Postcards From Mars

Y’all I’m positively howling, it’s almost EXACTLY what Dairine said to Nita about Kit waaay back in Deep Wizardry

Paging the newly-fledged-and-recruiting Dairine/Mehrnaz squad @hencegoodfortune @shamrockjolnes @inkidink @imaginariumgeographica

(cont) Are these timeline issues fixed in the New Millennium Editions? And if you have a corrected timeline, could you post it here? Thank you!

Fixing the timeline issues was one of the main purposes of the NMEs. So I think it’s safe to say that yes, those issues have been fixed.

No, I don’t have a timeline as such. The general progression of the New Millennium editions, though, is given in the “time fix” at the start of each book. So it goes like this:

So You Want to Be a Wizard: May 2008

Deep Wizardry: July 2008

High Wizardry: August 2008

A Wizard Abroad: Mid-July through early August, 2009

The Wizard’s Dilemma: Late September, 2009

A Wizard Alone: January 2010

Wizard’s Holiday: April 2010

Wizards at War: Late April / early May 2010

A Wizard of Mars: Late June 2010

…Hope that helps. :)

I would find a way to be there.

wowww

things that would be expensive: renting an RV

things that would actually probably be less expensive: inventing technology for teleports

As someone currently spite-writing the second draft of a project...this fills me with such a sense of purpose and inspiration. XD

What inspired you to write Young Wizards? A relative, a dream you had? Did the story come to you as you were writing it, or was it hammered from bits and pieces of thoughts made plain on text? Were there parts you struggled with, parts that came easier than others? (Have you already answered these questions in an interview you can link to?)

What inspired me to write So You Want To Be A Wizard?

Partly humor. Partly rage. (More about both under the cut...)

The subject's come up in interviews every now and then, but let's tl:dr; it here.

The humor: Often enough while I was nursing, and seeing the bizarre things people would do to their own bodies, I wished out loud to other fellow professionals that human beings came with some kind of instruction manual. Now, I'd known the "So You Want To Be A…" series of (US-published) career books from my childhood. One day when I was thinking about them—and for no reason I can understand at this end of time—the word "…Wizard" plugged itself onto the end of the title template.

Instead of a simple instruction manual for people, I found myself considering what a wizard's manual would look like. Where would it come from? Who would it have come from? Might it, itself, be an entirely bigger manual than the one I'd been joking about—but the full instructions and background material you'd need for (maybe) understanding life, but (definitely) doing magic? A book as big or as small as you needed for the work in hand, and full of the answers to questions you never thought you'd get answers to? ...

From that basic concept, the wider concept of wizardly culture built itself up over the next couple of years. ...Naturally I'd read Le Guin's "Earthsea" books years before, and I'd noted (but decided to pass on) the concept of a school-for-wizards. While it was interesting enough, it'd already been done by a writer far more skilled. What interested me more was a DIY-ish approach, where you learn by yourself, do things that interest you, and join up with other like-minded practitioners when the mood moves you or circumstances require.

Anyway, now comes the rage. While all this was percolating in the background, I was finishing up a YA series by another writer. When I hit the end of it, I was profoundly upset by the events of the series’s closure. They seemed to me to have treated strong and resilient young characters as helpless creatures without agency, subjecting them “for their own good” to an amnesic end-state they absolutely didn’t deserve. I got mad about this. I dove into the writing of the first Young Wizards book with the intention of treating my young characters a whole lot better—since if there was anything I knew about kids from my nursing, it was that a lot of them were tougher than many of the adults around them.

Once I was started, the writing went straightforwardly from book’s beginning to book’s end (because as I was already a screenwriter, and screenwriters outline, the novel was naturally outlined too). The writing took about six months, as right then I was also writing for Scooby and Scrappy-Doo to pay the rent. I turned in the book and didn’t think much more about what might happen next (though I knew there was quite a lot more story to tell) until I ran into Madeleine L’Engle at some event of my publisher’s. She took me aside and said, “I read your last one. I liked it a lot! When’s the next?”

That was when I realized I had a problem... so I got busy.  :) ...And I’ve been busy with the Young Wizards universe ever since. I’m busy with that universe right now, though it may not look like it. And I expect to be busy with it for years to come.

HTH!

Russian shorthand. 19th c.

A Knot Zoo.

http://jenesaispourquoi.tumblr.com/post/90776856846/someone-pointed-out-to-me-awhile-ago-that-in-syw

Someone pointed out to me awhile ago that in SYW… they need all sorts of special materials to do their spells, and then later they just need words. Does anyone remember the explanation for that shift? i’m looking back through DW because i figure that’s where it would be? Or maybe in HW or AWAb?

…

I teleport into Rirhath B

luggage: spoken to

alien: exploded

non-humanoid bathroom: entered

I am forcibly removed from the Crossings Intercontinual Gating Facility

What is an Ocean but a Multitude of Drops?

I’ve been pondering the recurring notion in Young Wizards—introduced in the first book—that “even…unmagical-seeming actions” have importance in the fight against entropy. Whether it’s turning the lights off when one leaves a room, having a kind word for someone in need of encouragement, or just using the bus for transport to an alien mall crawl (“Wizards are supposed to use public transport—it’s ecologically sound!”), these little choices are no less important than galaxy-spanning fights with the Lone Power. And indeed, it’s often the little things—like Nita’s space pen or Ponch’s squirrels—that make the big victories possible.

It’s a concept that recurs in several of my other favorite works of fiction, as well. Rory’s father, Brian, from the most recent season of Doctor Who springs immediately to mind. A down-to-earth sort, Brian spends his screentime changing lightbulbs, carefully watching alien artifacts for days on end, and throwing golf balls for nearby dinosaurs to play fetch with. Unlike most of the Doctor’s associates, he doesn’t progress from these humble beginnings into something “remarkable”—he never becomes immortal or the Bad Wolf or anything like that. But instead, his very mundane habits are exactly what’s needed to save the world on multiple occasions. And when the Doctor offers to let him travel across time and space full-time, his response is simply, “Somebody’s got to water the plants.”

I bring this up because it’s a rather uncommon line of thought, on the whole. Far more common is the desire to change oneself, to journey forth from humble origins and grow into something great, to leave a mark on the world. But examples like the ones I mentioned above suggest that perhaps we’re not on the way to doing something remarkable—we already are, from one day to the next.

In the final lines of Cloud Atlas, both the book and the film (I heartily recommend either, incidentally), one of the protagonists ponders the notion that his efforts to change the world only amount to “a single drop in a limitless ocean.”

"But what is an ocean," he concludes, "but a multitude of drops?"

The same, I think, applies to all of us. We may not all be heroes or luminaries who command the destinies of millions, but within the smaller confines of our individual lives, every choice we embark upon makes a difference. And ultimately, the whole of human history is comprised of nothing else but people making decisions, many of them seemingly unimportant, one day at a time. Taken all together, though, it adds up to something remarkable. No man is an island, and every rock idly tossed into a pond produces ripples.

It’s both encouraging and terrifying to think about.

Hubble has spotted an ancient galaxy that shouldn’t exist

This galaxy is so large, so fully-formed, astronomers say it shouldn’t exist at all. It’s called a “grand-design” spiral galaxy, and unlike most galaxies of its kind, this one is old. Like, really, really old. According to a new study conducted by researchers using NASA’s Hubble Telescope, it dates back roughly 10.7-billion years — and that makes it the most ancient spiral galaxy we’ve ever discovered.

"The vast majority of old galaxies look like train wrecks," said UCLA astrophysicist Alice Shapley in a press release. "Our first thought was, why is this one so different, and so beautiful?"

Read more: here