slowly understood by machines

My speech pattern is consciously different when I'm talking to my car. Whether I'm on a hands-free phone call or asking the car to do something via the little Linguatronic button, I tend to speak slightly louder and for the car's system I also have.a.more.clipped.style. [NAVIGATION ON. DESTINATION HOME.]

It's the same this year for NaNoWriMo. I've been experimenting with a small dictation machine that came as part of a recent software update - a thing called Voice Tracer which is simply a digital recorder which can plug into the computer to offload the dictations. It has a speech start/stop feature too, so if I stop talking then the recording will stop until I start again. I notice the memory of the unit says its good for 49 days, although I expect the battery would run out before I reached that landmark.

I know that the iPhone has a recorder too, and my one probably has at least 3 recording type apps, but there is a simplicity to the single-purpose device which is quite appealing.

The connection to the USB works well too, straight into Dragon Dictate, which has a transcribe facility that takes my spoken words and with surprisingly few mistakes converts them into text. There's probably less typos than I make as well. I didn't even really teach this latest version of Dragon any of my speech either, so it must have clever processing. I tend to make 20-30 minute recordings, which take a few minutes each time to convert into pretty decently interpreted text.

It's another situation where I speak...slowly...when...I'm dictating. There's two reasons for this: I have to think about what I'm trying to put into the story and also to decide whether to use the ability to add in punctuation automatically. FULL STOP. NEW LINE. NEW LINE.

I'm not so good at those punctuation controls, and although I could use the same dictation directly into the computer (without the recorder, but with on-screen prompts), there's something about being able to get away from the screen completely. Some people will be using typewriters, pencils and paper, or glass writing pens with multi-coloured inks for their NaNoWriMo attempts.

I can understand that it's also about reducing the distractions from the technology. I'm hoping my own 'speak the story out loud' technique will work just as well.

time portal discovered in London?

I decided to try to get a bit ahead on that novel writing month thing because of work next week. It's made the last couple of days a little bit strange, but as I was a bit cold-ified in any case it meant I could blend Lem-Sip with typing.

I've even printed a google map of the route my characters are taking around part of America in my story. It bears an uncanny resemblance to some of the places I visited a while ago, which will help when I need to fill in some detail later on.

At the moment I'm trying to get the main chunks of plot blocked out and conveniently the characters are all being most helpful in directing the way to solve problems.

So I haven't had to spend time discovering time portals in London or anything similarly improbable to keep on track. And I'm secretly rather pleased that I've managed to get somewhat ahead of the targets.

Although I'm equally sure that when I eventually look back over what I've been doing, there will be some major remediation required.

But so far the need for a time portal lies dormant.

it landed outside City Hall #nanowrimo #nanolondon

I know, it looks like a ready made plot line, but it's not the one for me this year.

I've decided to hang in there with the desert caper which I originally considered for NaNoWriMo a year ago. Not that I did any work on it at the time though.

It didn't make sense for me to attempt it last time and I used the time instead to re-edit some of the work I'd produced previously. There was no point in counting the words at that time, so I quietly dropped out of the NaNoWriMo system after about a day.

This time I have started with a completely blank sheet of paper and a stuttery beginning, but now the story is up and running I can see some of the ways to drive it along.

I'm using the most basic structure ideas based around setup/initial problem/bigger problem/biggest problem/resolution/finale this time and trying to drive out the plot more than the descriptions of weather systems. As was the case the last time I wrote something, the characters all have minds of their own again.

I've genuinely surprised myself so far. Although it may be limping along with a need for many running repairs (like when I changed a character name part way through), it does seem to be stacking up word count.

Because of work commitments I've decided to blitz this first weekend to get as far ahead as I can because of the inevitable slow down as real world kicks in on Monday.

Literary masters may scorn the rapid creation approach, but I think it helps to get the creativity running and I know the subsequent edits may overturn some sizeable chunks of the initial piece. I think Hemingway had a famous quote about first drafts.

And if anyone else is seeking inspiration and wants to borrow the scene from my photograph...well I took it last week and the 'Thing' is still there - right next to London's City Hall.

split between London and Scottsdale

I've dropped the characters into Arizona this time. I decided to give them a short lived treat at a luxury spa hotel before I sling them out into the desert with all manner of problems.

Some of the smaller problems have already started. They've already got split up and at least one of them is quite the worse for wear.

I've only got the vaguest idea of a plot and was just sketching out a few ideas so that I have something to write about during the weekend.

The first 500-600 words came quite slowly, but it is picking up speed now. I'm even slightly ahead (around 4k), but I think I'll feel better if I can use part of the weekend to build up some word count.

I should really be writing it now, but this is a few minutes break whilst the kettle boils for a cuppa.

I appear to be starting a Mexican hat dance for Nanowrimo

The trouble with even thinking about NaNoWriMo is that I then start to think about the plot-line for the next novel.

If it was a completely new story then I’d probably get away with ignoring the whole thing, but as the next one is supposed to be the third part of the Triangle, then the characters are pre-formed.

It means that they start to do things again of their own accord. It doesn’t help that when I was in the desert a few months ago I had a few ideas pop into my head which would fit nicely into book three.

Or that when I was in a rather agreeable hotel in the middle of Santa Fe I worked out a pretty cool idea for a scene which I’ve not seen anyone do yet.

And don’t get me started on the Vauxhall train station plotline that could be worked into the story. I picked that up when we were delayed on an inbound train to Waterloo.

It means that the characters that I’ve left by the roadside on US Highway 163 in are already on their way to the Utah border and might even pick up some horses to cut across the Colorado Plateau.

It’s all getting out of hand and I haven’t written a single word yet.

Then there's those two Navajo truck drivers who have pulled off the road by Mexican Hat and are transferring all manner of things between what appears to be two almost identical trailers. There’s clearly something going down, and it isn’t just a refreshment stop.

Oh, well maybe just a little peep...

word challenge

Sheri was originally Canadian, although she had studied in the USA, as well as a short spell in Switzerland and was now into her second year at Biotree’s facility in Norway.

The Bodo environment was surprisingly familiar, a mix of her childhood’s Vancouver waters and the nearby ski areas, where she had spent winters ski-ing as well as getting something of a reputation for her freestyle snowboarding.

The cold end of the Pacific had first raised her love of nature. She would still think of times spent with her Grandfather out to look for whales with their tail splash, fishy snorts and the rippling radiation of the water as they would dive near to the boat.

The Pacific had also stimulated her study of marine biology and the organisms that maintained the ecology. Then her time at Harvard where the study of very small things had eventually led her to Biotree. Harvard had taught her how the organisms worked and then CERN in Switzerland had taught her how to build them, ironically by first showing how to smash things apart.

Now she was working with mechanosynthesis, construction an atom at a time. It was beyond a watchmaker’s precision, to know how to bolt the atoms together to make the tiny machines that formed the basis of the Biotree business model.

She’d learned how to build these tiny structures, how to make them operate, which parts would simply refuse to work together because of the still only partly understood and apparently tiny forces between them. Forces she knew were big enough to destroy the machines to which they were attached if they were not coupled properly.

She sometimes thought of it as being inside God’s head. If a God existed, the God would need to know this stuff really well.

This time I had to slip whales, snowboarding and radiation into the writing. It also gives me an excuse to post a picture of a whale I snapped whilst boating around Vancouver - mouseover for the caption.

sitting by the road watching well-fires burn by an old October moon

Spinning around the lanes today, admiring the changes of season, head full of half baked plot ideas and poet-picker music.

There may not have been any well-fires burning in these fields, but in my strange little Nanoverse anything is possible.

...Sorry, its probably the ginger and pineapple talking.

Biotree Inc

Yes, I'm still tapping away...

The Biotree company they worked for was a producer of biotech equipment. It had developed several of the nanotechnology based products which had created a renaissance for British industry. The most famous was the Aport, which could be used within a bloodstream to manage the walls of veins and arteries. It had revolutionized healthcare since its originally controversial introduction and been developed into a range of products which could manage blood flow, cholesterol build-up and some aspects of cleansing of contaminated organs. The Aport ran as a series of nanobots, which were inserted into a person’s blood stream via the same type of cartridges that were used to manage general heath.

The company had made its fortune from both the devices and the complex software that was required to make them run successfully and without error.

London was still the global headquarters for the company, with other administrative locations in most major countries. The tentacles from the company spread wide and the product base was routinely customised to markets.

The huge secretive manufacturing plants for BioTree’s core nanotechnology were based in several locations around the world. Nevada, USA; Toulouse, France and Melbourne, Australia.

Research and Development had been moved to Bodo in Norway as a strategically safe location. Just within the Arctic Circle, it still had good infrastructural connections including fast land transit, extensive seaborne links and the small matter of a major NATO airbase nestled within the town. The origins as a strategic base went back to annual shows of strength known as the Cold Response, which still occurred under the less obvious title of CORE.

It had other advantages. A local population with their own language, whilst also possessing perfectly good English language skills for handling the incoming scientists. A university base, which had been developed extensively as part of the run-up to the creation of the research faculty.

The location also had an interest appeal for the people stationed there, who were attracted by leading edge research, the best facilities, no practical budgetary limitations and a world class lifestyle during their term. Many tried a six-month spell and then remained for much longer.

Added to this, the Norwegian government had been particularly understanding since the changes in global energy policy as they had needed to re-provision from the decline in North Sea oil and natural gas. They had granted the area a special status as a world economic development zone and it had boosted the relative ranking of the still sparsely populated Norway to a top fifteen economy in terms of its economic freedom.

The subtext was the immense security that surrounded the environment and the commitment of those employed to maintain the secure nature of their work. The Bodo environment was also small enough to mean that unusual activity would be quickly spotted and with the added incentives of the kriminalitetsforebygging (KRÅD) - the criminal intelligence organisation providing added rewards for useful intelligence.

In its heyday Biotree was simply a money machine as the demand was pretty much world-wide and the patents and manufacturing processes had been extensively locked down during the prototyping cycle.

Therefore the employees of the company were routinely subjected to heavy screening before they joined, were provided with extensive benefits and the equivalent of ‘golden handcuffs’ making it exceptionally undesirable to want to leave.

That had been the case until around year ago, when a Chinese manufacturer had started to produce the first clones. Strictly, they were not clones at all. They were a totally different way to produce the same outcome. It was evident that some very smart people had somehow reversed engineered the ‘bots and also the operating systems and now created something extremely similar in its function, but at what worked out to be one tenth of the price.

That had tipped the market and the little nest egg of un-vested shares that Janie and Karin had received when they joined the company were now worth less than one-tenth of their original value. These changes had heralded the management changes and the new people that now walked the corridors.

pulse

Scrive clicked the new cartridge into place in his forearm and felt the cold rush snaking from his arm to somewhere inside his head.

Next he checked briefly the small plexi inspection window and could see his blood already changing from a bright red back to orange and he knew that within another twenty minutes it would again be the safe yellow colour.

Like everyone, he knew that red blood spelt danger and he had been particularly careless to let his system deplete its supply of the tropus for so long.

He could now feel a pulse and almost a bubbling sensation on the side of his head above the eyeline on the left side. He knew this was his body regaining its equilibrium. He squeezed both his hands into a fist shape they way they were taught and used his two middle fingers to massage the fleshy areas below his thumbs whilst his system adjusted.

Another five minutes and he was walking to the Tube station. He lived less than ten minutes on foot from the nearest stop and his ride to his office was around fifteen minutes. He could feel the cartridge working and his relaxed acceptance of the day’s tasks was already returning.

He looked briefly towards the sky. A jagged spark had flicked across moments before and now there were what looked like gentle vapour trails crawling along behind what had been a brief tear shooting along the path of the River Thames.

Others walked at a similar pace towards the station, although he ducked to the right into a quieter street that also cut a corner and missed some traffic crossings.

He glanced as he prepared to cross the diagonal into the station and glimpsed someone he recognised.

She had a petite almost boyish build, dressed in black, dark hair in a black band. He’d noticed her for three days now, at exactly the same spot, the same pace and the same appearance. He knew she would look up and he’d see the small tattoo by her left eye. At least he assumed it was a tattoo and not a consistently applied daily make-up. As she passed, he thought he could hear her gently humming a tune. Maybe an iPod, but he couldn’t see any signs of her wearing one.

He descended in to the transport system. His new cartridge meant he had a good range on his transceiver again and could access the transport system without overtly waving his arm over the sensor.

Most travellers referred to the sensors as ‘oysters’ although this was a reference to a long defunct technology, much as the Tube itself was merely a reference to the shape of the original tunnels that formed the original wheel-based transport system.

He used the moving floor system to get to the high-speed transit level and stood for a moment waiting for the next transit pulse. He clipped himself into a free TPOD seat and punched in his destination. The system was pretty foolproof. His cartridge provided the main co-ordinates for his routine travel and a short personalized menu of options had appeared on the screen and he’d just tapped his planned destination.

Of course, he could go to other points within his normal routes or pre-authorise other destinations in advance, from the homelink system. Today was regular, though, or at least that was what he needed to suggest, despite what had happened yesterday.

competitive binding with Elisa

Writing "The Square" is proceeding quietly in the background - I really should count the words and add them into NaNoWriMo.

I had a sort of breakthrough today when I randomly introduced a new character. I needed someone to help me tie two story lines together and so I sat in a coffee shop talking to an Isreali scientist. She helped me make the connections.

It's worked brilliantly, because even parts of the story that I thought I understood are now different from the way I was planning to tell it.

The fascination for me is having these random characters parked around one's head and then having them reactivated. I can learn from my earlier foray with "The Triangle", but I'm starting to feel that "The Square" is getting its own good plotline which is being partly written by the characters.

Cairo practice

James sheltered on the edge of a dune. The vestigial grass had a razor sharp edge, scratching his arm as he slithered into a comfortable position. The Subaru was parked about 200 metres further away, concealed behind another dune. A long way ahead, he could see the tiny outline of the truck, heading towards him in a kind of shimmer from the heat. It seemed to be running above the ground because of the heat haze and he could understand how people thought they could see water in the desert.

The truck's progress was also almost silent initially, and then he started to hear a whine from an American military grade diesel engine. He'd heard the sound before, in Germany where there were many of these trucks, used around the bases, but here it seemed displaced.

Through the sound he started to notice a further noise, a slow throb getting quickly louder. He looked around and could see a small speck in the sky, not a bird, it was bigger and tracking the path of the truck. A helicopter, it looked like an Apache as it moved closer. An attack helicopter, carrying a fair array of armaments. By now the truck was less than 800 metres away, still proceeding at a steady speed. The Apache was still high in the air, but then suddenly, but rather languorously, the helicopter let go of a missile of some kind. It didn't fly straight, but took a lazy path, like the casual throw of a soft toy from an adult to a small child.

But whatever it was, it was going to hit the truck. A second or so later, there was a flash and it was as if time had moved from casual to accelerated in a split second. As the missile hit the truck, a white flash exploded in a vertical line from the ground to two or three hundred metres in the air. The power of the explosion seemed completely out of proportion to the previous few seconds of activity and James instinctively sheltered his face with his arm, the same one that had been cut a few moments earlier by the grass blade.

The helicopter was not expected and had made its intentions clear. In a slightly muffled way, he could hear a shrill electronic sound and he realised that the helicopter was locking on to his Subaru and was planning to vaporise it in the same way as the truck. He decided to bury himself in the sand rather than attempt to run. That way, if the chopper was mainly looking for vehicles, it may not spot a lone person on foot. In the far distance he saw a momentary flash from the ground and then noted a black line in the sky. Someone a long way away had launched a surface to air missile. The black trail weaved through the air towards the helicopter. He saw the Apache bank first left and then right as well as ejecting what looked like hot metal strips. But it was too late. The SAM made contact with the helicopter and in a much yellower fireball than the truck's explosion, he could see the helicopter drop to the desert floor like a stone. He decided to lay low for longer in case there were any more surprises, but no, a few minutes later he was preparing his escape in the Subaru, alert to the thought that whoever fired the surface to air may be heading his way.