There’s nothing more to be said here.
There’s nothing more to be said here.
Starting a new series on this site, Worldbuilding Wednesday, a selection of randomly generated people, places, things, and concepts suitable for incorporating into fantasy — or any speculative — fiction, courtesy of my continued experimentation with Gammadyne’s excellent Random Word Generator. All are free for any writer to use; I have no claim on them. I’ll be posting on the ins and outs of using this generator in a later post.
Why post lists of names? Many writers do, in fact, have a problem coming up with good names. If there’s one thing I hate in fantasy writing, it’s names that rely on bland syllables (Galarna, Tokul, Katana) names that are too evocative of this world (George R. R. Martin, I’m looking at you, with Ned and Jon) and unpronounceable or badly hyphenated names (Pam-Ella, Dr’zit.) I’ve admired Jack Vance and Ursula K. LeGuin for creating unforgettable names, as well as British writers of fantasy like Tanith Lee and Storm Constantine. A good name can even create a character. Think about Lady Lazulvine of the Worm: do you see a villanous sorceress? Or perhaps an older practitioner of dark magic? And an inn called The Reckless Raven must surely host all kinds of unsavory characters.
This weeks’ selections are a mashup of Vanceian (again, that aforementioned Jack Vance), French, British English, Swedish, and German, in a pseudo-European polyglot.
Duchess Vyrgilla Lyrestone
Lady Lazulvine of the Worm
Ravenia Snipcup, AKA The Luscious Minstrel
Lady Shylla The Mournful
Sir Ghilius, Knight of the Somber Glaive
Sir Hyverys of The Boar
Sir Jingill of The Lusty Eye
Fayport the Unctuous
Mzarbar the Barbarian
Sir Jafflo of the Pure Wyvern
|Local Color (People, Places, Things)
Ozder, the Angel Of Glory
The Falkenmoss Kings
Folio of Displacement
Grand Duchy Of Svorotufte
Inns: The Corpulent Stag, The Reckless Raven, The Blue Weasel, The Four Fingers Inn
Most horror comics of the 1950s are nostalgic rather than horrifying, yet every once in a while I come across an image that is truly startling in its rawness. They were the decade’s way of dealing, sociologically, with the repressed horrors of WWII.
The cultured alien lifeform had an innocuous beginning, but a bloody end.
Returning last week from a trip to Florida, I have to say the highlight of my trip was seeing, at last, Kennedy Space Center. For a child of my generation this was a place that gained its initial familiarity on B&W TV screens (or color, in wooden consoles, if you were well-off or indulgent) with the news broadcasts of trips to the moon. It seemed a small, straightforward place on that long-ago screen. Like a football field, perhaps, with bleachers to watch the proceedings. In the years since, with continued broadcasts though the shuttle years, and my own research, the reality of it was not so compact; yet still, as a real-life visitor I was unprepared for the vastness.
The place is BIG, and sprawling, and very alien. Merrit Island, where Kennedy Space Center is located, is also a wildlife refuge where I saw gators, manatees, flamingos, spoonbills, dolphins, and wild parrots. The terrain is flat, the vegetation semi-tropic, the soil pale and bleached. Growing up in a decaying city of the U.S. Northeast, and later living in the lush but cool emerald-green Northwest, it was very alien to me. I couldn’t help but think if those same pioneers thought it alien as well. Of course, they were military test pilots, stationed and training in many different areas of the US, and so might be assumed to be used to changes of locale. But they still must have carried within them the local prejudices of their childhood homes, for a certain climate or terrain. Coastal Florida might have been an unworldly experience for them, a preparation for the unworldliness of outer space, and the moon itself. In effect, it was a subtle preparation.
Being shuttled around the place on an air-conditioned bus as I took the special tour, I saw for myself its vastness and loneliness. Strapped into a capsule at the apex of the Saturn V rocket, they must have been very lonely as the support personnel deserted them for the launch. That’s another thing I found out. Everyone cleared out of the vicinity for a certain radius, less the whole thing explode, like this:
Note the melted cars.
Seeing the place, for the first time I truly understood the immensity of the American space program, the sacrifices it required, and its dangers.
The visit was pricey, coming to around $120 for the basic admission and the enhanced tour, but that was par for the course for Florida attractions, and well worth it for the history. I also fulfilled a bucket list item.