Author: skzb

I play the drum.

Reflections

Sometime in the late 1970s, my wife and I attended a meeting of the Minnesota Science Fiction Society. This was in the early days of table top role playing games, and in Minneapolis, or at least among those of us in Minn-Stf, these were nearly always homebrew systems—indeed, I confess some of us got a bit snobby when we learned that other people bought their game out of a box.  Humph.

At that meeting we were introduced to a woman named Adrienne Thornly (now Robert Charles Morgan) and her (his? I don’t know how to do the pronouns when speaking of the past.  On the recommendation of friends, I’ll go with “his” and use his current name) just then being developed world of Piarra, based on elements of D&D (which at the time I think I hadn’t even heard of) with bits of Lovecraft, Marion Zimmer Bradley, and many other things that appealed to his amazing, fertile mind.

My wife and I sat down to play, along with Steven Bond, Richard Tatge, a friend of Robert’s named John Robey, and John Stanley.  My wife, Reen, and I were hooked inside of fifteen minutes.  The world was raw, empty, undeveloped; but some basic concepts were there, like the Cycle of 17 Houses, and at least hints of what a few of those Houses were about.

The amazing thing was Robert’s ability to create, off the top of her head, fully fleshed out NPCs, with a life history and an agenda.  We loved it, and continued obsessively playing for, I don’t even know.  Months? A couple of years?  Richard dropped away, and we became close friends with John Robey (now deceased, alas). The rest of the group remained fairly constant.

Yes, we were obsessed—but I had no idea then that this game would lead me onto a path that would guide, essentially, the rest of my life.  I wrote the first book, Jhereg, in 1980, largely because Robert was gone, and I couldn’t stop obsessing. Because of complications in Robert’s personal life (that are none of my business or yours), I had to change some of the names when I started writing about it, and I added elements of my own TTRPG, Dragaera, that was an offshoot of Piarra, and develop those pieces that remained only vague concepts.  And, while characters can translate from an RPG, I find that events generally do not, and so there is little that happened in the game that appears in the stories.  But the heart and soul of my world remains the game that we played that one day at a Minn-Stf meeting in the late 70s.

As of today, I have 25 more chapters of Vlad to write–eight more of The Last Contract, and then Chreotha.  It has been an amazing, wonderful, fulfilling journey.  And I remain humbly grateful to the readers who have stayed with me, to Steve, John, John, Richard, and Reen, and, above all, to Robert Charles Morgan, who set me on the path that would guide my life.

“But What Can *I* Do?”

Never during my lifetime has the question “But what can I do?” been so fraught, and resulted in so much disorientation. Not long ago, some people were passing around a petition suggesting we boycott “Zionist” authors (in fact, many were Jewish but had no connection to Zionism) in response to the ongoing genocide in Palestine. This is the kind of empty gesture (or worse) that comes from simultaneous rage at injustice and feelings of personal helplessness. “All I am is a consumer, so I will use that ‘power’ to make things better.”

Recently, during a dispute over the then-upcoming election with a beloved family member, I was berated for “doing nothing except making Facebook posts and tweets” as opposed to doing something ‘meaningful’ like casting a vote for war, genocide, Wall Street, and surrendering to fascists. I wasn’t angry or hurt or upset, but I let the matter drop, because continuing wouldn’t have made the visit any more pleasant. It is, however, a point worth discussing, because it ties into the same question: the role of the individual at this time of social crisis.

I have learned that several people have become supporters of the Socialist Equality Party, and at least one person has become a member, as a result of interest generated by my Facebook posts and tweets. This has done more to move us toward a solution to humanity’s problems and ten million votes for a capitalist party.

My point is neither to brag, nor to justify myself. My point is that in this period, the most constructive thing an individual can do is learn, study, and *explain*. Every day, more people are feeling justified outrage, and looking for solutions. I firmly believe building a dedicated, revolutionary leadership in the working class, one that will carry us toward ending this barbarous system, is the only possible way forward.

We are not helpless. We are not relegated to the role of “consumers” whose only power is to engage in stupid and usually reactionary attempts to fix things by what we do and do not purchase. We have brains, we can learn, and as we learn, we can explain to others, and take steps toward the creation of genuine alternative to genocide, war, fascism, and the destruction of our planet.

Not all of us can make the same level of commitment. But anyone who cares enough can make a contribution, whether by becoming a member of the Socialist Equality Party, or giving financial support, or even by discussions that might bring someone else closer.  Every individual who comes to see the need and possibility of a socialist answer to capitalist barbarism is a gain. Every individual who begins to understand how to get from here to there, that is, of the importance of building a revolutionary socialist leadership in the working class, moves us closer to creating a rational, humane world.

For those outraged by injustice, or, indeed, directly threatened by it: Read the World Socialist Web Site. Study, learn, and, in the words of Lenin, “Patiently explain.”

I Will Never Forgive Delta Airlines

Delta Airlines is evil and I will never forgive them.

I don’t hate them for the flight to Santa Marta I missed: That was entirely my fault.

Not for the suitcase that went astray—after panicking because I’d missed my flight, my mistakes started piling up, so that, too, was my fault.

And not because of customer service, which was great. Well, okay, they made one mistake (heads up, Delta: you do not, in fact, have an agent in Santa Marta; that was a round trip taxi to the airport I wasted), but generally they were excellent, both on the phone and in person.  They even got me to Santa Marta on another airline, which took a bit of finagling with how tight the time was. And one sainted woman I talked to on the phone, Lou or Louie or something, really went above and beyond when El Gringo Estupido was trying to fight his way through the bureaucracy of three different airlines to track down his suitcase in a foreign country where he didn’t speak the language. Bless her.  Even the baggage guy Lou managed to tree for me stayed on the line while I made sure that, yes, it checked out, my suitcase was THERE.

And not for the cancelled flight that forced me to spend the night in Bogota on the 15th instead of going home; that was a mechanical issue. It was probably them being over-cautious, but if I’m traveling at a ground speed of 550 MPH 39,000 feet in the air, being over-cautious seems like kind of a good thing.

And not for the delayed flight the next day that caused me to miss my connection on the 16th and required me to stay an extra day in Atlanta instead of going home.  I don’t know what caused it, or if it was preventable; these things happen.  Yeah, it was annoying, but hardly unforgivable.

And not for the idiotic policy of making you go through security, then customs, then security again that resulted in 12 trips through security* in three days: that’s TSA, or customs, or the airport, or some combination; but that is no more Delta’s fault than the intestinal bug I picked up in Santa Marta that, as you might guess, made the travel experience even more enjoyable.

No, I hate them for the godawful, horrid, grating promo video they make you watch at the start of every flight to advertise themselves. OMG.  If I had thought it would shut it up, I’d have ripped out the screen with my teeth by the fourth time I saw it.  Why would they torture people like that?  Why?  Why?  Whoever decided to do that to a stressed-out traveler is going to a special place in Hell along with people who abandon cats and the designers of pop-up adds on cell phone apps.

Other than the travel, I had a great time.  And thanks once more to my niece and travel agent Lynette Brown who held my hand through the ordeal, and would have preserved my sanity if there were anything left to preserve.

It’s good to be home.

—–

*It would have been only 11 except that TSA in Bogota and TSA in Atlanta have different ideas about how to deal with the oddity of someone trying to bring something from the duty-free shop past security.

Generalized Human Experience

This is a term I’ve heard often, as one of the goals of art, without really understanding it. I think I’ve figured out at least some of it now. Stay with me.

I think I was 22 or so when my daughter, Carolyn, became seriously ill (and thank you Dr. Edlavitch!). My wife and I were terrified. I remember sitting in the waiting room, as frightened as I had ever been. I put my hand up the back of my wife’s shirt, and she glared at me, and told me this wasn’t the time to get sexual.

Of course, I wasn’t getting sexual; I was scared and needed human contact, especially hers.

But here’s the thing: I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t find the words to tell her that. Looking back now, it seems so silly, the words were easy. “It’s not about sex. I’m scared and I need touch.” She’d have understood that. But at the time, the words just weren’t anywhere to be found.

How did I come to find them later, so that I could look back, remember the incident, and express what I was then feeling? Because I read a lot. Because, over the years, I had come across these feelings that brilliant writers had been able to find the words for. I think the more we read, and especially the more we read good stuff, the more we are able to draw on those shared experiences that artists have found ways to express.

That is one thing that good art can do: it can give us insights to complex emotions and help us find ways to express them. I think that is one of the highest goals of art.

(Originally posted on my patreon)