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Excerpt from The Last Crucible

John Scalzi has invited me to to share a “Big Idea” from my forthcoming novel The Last Crucible (Book 3 of Reclaimed Earth, out 9/21 on Flame Tree Press). The Big Idea post will go live a few days later on https://whatever.scalzi.com/. In preparing the various links to send along with the post, I realized there isn’t yet an easy way to read an excerpt from the book. So I’ll provide one. Please enjoy a section from Chapter Five of The Last Crucible, wherein Jana first encounters Maro and his companions from the Michelangelo, in their ostentatious gold-leaf balloon.

Excerpt from The Last Crucible

Jana had finished planting the barley with her father that morning, and was now helping Sperancia prepare a garlic extract for Pietro. The medicine would not cure him, but it slowed his wasting and made him stronger. And the boy would need his strength for his journey to Ilium; his parents had decided to accept the visitors’ offer.

On the way down the hill from Sperancia’s house, still in the shadow of the castle, Jana noticed a golden glint in the sky. Traversing the narrow cobblestone streets of the old town, she lost sight of whatever was producing the reflection. But after delivering the garlic extract and a basket of eggs from Sperancia’s chickens to Pietro’s family, she made her way to the town square and caught sight of the flickering light again. This time it was bigger and brighter: a golden orb slowly descending toward Bosa, from the south.

Whoever or whatever was approaching them had not taken a subtle approach, and Jana soon found herself in the midst of a small crowd, also tracking the golden object toward its anticipated landing place. Which, to her dismay, turned out to be right in the middle of her freshly planted field of barley.

“What could it be?” Filumena asked her. “The visitors returning, by sky this time?”

“Maybe,” said Jana. “But perhaps someone else entirely.”

The orb was vast, a glittering golden balloon. Jana could make out three figures in the basket, two men and a woman, naked from the waist up, with olive-gold skin. The men and women looked down imperiously, unsmiling, at the townsfolk gathered below, who were standing without a thought on her freshly planted barley seeds. But Jana was dumbstruck too, and could not even open her mouth to complain.

They were the most beautiful people she had ever seen, tall and muscular, with large eyes, strong noses, and high cheekbones. All of them had thick black hair, oiled slick, precisely cut and styled. And the balloon itself was a work of art, covered in shimmering layers of thin gold leaves. Actual gold, from the look of it, hammered thinner than paper, interspersed with other metallic leaves: gleaming silver and bright copper. But mostly gold. More gold than existed in all of Bosa, a thousand times over.

The basket, a delicate structure woven in intricate patterns of wicker and brass wire, touched down, and a moment later mechanically unfolded. The golden people strode toward them, unarmed and half-naked but completely unafraid, saying nothing. None of the Bosa people had weapons either, not even a staff.

The tallest of the sky visitors stopped a few paces away, and scrutinized the townsfolk, one by one, appraisingly. His eyes lingered on Filumena, which was only natural given her beauty. But another thought crept into Jana’s mind, an observation she might have considered an impossibility only minutes ago. Filumena, even with her pleasing features and glowing skin, looked almost plain compared to the angelic, otherworldly beauty of the three.

“I am Maro Decimus,” said the tallest of them in Italian, his voice deep and resonant. To Jana’s surprise she realized he was addressing her directly. While the others had stepped back, she had stepped forward, blocking his view of Filumena.

“What do you want?”

He regarded her coldly, and his right hand twitched. She stared back at him, defiant, unafraid of being struck. He looked strong, but not strong enough to kill her with a single punch. And what was a little pain, a bloody lip, or even a lost tooth? Those were just parts of her body, not her. On some level she knew that when the vessel perished, so would her mind, her self, her soul. But she could not make that logic match the way she felt, that her body was just a thing, sometimes useful but not at all precious. So she felt no physical fear, and showed none.

A snakelike smile crept over Maro’s face, and out of nowhere she remembered the time she had seen Sperancia kill a sick bull with single short blow to its skull, and the cracking sound that had resulted, stone on stone. Soon she would have Sperancia’s strength, and maybe then this handsome, arrogant man, whoever he was, would come to fear her.

“What do you want?” he mimicked. “We come not to take, but to give.”

Keeping Promises to the Reader

I’m in the final chapters of the first draft of Saint Arcology, a science fiction novel set in Mumbai involving a progressive pope, a Vatican plot, genetically engineered mollusks, a society of radicalized scientists, a blasphemous augmented reality game, a fake guru, and a solution to global poverty.

The main plot climax has already occurred, but I’m not the kind of author than can just fade to black. I feel as if I’ve made promises to potential readers of this story. My checklist for wrapping up a novel includes the following:

A Solarpunk Manifesto

The other day I found A Solarpunk Manifesto in my inbox, thanks to Joe Stech and his News Refinery newsletter.

I was vaguely aware of solarpunk as a genre, associating it with progressive technological optimism, an alternative to both dystopian science fiction and steampunk. But I’d never read any attempt to describe it explicitly.

Reading the manifesto, my general reaction was yes. Count me in for science fiction as activism, post-scarcity, post-capitalism, post-hierarchical society, and the whole shebang.

While I’ve never described the Reclaimed Earth series as solarpunk, the Ringstation Coalition culture checks all of the boxes. So do aspects of my novelette The Icelandic Cure, and many of my short stories.

So yeah, I guess I’m a solarpunk author, at least in part.

Here’s the manifesto in full, shared via Creative Commons license:

Three Spreadsheets I Use While Writing a Novel

I unabashedly love spreadsheets. I view spreadsheets as intelligent pieces of paper: totally freeform, but capable of calculations, lookups, list organization, and even database formats. Spreadsheets are a powerful technology that can externalize mental processes, organization, and memory.

I use spreadsheets for tracking my goals, health, personal finance, RPG games, and all sorts of other things. When I’m writing a novel, I primarily rely on spreadsheets to keep track of characters, scenes, and timelines. Here are a few examples:

What Is the Limiting Factor?

In terms of reaching your goals, or progressing in a given area of your life, what is the main limiting factor?

I think it’s worth spending some time and effort to consider this question. We might have assumptions about what’s limiting or holding us back that aren’t true, or are no longer true. And we might be missing problems that could be easily addressed, thus accelerating our progress.

Time and money are common limiting factors. If you want to pursue an artistic calling, how do you find the time? And since most art doesn’t pay right away (if ever), how do we survive and support our loved ones?

These are real issues for people who want to pursue artistic ideas, start a new business, contribute to their community, or do anything that doesn’t immediately pay the bills.

So sometimes people are surprised when life provides a window of time, with ample funds to boot, and the creativity or entrepreneurship doesn’t immediately materialize. Maybe the lack of time or money wasn’t the limiting factor after all.

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