Author Obligations and the Millennial Generation

  By Robert Watson | 12 July, 2013 - 17:55 | , ,
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Like last week’s post, this week’s topic was suggested by my wife. For those not in the know: you, too, can suggest a topic. Almost anything that falls within the realm of “storytelling, art, and mathematics” is welcome – even if the fit is vague.

 

If you haven’t seen my “about me” page, I teach mathematics. I started teaching my senior year at The University of Tulsa. I was put in charge of what were called “quiz sections.” Some of you may have heard of “supplemental instruction,” peer-lead tutoring sessions which numerous colleges provide. “Quiz sections” were similar, although I was given the additional responsibility of administering quizzes. The novelty of grading papers lasted one day.

I was the same age as the students, and lived on campus. Both of these facts resulted in more than one amusing situations.

My geology lab partner was one of my students.

Every so often I’d bump into them at a party, where we’d learn we had mutual friends.

Except for the kid who dropped the class after one of these encounters, any initial awkwardness was swiftly eradicated by the realization, Oh! We have the same friends. And we’re the same age.

We’re even in the same clubs. My last year in Tulsa, I joined APO, which is a community service fraternity. A few of my students joined with me, and we’d work at the food bank and build houses for Habitat for Humanity together.

Then I graduated, moved to North Carolina, and grew older. Sometime over the span of the next four years, I managed to complete my doctorate. In my spare time, I aged a bit more.

One day, not too long ago, I realized I was now a different person. Then I realized I was wrong. I’m pretty much the same me. The students were different.

Sometime between 2004 and 2013, the world decided it needed to be constantly plugged in. Then it decided it no longer needed wires.

My “internet empire” was recently upgraded, but my art gallery still reflects the hand-crafted-HTML internet I grew up with. What happened?

I’m not that old. I was born in 1983. So whose generation am I in?

It turns out I’m in the gray area between Generation X and the Millennial Generation. I missed out on most of the events which shaped Generation X. But the information age blast that affects so many of the Millennials didn’t really hit me until I was almost in high school.

1996, the year of Space Jam and Dolly the Sheep, ushered in the end of pay-by-hour AOL. For the majority of my childhood, “online” meant HAL-PC, Houston’s local BBS. Next year’s collegiate freshman class had just been born.

For today’s eighth-grader, “online” means near-instantaneous access to just about every form of media imaginable. In the palm of their hands. If this doesn’t blow your mind, chances are you’re a Millennial.

Let’s play a comparison game. My childhood. Theirs. I don’t think we grew up out of the same world.

It’s not just access to information that has changed. Even more so, the role of creator has changed.

First, there’s the obvious: everyone can be a content creator. How do you think this blog got here? It wasn’t because I submitted my posts to a publishing agency that decided I had something worthwhile to say.

One day I decided I’m going to author a blog. Then I did. And if anybody doesn’t like it, I can stick out my tongue and go, pfffffffffffffttttttttttt, which used to be theme song of internet connectivity.

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Second, the relationship between creators and consumers has changed. There’s a lot that can be said about this. Intellectual property and copyright is a dissertation in itself.

So I’m going to address a question my wife brought up at dinner last night.

 

Q: What obligations do authors have to their readers?

 

Both of us are in fields where there’s diminishing tolerance for being set in our ways. I was reminded of this late last semester, when I received an email from a student at 1 am. I didn’t respond until I woke up the next morning, after he already asked me why I didn’t reply.

I don’t think it’s such a horrible thing to not be available 24/7. People aren’t, but information is. At least, that’s what we’re now used to.

As for authors, and content creators in general, there’s less and less room for the person who produces work behind a curtain.

In a way, we seem to be heading back to the days of the storyteller, telling a tale before a crowd and a fire. These were the days when the audience had a personal connection with the creator. They were there. They could ask questions, discuss the story, or whatever else they wished.

I’d hesitate a bit to say the internet provides “personal connections,” but how many of you have tracked down the website of your favorite author so you could ask a question or find out a bit more about them? How many of you have looked for their Facebook, Google Plus, or Twitter page, only to be vastly disappointed to find out they had none of these?

If you were born after 1995, “the internet” has been a household name for just about your entire life. “If it’s not online, it probably doesn’t matter.” If it’s not the case now, eventually that line will be a death sentence for the hopes of anyone wanting to publish without an internet presence.

This isn’t a case of traditional publishing versus electronic publishing. Whatever media is bought, in whatever form, this is the case of the consumer’s growing desire to feel connected to the producer.

Popular books aren’t just books. They’re cultures. Think of the vast library of fan fictions associated with top novels. I had never heard of “fan fiction” until I got to college. Now, fan fiction is endorsed by Amazon.

Picking up a copy of, say, Harry Potter, was doing more than just selecting a book to read. It was an invitation to participate in a sub-culture.

Going forward, I expect to see the wall dividing the producer and the consumer continue to crumble. Lurking in the shadows will be increasingly difficult. The author will take more of the role of a performer, expected to interact with their audience.

What do you think? Are we headed to a new golden age of authorship and readership?

 

* * *

 

Speaking of interaction, let me say “thank you” to everyone who has submitted a solution to A Conundrum of Eggs 1. If you’re sitting on an answer, it’s not too late to submit one yourself!

Much like its inspiration, A Tangled Tale, the answers aren’t revealed until the end of the tale. Since A Conundrum of Eggs has three installments, this rule may need to be tweaked so that nobody has to wait until October.

Glue Your Butt to Your Chair and Write Your Novel

  By Robert Watson | 5 July, 2013 - 16:34 |
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Kingdom of Puttingitoff

Kingdom of Puttingitoff. { full size }

 

This week’s topic was suggested by my wife, who has been toying with the idea of writing a legal thriller for some time. Credit goes to her for the title. Thanks, E. Watson!

It also turns out the “procrastination monster” was this week’s topic on Nightwolf’s Corner. See, nobody is immune from the grip of Procrastinor, lord of Puttingitoff.

Procrastinor

Procrastinor looks like a nut. Let’s name him Filbert.

The Kingdom of Puttingitoff lies snuggled between the County of Indifference, and Tulsa. Procrastinor, or Filbert, is a long-time foe on two accounts.

For those out of the know, I teach mathematics. Anyone who teaches knows all too well of Filbert’s merciless grip. Getting students to do the work on time is one of my bigger battles.

But I can’t be too hard on them. Every teacher was once a student.

Honesty time: Although I was good at getting things done on time, I had my own share of close calls and panic-fueled rushes.

But it also seems easier to get things done on time when it’s something you have to do. Filbert’s own enemy, Responsibilitar (who I haven’t gotten around to drawing), seems to be a pretty reliable white knight – more or less so for others.

The difficulty is keeping your nose to the grindstone when the only person counting on you is yourself.

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I spend a lot of time doing things for others: my students, colleagues, etc. When I have my own time, it’s tempting to rest. I like writing, and I like drawing. But sometimes I like having the result more than the process of creating, which is a problem.

You have to enjoy the process. If not, it’s all too easy to let Filbert suggest other things to do.

I’ve mentioned An Ember in the Wind a few times already, mostly because I’m currently rewriting it. The original draft was written this time of year, six years ago. In fact, the original draft is about the same age as my marriage. I remember carrying a little notebook around Spokane, working on the story while my bride-to-be was at the hair salon.

It was also the first novel I completed. Ever. I’ve had various unsuccessful attempts at completing a book. Ember was the first success.

I’m going to credit the creative process, or, rather, learning how to enjoy it. It’s not an easy thing to learn. The main difficulty is that there’s not much one can do to teach the skill, which makes it hard to find a teacher. Everyone who has learned to enjoy the creative process has their own tale of how that came to be.

Ember was my creative escape from studying for qualifier exams, much like A Foundation in Wisdom was my escape from my first steps in the field of research. In fact, you could almost say Ember was the product of a bout with Filbert. But I’ll argue that it was a necessity.

All math and no play makes Jack a dull boy.

Each chapter of Ember has a story – a particular place I wrote it, something that happened when I worked on it, etc. My wife and I spent a lot of time in various coffee shops around Chapel Hill. Much of that time was spent writing.

It was fun. Having the result was fun, but more importantly, the writing process itself was fun. I can look at the draft and see memories. That’s probably not a good thing when it comes to the revision process – since it makes it harder to throw unnecessary passages out. But it is evidence to how those words got there in the first place.

In any larger project, though, there will come a point where you just don’t want to work on it. Starting is relatively easy. Why would you start a project if you didn’t enjoy it? Finishing it, however, may require a bit of determination.

For writing projects, there is a point where determination alone provides enough fuel to evade Filbert’s advances. I call it the Nanowrimo point – because, for me, it’s 50,000 words. It’s the point at which I can send Filbert away because I’ve made it too far to give up.

50,000 words is a lot. To put it in perspective, it’s twice as many as 25,000 words, and 50,000 times as many as one. It’s also the point at which finishing doesn’t seem like a hopeless task. The light is at the end of the tunnel, and I’m close enough to see it’s not that of a train.

So, as far as advice to anyone having difficulties with Filbert, I don’t have much. I found a way to enjoy the creative process. Perhaps it was a necessity, born out of the grueling task of qualifier prep. Perhaps, for you, it’s also a necessity. Or, maybe not.

I think the hardest part is starting, because there’s so much blank space to fill up. The initial goal is making it to the “Nanowrimo point,” if there is one. Until then, finding enjoyment in the process of working toward the goal is the key. At least, it was for me.

Reaching the goal is immensely satisfying. That satisfaction may be enough to get you into gear. If not, learn to find satisfaction in the journey. I had to teach myself to do that.

We’re all different, and we all have our own needs and ways of fulfilling them. You’ll need to find yours. Perhaps a change of habits, or location, would help. For me, it was a combination of both, along with a change of perspective.

A Conundrum of Eggs ~ July 2013 Riddle

  By Robert Watson | 28 June, 2013 - 11:00 | , , , ,
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This month’s riddle is presented in the form of a short story. I am revising the sequel to A Foundation in Wisdom, currently titled An Ember in the Wind. This is not an excerpt, but rather, a side tale that branches off the main work.

This little tale is an experiment of sorts. Afterward, I’ll explain a little bit about it, and what direction I’m thinking of taking with the monthly riddles.

Also, I’ll reveal the solution to last month’s riddle.

1-1
A Conundrum of Eggs

fishing hole

Mara’s fishing hole at the edge of reality.

 

Mara sat on the edge of reality, dangling her feet over the border and watching them fade out and return to existence. “Hello, feet,” she said as she swung her leg back toward her. She thought for a moment about what grand adventures they may have had without her, but ultimately decided she couldn’t have missed out on much if they stayed connected to her knees.

The grassy knoll Mara sat on separated the city of Locana from Fordham Forest. It stood in the shadow of a tall, obelisk structure. Part of the knoll jutted into the woods, forming a little cliff that overlooked a dip. When she first peered over the edge, she saw nothing but a dark abyss. This must be the edge of the world, she thought. Nothing exists beyond this point. It is a blank canvas on which anything can be created.

Mara closed her eyes and listened to the gentle trickling below. The world is rushing out, like a waterfall.

Earlier in the day, Mara came up with the idea of fishing from the void. She spent the previous morning imagining what wonderful treasures she could pull. Oh, how wonderful it would be to fish out a book, she thought. A real one. A real book with illuminations, and not one made by whatever Gutenberg is calling that machine.

Mara stared at the void. Or a friend. Yes, I could pull out a friend… someone to share the knoll with me so that neither of us got too lonely. I could tell him all about what it is like to exist, and he could tell me all about what it is like to not exist.

After sitting for a while, she felt a tug on the line. Her heart raced as she stood up and began reeling in her catch. She pulled it out of the shadow, and grimaced. She had retrieved another catfish.

“Is that all you have for me?” she spoke into the void. “Out of the entire realm of possibility, the nexus of man’s wildest dreams, fish?”

She tossed the fish back into the void. The fabric of the universe splashed, and she thought how peculiarly similar it sounded to water.

Mara then felt a tickling sensation on her shoulder. She saw a bee out of the corner of her eye, screamed, and ducked. Her fishing rod slipped out of her hand and tumbled into the void with a sploosh.

Mara sighed and looked away from the void. By now, the shadow of the obelisk had almost reached the edge of the world, which meant it was about time to meet with her tutor.

She sat on the edge, dangled her feet over the void, and listened to the voices of the university students in the distance. How nice it would be to be a real student here, she thought, and not receive curious glances. At least I have the obelisk.

The obelisk structure was a forgotten tower, part of the University of Locana. It seemed peculiar to Mara that an entire wing would have been omitted from the minds of the Locanans. But, indeed, the obelisk was not at all cared for. Vines grew around and up the structure, and even into the structure – pushing through the brittle mortar that held the stones together.

But Mara knew it was not abandoned. It was the home of her tutor, known as the Ori. Nobody was allowed to meet with the Ori. At least, that was what she gathered from the fact that nobody at the university was allowed to speak about him.

On the day of her first appointment, Mara wandered the entire grounds looking for him. Nobody seemed to know where he lived, or even who he was. They must have taken a vow of silence about the matter, she thought.

But Mara was persistent, and soon ruled out all locales except the dilapidated obelisk. When she pushed away the vines and revealed a door, she knew this must be it. And, indeed, there was the Ori. He already knew who she was, and that she was sent by Aphrael, the priestess, to learn about the nature of reality.

For the past couple of months, since the start of the planting season, Mara had met with the Ori once a week. Each week he had given her a new problem, and discussed his disappointment in her failure to solve the previous.

Mara wasn’t inclined to give up. For the tenth time she pounded on the heavy door. Little bits of mortar rained down onto her hair as she pushed the door open and stepped inside with cautious confidence.

“Have you solved your problem?” the Ori asked, as he always greeted her.

She returned her usual greeting in reply, “No.” Her confidence fluttered out the window and joined the birds flying above.

“I see,” the Ori said, diverting his gaze for a moment.

“Do not be disappointed, Ori,” Mara exclaimed. “I tried. I really tried.”

The Ori nodded. “But if you wish to hold the world, open it up and see inside, you need to learn more than how to fish at the end of it.”

“Oh, I do want to hold the world,” Mara said. “See it all. That’s why I work. Hard. But, you see… please don’t be disappointed.”

“I think that if you want to understand the world, we would be best starting with yourself.”

“But I know my own self!” Mara exclaimed.

The Ori drew out a long hum as he stroked his beard. He had a penchant for prolonging his response just long enough to make Mara nervous. As soon as he saw her eyes look away, he replied, “Do you?”

“Oh, yes. See, I saw my image in the mirror, and immediately didn’t confuse me with my reflection.”

The Ori continued to hum, and after a moment Mara felt compelled to explain further. “Most people look in the mirror and see themselves. I look in the mirror and see another Mara who may look like me, but is much less creative and far more annoying in her way of always copying my actions.”

“That would be irritating, yes,” the Ori said. “However, I feel that you do not know yourself as well as you say you do.”

Mara shook her head. “Oh no, no, no. I know myself very well. Much more than my place in the world, it seems.”

“Well, then let us find out,” the Ori said. “One can hardly determine their place in the world if they don’t know how much of it they are occupying.”

“I don’t see how myself matters at all.”

“It matters all too much,” the Ori said. “If you wish to create a true model of the world, it must include yourself. Should it not?”

“Well, I don’t think I take up too much,” Mara said. “I demand very little, if anything at all – hardly any food or drink, and I never throw perfectly good things to waste.”

The Ori stroked his beard some more, and Mara grew very worried. He smiled. “How big are you? Do you know?”

“Yes,” Mara said. “I am 55 inches tall. And, I gather, 14 inches wide and 7 inches deep.”

“Then let us assume an ellipsoid Mara.”

Mara gasped. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and lowered her gaze. “Are you suggesting I have the build of an egg?”

“My dear,” the Ori said. “Just for ease in the calculation. It is only in the spirit of efficient mathematics.”

“Fine, so be it,” Mara said, “I see mathematics and flattery do not make good bedfellows.”

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“And you say you wish to be holding a little world. Suppose it’s ten percent the size of you, and on this world is another Mara of size ten percent of it.”

Mara nodded, humming away as she pretended to be in contemplation and not annoyance.

The Ori continued, “And, of course, the little Mara is holding another little world, with similar proportions, and it’s own little Mara, and so on and so forth.”

“Oh! Infinite me’s,” Mara laughed with elation. “Each one of them a darling and not at all egg-shaped.”

“Yes,” the Ori said, and smiled gently with only a hint of deviousness. “So, tell me, darling, what percent of this universe is Mara?”

“Oh, this should not do wonders for my ego, for I know the number will not be that much bigger than my presence in this room, so small all the same.” Mara stared at the ceiling while she thought. “But it shall be easy to compute. All I need to know are the dimensions of the room, of course.”

“Not so much,” the Ori said. “Because a true model of the world includes you, there’s no reason to believe that you’re not on another iteration of the model, with a bigger Mara watching you on a similarly proportioned sphere. And an even bigger Mara watching her, and so on and so forth upward as well.”

“Oh, I do not think I like this anymore,” Mara said as she bit her lip. “A bigger me would certainly have a bigger ego, and I shall fear I’d crush me like a bug out of the frustration of not knowing the answer.”

The Ori nodded solemnly, then smiled. “Then you best be off working on the solution. I much prefer for myself to be in three dimensions and not reduced to two, should you crush the world.”

 

{ Beat Mara to the solution! }

 

 

A Snippet of the History of Mathematics and Fiction

 

As mentioned at the start, this story was an experiment. It was mostly inspired by Lewis Carroll’s A Tangled Tale. Most people know Carroll for Alice in Wonderland – so A Tangled Tale seems to take the backseat in discussions of his work. The tale was a serial work, published in a magazine between 1880 and 1885. Each installment, called a knot, presented some number of mathematical problems.

Because A Tangled Tale was published in installments, Carroll would also discuss reader answers to the questions posed in the previous story.

Carroll was also known for the ribbing of readers who submitted incorrect answers, which was not always appreciated.

A Tangled Tale wasn’t the only such work attempting to combine mathematics and humor. A couple more examples would be Sideways Arithmetic from Wayside School, a spin-off of the Wayside series by Louis Sachar; and Dude, Can You Count? by Christian Constanda.

The latter two examples were published as books. A Tangled Tale was unique in that it included the dialogue between Carroll and the original readers. The entire text (the tale, and discussions) is available on Project Gutenberg.

As for the monthly riddles, here is a great opportunity to experiment a bit with the format of A Tangled Tale.

Each “riddle” presents a problem or two. At the end, the reader is invited to submit a solution before Mara does.

Speaking of solutions…

 

Solution to the June 2013 Riddle

 

If you haven’t worked out the solution to the June 2013 riddle for yourself, this is your last chance!

Seriously.

Once you read the answer, you can never solve it on your own… which, I may add, is an immensely satisfying feeling.

Of course, you could just argue with me over my solution, or how I worded the question. Depending on your personality, this may be just as fun.

 

Solution

The ages of the three children are 6, 6, 1.

 

Explanation

Textbook questions tend to give the student exactly what information they need to solve the problem… which I believe is poor preparation for the real world. But, I digress. There is just enough information in the narrative to solve the puzzle, and not a drop more.

The trick is rather devious. And it lies with the seemingly useless information that the mathematician gives his friend. The information itself isn’t useful (immediately), but the fact that it was needed does shed some light on the puzzle.

The product of the ages is 36. If you write all the ways you can multiply three numbers (positive integers, for those of you inclined to nitpick) to arrive at 36, you’ll find that most of the triples add up to a unique sum.

For example, 3, 3, 4 multiply to 36. These numbers also add up to 10. In fact, it is the only set of three positive integers that add to 10. If these were the ages of the children, the friend wouldn’t have needed the extra piece of information.

And this is the rub. There are only two sets of three positive integers that share the same sum: 6, 6, 1 and 9, 2, 2. The solution has to be one of these sets, because otherwise the friend would have been able to solve the problem without additional help. (Remember, he can see the number of windows).

Once you figure that out, the extra information itself is useful. 9, 2, 2 can’t be right, because there isn’t a “youngest child.” There are two “youngest children.” This means the correct answer is 6, 6, 1.

 

Winners List

 

No correct solutions were submitted – but thanks to everyone who submitted an answer.