Thursday, Feb. 11

• Noon: Mormons in Horror
  Believe it or not, there are active LDS who read, edit and write horror fiction.  What tensions do they see with their faith and culture and this genre?  How does their belief color what they find “really scary”?
  (Dan Wells, Eric Swedin, Michael R. Collings, Eric James Stone, Lee Allred (M))

Friday, Feb. 12

• Noon: Who influenced me as a writer?
  (Eric James Stone, Kathleen Dalton-Woodbury, Berin Stephens, Jake Black, Michael Young)
• 3:00 PM:  How to build aliens and fantastic (but believable) monsters
  (Helge Moulding, Roger White, Eric James Stone, Brian Hailes, Kathleen Dalton-Woodbury)

Saturday, Feb. 13

• 1:00 PM: SIGNING: Brandon Mull, Brandon Sanderson, Howard Tayler, Eric James Stone, Berin Stephens, Jake Black, Roger White, Lisa Mangum, Aleta Clegg, Mette Ivie Harrison, John Brown
• 5:00 PM: READING: Dan Wells / Eric James Stone
• 6:00 PM: How to write a good short story.  You have to be concise, clear, articulate, and still keep the reader’s interest.  What does a short story writer need to know/do to write a great short story?
  (Robert J Defendi, Suzanne Vincent, Eric James Stone, Kathleen Dalton-Woodbury, Brad R. Torgensen)

Click here to read “The Robot Sorcerer.”

Woke up this morning with neck and shoulder pain.  Saw a doctor, who said I have “a classic case of whiplash.” He prescribed pain medication, muscle relaxant, and physical therapy, but said I was likely to make a full recovery in time. He also sent me to get my neck X-rayed just in case it was more than whiplash, but fortunately the X-ray results didn’t show anything abnormal.

So, while there’s some bad news, it’s definitely not as bad as it could have been.

The following is reconstructed as best I can from my memory, the record in my GPS, and hearsay.

I was driving eastbound on 700 North in Lindon.  Approaching the intersection with State Street, I could see the light was red so I began slowing from 40 mph.  Before I reached the intersection, though, the light turned green.

Across State Street from me, several cars were facing west in the left turn lane, waiting to turn southbound on State Street.  There is no left turn signal for cars in that lane; they just get a normal green light and are supposed to yield to cars coming eastbound straight through the intersection. In the next lane, there were also cars waiting to proceed westbound straight through.

The driver of the first car in the left turn lane decided that there was enough time to turn left before I entered the intersection.  I felt he or she was cutting it a bit close, so I continued slowing.  My average speed over the final 8 seconds before entering the intersection was 26 mph, so I figure my speed when I entered was somewhat below that.

The first car finished its left turn and continued down State Street.

Meanwhile, the second car in the left turn lane, an SUV, had pulled into the intersection, but instead of stopping to let me continue through, the driver followed the previous car’s path.  Based on what the police officer later told me she said, she just didn’t see me until I was already in the intersection.

I slammed on my brakes.  My GPS shows me traveling 55 feet beyond the intersection at an average of 12 mph, but that did not actually happen.  Instead, I collided nearly head-on with the SUV and came to an almost instant stop in the intersection.

My airbag deployed, but I don’t think I actually hit it.  Instead, I think my seat-belt restrained me sufficiently.

After recovering from the shock of the collision, I tried to open my door and get out of the car before it blew up (I’m kidding–I wasn’t really concerned that it was going to blow up), but the door wouldn’t open more than a few inches.  So I continued to sit there for a minute.  I got out my phone and called my boss at 9:11 (interesting time, I just realized) to tell him I was going to be late.

A driver who had witnessed the accident came and asked if I was injured. I told him I didn’t think I was.

My next call was going to be 911, but either someone had already called the police, or else they spotted the accident while on patrol.  A police officer came over and asked if I was injured. I told him I didn’t think I was.  He asked for my license, registration, and proof of insurance.  I dug them out and gave them to him.

He asked me what had happened, and I told him.

As a sign of how shaken I still was, I mentioned that I didn’t think my door could open enough for me to get out of the car, and the police officer suggested that I could crawl to the passenger side and get out that way.  Normally, I would have been able to figure that out for myself.

Anyway, the police officer interviewed the driver of the other car and the witnesses and pretty much confirmed what I had told him.  He told me that his report would say I was not at fault and the other driver was.

Eventually both cars were towed, and I walked over to my office.

Here are pictures:

Basically, I’m very grateful that things weren’t worse, and that apparently nobody was seriously injured (although I’ve heard injuries sometimes show up later.) I should find out tomorrow whether my car was totaled or if it can be repaired.

The teleport terminal had not been built with tyrannosaurus sapiens in mind.

Resisting the urge to knock human-sized chairs about with her tail, Bokeerk squatted on the tile floor, folded the claws of her forelimbs together, and concentrated on her breathing.  Meditation would calm her nerves.  What should have been a two-minute waystop as she switched to a different teleport line had stretched to three hours, and being the only passenger in the terminal creeped her out.

The cheerful voice of the customer service AI roused Bokeerk from her trance.  "It is my pleasure to inform you that the cause of the technical difficulties in the galactic teleport network has been found."

Bokeerk perked up and rose on her hind legs, remembering just in time to duck her head so it wouldn’t bang the ceiling lamps.  "Please send me to Krawlak," she said.  It was unlikely that any of her eggs would hatch for another few days yet, but she was anxious to get home.

"It is with the utmost regret that I must tell you that will not be possible at this time," said the AI, with a tone of such abysmal sorrow that Bokeerk’s eyes could not help but moisten with sympathetic tears.  "I require assistance in repairing the problem."

Bokeerk lowered herself into a squat again.  "When will help get here?"  She looked at the time display on the digital assistant strapped to her left forelimb.  She had now been stranded for three hours and fifty-two minutes.

"I estimate a spaceship carrying a repair crew could be here within twelve years," said the AI.  Its voice seemed to have lost the customer service aspect.

"Twelve years?"  Bokeerk’s voice made the ceiling lamps tremble.

"Without the teleport network, repair crews are limited to slower-than-light travel.  However, I believe we can avoid such a long wait if you will assist me."

"I don’t know anything about repairing teleports," said Bokeerk.  "I illustrate children’s books.  I’m on my way home from the Galactic Children’s Book Fair."

Since IGMS has been a very good market for me, I’m excited by the opportunity to work behind the scenes.

On returning from the convention, I found an acceptance letter from Analog for my novelette “That Leviathan, Whom Thou Hast Made.”  It’s the seventh story I’ve sold to Analog, and it’s the most Mormon (Mormonest?) story I’ve sold anywhere.  The main character is a Mormon branch president who must deal with the consequences of having alien members of his congregation—specifically gigantic plasma beings living inside the sun—who are part of a culture with different laws and traditions.

I’ve occasionally heard people say that Analog won’t buy stories with religious themes (unless they’re anti-religious), but that has not been my experience.

Anyway, if you want to listen to the story, it’s here.  (It’s free.)  Steve Anderson did a great job with the reading.

Becca is one of my writing friends I’ve known the longest. She and I were in an online class together back in 2002 and then in an in-person writing group for a couple of years until she moved to Colorado.  I read the earliest version of the novel that would eventually become Hush, Hush—back before the character of Patch was a fallen angel—and I’ve always thought Becca had a great writing voice for Young Adult novels.  I also admire her tremendous persistence in rewriting and rewriting her novel until it became a surefire hit.  I look forward to reading the final version.

John Brown and I both went to Bountiful High School just a year apart, but we apparently didn’t know each other at the time. We’ve since gotten to know each other as members of Codex and through the local Utah conventions. John’s lecture on the “three things you need to know to write killer stories” is fascinating, and I highly recommend it to aspiring writers.

Of course, there was no need to go to all that trouble. There’s a much more authoritative source which debunks the Shroud of Turin.

From the Gospel According to St. John, Chapter 20:

6. Then cometh Simon Peter following him, and went into the sepulchre, and seeth the linen clothes lie,

7. And the napkin, that was about his head, not lying with the linen clothes, but wrapped together in a place by itself. [Emphasis added.]

According to the Biblical account, the cloth used to wrap Christ’s head was completely separate from that used to wrap his body.  Therefore, since the Shroud of Turin purports to be a single piece of cloth used to wrap both head and body, it cannot be the cloth used to wrap Christ’s body.

(Of course, this debunking only works for people who believe in the Bible, but I think the number of people who believe in the Shroud of Turin but not in the Bible is relatively small.)