/or beginning artists and writers.

• Canon 3 is unacceptably vague. What it seems to reach for, but mangles quite badly, is allowing an agent to have the client reimburse the agent only for extraordinary expenses, above and beyond ordinary office expenses. For example, in "real" agenting practice, there will be no need to photocopy a manuscript, except for an auction—which certainly qualifies as "extraordinary." And so on. The Canon falls really short by not specifying the timing for reimbursement of expenses. A real, ethical agent does not make money until his/her client does through the sale of the manuscript. Canon 3, however, is silent.

• Canon 5 simply does not go far enough. First, by using "represent," it allows the agent to be the "buyer" in the transaction—such as through ownership of an in-house vanity press. ("Where have we encountered that before?" he asks rhetorically.) Second, it does not define whether editorial services are covered. They should be explicitly covered.

You know, there are scam artists out there whose very existence is a boil on the butt of agentdom. No code of ethics can be airtight or cover every case, but this one leaks like a sieve.

OK, I've made enough enemies for today. Next time, we'll talk a little bit about something that the agent community is going to have to face sooner or later: the unauthorized practice of law.

10 February 2000
We Interrupt This Rant . . .

OK, now that it has hit the street, I can mention a couple of things about the pending demise of Science Fiction Age. In no particular order:

• So, it wasn't "profitable enough," huh? Have your accountants ever heard of "synergy"? I'm going to be rather surprised in Realms of Fantasy makes it another year beyond May of 2000 without a "restructuring" or "relaunch" announcement. Rack space for bimonthlies that alternate is not going to be held as easily for a single bimonthly.
• If anything, SFA was killed by its word rate. Ten cents a word was the highest regularly offered rate of any speculative fiction magazine. (Yes, I know that certain Names are paid more than ten cents a word at the other magazines; but that's not "regularly offered.") Frankly, the quality wasn't enough better—if any better at all—to justify such a high rate.
• In the end, SFA probably succumbed to overspecialization. Even more so than Analog, there was a "type" of SFA story—a very narrow one. That's all well and good for an occasional anthology, or even anthology series. It does not stand up to six-times-a-year exposure. On the other hand, the healthiest short-fiction outlets—Asimov's, F&SF, Interzone, and the Starlight anthologies—all include an unpredictable, broad range of stories. Even Analog has more variety, because it prints more stories per issue, and is thus a "better value." Because there are so few other professional-rates markets for short fantasy fiction, and because the nonfiction features are so much broader in conception, RoF will not succumb for this reason.
• History does tend to repeat itself. Read the introductory essays in Isaac Asimov's Before the Golden Age, and you'll see what I mean.
• I don't think I'm going very far out on a limb to predict that Amazing—as we now know it, anyway—is in line for either the headsman's axe or the plastic surgeon's knife. Three different owners in five years?
• Although SFA often was not to my taste, it was certainly professional, and my disagreements have been precisely that: taste. I am sorry to see another market bite the dust, particularly one whose editor made such a huge (albeit seldom praised or appreciated) effort to handle the slush quickly, accurately, and with dignity. That's going to make it that much harder for new voices to break in to professional-rates short speculative fiction.

Next time, I will get back to "unauthorized practice of law." Unless, of course, there's other "breaking news."

I'm slowly working my way back into writing shape. My recent health has not been good enough to sit up and write. This entry has taken three sessions; actually putting it online will require a fourth. I was completely exhausted after 75 minutes of a scheduled three-hour deposition. And so on. I may have to break down and try voice recognition software for initial data entry; but that's $140 I'd rather spend on, say, a decent scanner.

I'm never going to be a "novel dare" type of writer. I am, however, back at work on the dystopian novel, which is finally starting to turn as dark as it should be. If it ever gets published, I'm going to get a reputation as one helluva misanthropist. Which is, I suppose, better than being known as a lawyer.

16 February 2000
Excuses, Excuses

Here's my excuse for missing a few days: pneumonia. Not a good time.

Well, it's not exactly "walking" pneumonia. More like "shambling," since I'm neither entirely laid up nor completely mobile. My head, at the moment, feels rather like the Hindenburg near Lakehurst—the slightest spark and it will explode. And that's the good part.

In any event, one clarification from one comment on SFA that I made. A couple of other readers have written to question my assertion that the word rate helped kill SFA. It was a bit of an overstatement, but far from irrelevant. Most periodicals are judged not on their gross profit margin, but on their extended ROI (return on investment). Extended ROI allocates only a percentage of fixed costs (e.g., editor's salary) as part of the investment, but includes all of the inventory costs. That means that, if SFA's word rate resulted in an inventory value (considering, say, a six-month inventory) of $x more than the "industry standard" rate would calculate, one increases the denominator in the extended ROI by that sum. Needless to say, ROI is much more sensitive to increases in investment than increases in income. The irony, though, is that ROI is (in economic terms) a meaningless figure outside of bankruptcy and mandated asset redeployment. It's another beancounter number that some yoyos at Merrill Lynch believe predicts stock value, but actually has a correlation equivalent to phases of the moon. Nonethless, since it's taught at Wharton, ya gotta use it, right?

Most of my ire for the evening appears elsewhere. That's right, folks—today marks the first installment of Dumpster Diving on the Reviews Page. Today's menu includes one very moldy stuffed owl and a rightful member of the frag squad.

19 February 2000
Change at 99

Quite an interesting little conversation running around NAW lately. The real question, insecure males, is very simple:
If you're not gettin' any, do you really think whippin' it out and displaying your shortcomings is going to help?

In an ideal world, your partner will not even see that piece of equipment until, shall we say, the windows are thoroughly steamed. (And if it's not consensual, I don't want to hear about it, and the problem is the small size of your brain, not the small size of your maleness, since I don't think you're getting a return invitation.)

All of which leads to a true story. It's true. I swear by my hourly rate.

A long time ago, in a college dormitory far, far away . . .

Three guys were cooling their heels in the floor lounge, waiting for girlfriends to finish getting ready for a night of drunken debauchery. From down the hall, the three guys heard a shriek. Knowing that there was a flasher problem in the dorms, the three guys took off down the hall. As luck would have it, they were too late. (No, they didn't call him The Streak.) Also as luck would have it, the young lady who had been flashed was one of the girlfriends in question.

At about the time said girlfriend had calmed down, there was a raucous explosion of laughter across the lounge area. The laughter didn't stop quickly, so everyone sauntered down the hall.

As it turns out, the flasher had decided he needed twice the thrills. At random, he knocked on a door. Who should open the door but the prim and proper minister's daughter? As he raised his arms, she said, without missing a beat:

Put that silly little thing away!

He ran away, and never troubled that dormitory again.

All of which reminds me of the real reason that so many women want to go to law school: subpoena envy.

Maybe something coherent next time.

23 February 2000
A Warm, Fuzzy Misanthropist

I did get one response to my remark of 10 February about becoming known as a misanthropist. Tamela put me in my place very quickly:

[. . . ] as for your novel pegging you as a misanthropist, hell, I think all of us in the NAW knew you were one already, LOL, but we still like you. : ) You're kinduva warm and fuzzy misanthropist.... ; )

Well, perhaps. But it would get worse, because it wouldn't be just the NAW readership, and I'd no longer be warm and fuzzy: the almost-complete first draft makes the fourth part of Gulliver's Travels look like a feel-good New Age seminar. It's more than a bit threatening—Brazil without the laughs or romance. Here's a hint: the working title is Unnatural Persons. And those are the heroes.

For a first draft, it's pretty darned good. Nowhere near publishable yet, but a solid base.

For the science-fiction oriented, run to the library right away and borrow a copy of the February 2000 Scientific American, which includes a fabulous essay and set of sidebars on sending human beings to Mars. One of the major rules of good fiction (of any kind) is that something unintended must happen. Look at how many things can go wrong—not necessarily fatally, not necessarily even Apollo 13ish. And this is the sober, sensible stuff.

Which leads into a very abstract musing on the state of science fiction today. As recently as the early 1980s, the magazines were filled to bursting with off-planet stories. (It seems recent to me, you young whippersnapper. No more snickers or I'll smack you with my cane.) In two decades, we've almost completely turned the table. Even recent issues of Analog have had mostly Earth-bound or indeterminate-locale stories.

Is this the readers, or the writers, or the editors, or something else?

Yes. I'm going to leave you hanging. But you knew that anyway, didn't you? Eventually, I will get back to the unauthorized practice of law/agent stuff. However, some recent developments make it inappropriate for me to go public at this time.

25 February 2000
The Day the Movies Died

Ol' George is going to have to find someone to explain "irony" to him before he grants Weird Al Yankovic permission to do any more parodies. He was thoroughly skewered this time, and he probably doesn't even get it. "Yoda" was funny; "The Saga Begins" (on the latest album, Running With Scissors) is not just funny, but vicious.

"The Saga Begins" is Obi Wan Kenobi singing the story of The Phantom Menace—what little story there is, anyway. It sounds as ridiculous, vacuous, and insidiously stupid as it really is. That's probably over George's head, as he's made clear that he doesn't "get" cynicism. But the context. Oh, the context. It would take George at least twelve parsecs to unwrap the context.

"The Saga Begins" is built on top of Don McLean's "American Pie." For those who don't remember, that's the Buddy Holly requiem—"the day the music died." For all of the good that Star Wars did a quarter century ago—egad, has it really been that long?—in advancing the technical art of cinema, it marked the end of an era in Hollywood: the time during which story was the foremost consideration in determining whether a film would be made. With Star Wars, the modern "eye candy" era began. It was not the first "space movie," by any means; the masterpiece remains 2001, followed by Silent Running. Neither was it the first true special-effects-dominated film.

Star Wars was, however, the first movie to spawn such a variety of derivatives. Although LucasFilm is reticent about its earnings, I would not be surprised if its profits from the various spin-offs ranging from novels to dolls exceeded its profits from the four movies by a sum sufficient to run a third-world government for several years. Star Wars was also the first of the big blockbuster films. While many films had been successful previously, and some had even earned more money (adjusted for inflation, the empty-headed Gone With the Wind exceeded Star Wars' take before 1979), none had been so concentrated in success. Star Wars represented not just a big profit, but a big fast profit.

The real Clone Wars are the successors to Star Wars, both from Lucas and from others. They are fought for your entertainment dollars and mine, which is all well and good. Writers aren't going to get paid a lot if what they write doesn't sell. But those clones have become so dominant that the marketplace is censoring the alternatives more effectively than the Soviet Union ever managed to squelch dissent.

And thus the title of today's entry. Call me a high-brow cynic, but a cynic I am. Of course, I'm not entirely unaware that the music that followed Buddy Holly has been far richer than that before; the 1950s were largely a musical black hole, whether in the popular or the classical tradition. There's nothing that unusual about multiple ironies. Too bad non-cynics don't believe in irony at all.

29 February 2000
1999 Nebula Final Ballot

Just in today, the final ballot for the 1999 Nebulas (to be awarded in May 2000). Congratulations to all of the nominees. My editorial comments appear after each category.

Novel (over 40,000 words)

• Butler, Octavia E. The Parable of the Talents
• McHugh, Maureen. Mission Child
• Macleod, Ken. The Cassini Division
• Martin, George R.R. A Clash of Kings
• Stewart, Sean. Mockingbird
• Vinge, Vernor. A Deepness in the Sky

This appears to be a fairly close race, with only Ken Macleod's novel out of the probable running. All six novels are worthy of the Nebula—the first time in almost a decade that this has happened. The Parable of the Talents is marginally better than Mockingbird and A Deepness in the Sky, which are in turn marginally better than Mission Child and A Clash of Kings. The margin is so narrow, though, that I can largely ascribe it only to taste.

Novella (17,500-40,000 words)

• Burstein, Michael A. Reality Check (Analog, Nov 99)
• Castro, Adam-Troy & Jerry Oltion. The Astronaut From Wyoming (Analog, Aug 99)
• Chiang, Ted. The Story of Your Life (Starlight 2)
• Duchamp, L. Timmel. Living Trust (Asimov's, Feb 99)
• Duncan, Andy. The Executioners' Guild (Asimov's, Aug 99)
• Marusek, David. The Wedding Album (Asimov's, Jun 99)

Not much question here—The Story of Your Life is substantially superior to its competition. Unfortunately, this is a relatively weak set of candidates, in the sense that the group is not as distinctively excellent as one might expect.

Novelette (7,500-17,500 words)

• Eisenstein, Phyllis. "The Island in the Lake" (F&SF, Dec 98)
• Friesner, Esther M. "How to Make Unicorn Pie" (F&SF, Jan 99)
• Hopkins, Brian A. "Five Days in April" (Chiaroscuro, Jul 99)
• McDevitt, Jack & Schmidt, Stanley. "Good Intentions" (F&SF, Jun 98)
• Sterling, Bruce. "Taklamakan" (Asimov's, Nov 98)
• Turzillo, Mary. "Mars Is No Place for Children" (SF Age, May 99)

A win for "Five Days in April" would be a nice political smack in the gob for the eligibility rules, but I don't see that as a possibility. "Taklamakan" and "How to Make Unicorn Pie" are distinctly the best of this group.

Short Story (to 7,500 words)

• Ash, Constance. "Flower Kiss" (Realms of Fantasy, Aug 98)
• Rogers, Bruce Holland. "The Dead Boy at Your Window" (North American Review, Dec 98)
• Sherwood, Frances. "Basil the Dog" (Atlantic Monthly, Sep 99)
• Swanwick, Michael. "Ancient Engines" (Asimov's, Jan 99)
• Swanwick, Michael. "Radiant Doors" (Asimov's, Sep 98)
• What, Leslie. "The Cost of Doing Business" (Amazing Stories, Feb 99)

Another interesting group of nominees. The two stories from "non-genre" publications are miles ahead of the competition, and both should survive in the long run. Of the others, "Ancient Engines" is the most "complete" short story.

Script

• Avrech, Robert J. The Devil's Arithmetic [adapted from Jane Yolen, The Devil's Arithmetic]
• Bird, Brad & Tim McCanlies. The Iron Giant [adapted from Ted Hughes, The Iron Man]
• Millerman, John. The Uranus Experiment: Part 2 [original script] [under undisclosed eligibility challenge]
• Shyamalan, M. Night. The Sixth Sense [original script]
• Wachowski, Larry & Andy. The Matrix [original script]

Any credibility of this category has been completely blown by two items: the undisclosed eligibility challenge to The Uranus Experiment and the presence of The Matrix. On the evidence of its continuity gaps, I'm surprised that there was an identifiable script for The Matrix—in many ways, it's no better than The Phantom Menace. On principle, I'd vote for "No Award," although The Devil's Arithmetic and The Iron Giant are both decent efforts. The difficulty with this category is that separating the script from the other aspects of a dramatic production is not very intellectually honest, if even possible—rather like praising a short story as excellent on the basis of exceptional typography.

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