Aspie authors writing social interaction

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Yes, it's an interesting subject and I've read several awesome novels lately with quantum physics and string theory at the core of the plot. The reason I'm fascinated by it (and by NO means an expert - I can't wrap my brain around the math, unfortunately) is because I've been working on a novel involving interdimensional and time travel. Evidently, according to current accepted string theorists, it is possible to travel backward in time but not forward, but I don't think this is the case. In string theory, (with dimensions referred to as 'branes' [or 'membranes]), there are up to ten dimensions [if you count 'zero brane' as a dimension and the ninth dimension 'p brane' as the tenth], three of which are observable by man. The others only exist mathematically. Or... do they?

The reason for my interest in this subject is because of the novel and one of my 'side interests,' which is a recent phenomenon known as 'Shadow People.' Now here's where I'm probably going to scare you off. If it does, don't worry, I know it sounds crazy.

In the past 25-30 years, people all over the world have had sightings of what are popularly called 'Shadow People,' and they're usually described as being roughly human in shape, with a head, two arms and two legs. That's where the similarity ends. They have been viewed in various states of being - usually as shadow that has a 'life' of its own. They can be opaque or transparent, and they move very fast. People reporting a sighting of one will usually see one out of the corner of their eye and by the time they turn to get a good look at it, it's gone. Unlike 'ghosts,' Shadow People have been seen at all times of the day, indoors and outdoors, and in varying weather conditions.

More info about them here:
http://paranormal.about.com/library/wee ... 22502a.htm

Anyhow, being a 'logical' kind of person when it comes to these things, I could not explain them in mundane fashion after the many sightings I've had. I've read up everything I can find on them and eventually I began writing a novel about them, called 'Lord of the Shadows,' which basically outlines my theory that they are not in fact 'ghosts' (as many think) but instead are either visitors from another dimension or a future time. I've interviewed over a 100 people in real life about them, and they are people that are credible. So the question for me became this: if they are in fact NOT a hallucination (and yes, I've considered that a possibility, too, until I and one of my family members saw one at the same time), then what are they? When I began reading up on quantum physics and space/time, I stumbled on a web page that explained String Theory in layman's terms and a lot of it fit my own explanation of these phenomena. Putting it in story form is my way of explaining what I and my family members saw over a period of 25 years. I don't believe in ghosts, per se, but I do believe that there's a lot more out there in the universe than our scientists can simply explain away.

In order to explain my own ideas about this in layman's terms well enough to get it into a novel, though, has been difficult. I've had to rewrite certain chapters several timeswhile keeping in mind that once the novel's out there, I don't want physicists emailing me that my grasp of the theory is way off base. So that, in a nutshell, is what and why String theory and quantum physics fascinates me. I only wish I'd been gifted with a mathematical brain so that I could fully understand how it works. I have a 'working knowledge' of it, but again, I'm no expert by any means.

best wishes,

Jillian

Jullian

That's about my understanding of string theory and quantum mechanics. I can't wrap my mind around the math either, hence why I'm a writer and not going to MIT
But seriously, thank you for the encouragment. Recently, I've taken a bent on romantic novels, and I'm preparing to sideline my main series for a year to write another novel. I need to wait on research I have coming in about 18th century Britain, but I have a good grasp of the story line I want. Its top secret as far as anyone else goes, but I suppose I could tell you. Its a companion novel to Pride and Prejudice. I can't call it a sequel becasue the novelist herself would have to write it, and she's been dead for almost two hundred years. That hasn't stopped others from calling there books sequels (apparently I'm not the first person to think of this), but my novels will NOT contain the smut that most love novels contain. I'm writing this one in true Jane Austen fashion, and I've got a good handle on that. Innocent as my mind seems to be, as you will have noticed.
Thanks for writing back. Stay in touch if you can. I'll make it worth your while.

Zach

I've participated in fantasy-roleplays via forum before. I've noticed that all of my characters have Aspie-traits

There's nothing wrong with a sequel to an established novel, especially one that's already in the public domain such as Pride and Prejudice. People do it all the time. When you mention setting your novel aside to work on an another one, that's what a lot of authors do when they need to take a break from it for a while. (Which is probably why I've amassed so many unfinished manuscripts, LOL). Just be sure to go back to it once your research material comes in. For Cold January Mourning, I had to write several letters to a police agency in the state where I live to hopefully get in an interview with one of their high-ranking officers, as well as contacting a few criminal defense lawyers for a courtroom scene in 'Dandelion.' It was two years before I finally got to talk to someone in the agency, and this only came after many, many phone calls. If people knew how much I hate to talk on the phone, they would realize what a sacrfice this was... The police in this area are gun-shy about talking to writers for fear of what they say coming back to haunt them. but, the research is definitely worth the effort once you have the final product.

As for love scenes, I absolutely can't write them and I don't blame you for avoiding them, either. Sometimes they are necessary for plot development between two characters, but so far I've gotten by without needing one (which is why I stick to mystery and horror). Still, Jane Austen and her contemporaries managed to write very well within the moral constraints of the time and their work is classic. I don't know why the same method can't be employed today. Unfortunately in today's world people seem to think they have to infuse sex into everything in order to sell it. I don't think that's so. If you write a good story with strong characters and an interesting plot, sex isn't needed to carry the novel.



I'm still here I might not be on here every day but I do check all my posts when I get a chance.

Best wishes & good to hear from you -

Jillian

The way the other's who have written sequels will decide how I write mine. I am expecting a lot of sexual stuff from the modern people who have decided to do it. If that's the case, and my plot stays in tact, I should be able to pull off a true Jane Austen like book. Just some of the subjects I've ordered books on include common law of England, Dress and habits of 18th century England, mannerisms of both rich and poor for that time period, all the way to ordering every book Jane Austen wrote. It gives insight not only into her style, but into her time period as well, as I've already taken many lessons from Pride and Prejudice, I expect more with her other novels.
I won't stop writing on the other sereis either. Perhaps I might go back and forth. Even though the third novel in the series is very technical in its use of megaliths and myth from every corner of England. Might provide a break from the romance theme.
Research around here is a pain. Books take weeks to come in, and I don't trust everything online. Most of this stuff is established fact however, not metaphysical things that perhaps only one book in the world has been written on the subject (like metaphysical teleportation). I've read that book too. And for the series on witches, it is like trying to find a needle in a haystack to try and find a real life wiccan for reference.
I need not detain you further. I'm waiting for news to come in about my short short story I sent int to a contest sometime tonight, and I hope I win, because last time around, a former English teacher of mine beat me out of the writer's race!

Zach

Well, best of luck to you on your story. Let me know how it goes

Interesting that you mention Wicca, as I was into it several years back. No longer, though. Like many other religions I've tried, it didn't work for me. (Well, I suppose the clothing did - they all favor the color black, which I wear most of the time, anyway).

Best wishes,

jillian

Hello fellow writers!

I don't know if this is REALLY the place to post something that I'm working on because it isn't fiction. I don't seem to have a talent for creating stories, so I decided to write a memoir. Yup, another autism spectrum memoir. This is the beginning of my introduction. Thanks to all who want to take a look!

Z

I was forty and it was a beautiful summer. A Saturday. The bridge next to my house was being demolished, and the rural highway in front of our property was closed. I couldn’t have been more content. There was no traffic and no noise except the xxxxxxx River flowing over a stony bed, and I was alone and indulging myself in an activity I have enjoyed since I was a child – digging in the dirt.

A pipe had been cut during demolition of the bridge and road surface, and from somewhere underground a stream of water flowed. It was somewhat more than a trickle. Using dirt and gravel, with a stick and my hands I constructed lakes, streams, dams, and cascades. I repeatedly built and breached tiny earthworks behind which I had let water collect, so I could watch the force of nature erode the riverbanks and then slow and disperse on a flat delta. The flowing water was soothing. I lost myself in this manifestation of gravity and the feel, motion, and the sound of one of my almost-forgotten childhood fascinations. I longed to reenter that time in my life, before I started school, before I became anxious, before I had to learn to relate to people. I longed to be free of the emotional uncertainty I remember experiencing since I entered kindergarten.

For about a month that summer, every weekend, I climbed around the construction site, trying to recapture the peaceful place in the back of my mind that I had found when I discovered the water stream flowing through the debris. Only a few times did I worry that some neighbor or passerby might see me and question my behavior. My mother watched me out of the kitchen window and wondered. After the second weekend she couldn’t contain herself any longer and exclaimed to me, “I don’t know what to think. A grown man digging in the dirt, like you were a little kid again!”

I often still feel like a child, particularly in my relationships. Into my early forties I’d never had a romantic relationship that lasted for more than a couple of months, and the idea of having a family was overwhelming. Having a family and simultaneously developing a career was out of the question because I felt that I didn’t have the emotional capacity for both. It was either one or the other, and I chose to focus on my career. Additionally, since grade school I had thought to myself that I didn’t want to have children because I didn’t want them to suffer through life the way that I have . . . .

Jullian

I read your post on how you've taped a monolouge for your funeral. I know how you must feel. At one time, I spent my writing career sharpening suicide notes. But recently, there is one saying that I think best fits my situation, and I hope it does for yours too.

Often the test of courage is not to die, but to live.
Vittorio Lafteri

Zach

Very good quote. In my posting that you refer to, I wasn't referring to my suicide. Though I've attempted it in the past, I'm done with that. Thank you for expressing your thoughts I have far too many stories to write and I actually have purpose in my life now, so I'm not going anywhere until it's my time to leave this earth, however that may be. I have my 'blue days' and yesterday was one of them. I've weathered them before and I'll continue to do so.

PS - I recorded the DVD because there are certain people in my life that I never had the courage to face, and I know they'd show up at my funeral once I finally passed away from whatever finally takes me. The message would be for them, personally. I agree with you and Vittorio Lafteri - it takes far more courage to live. My grandfather had a saying too - What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger. I'm sure he got that from someone more famous, but I always remember my grandfather saying it. My father had a good one, too:

If you aren't happy, get happy.

Best Wishes,

jillian

Very nice opening paragraph. You paint an interesting picture here.



Beautiful description here - nicely done



Again, this is well done. A suggestion might be to enhance the above paragraph with a continuation of your 'digging in dirt' imagery in a metaphorical sense. For example, in the description of your relationship troubles, maybe liken them to building your dams and waterways, only the forces of nature inevitably tear them (the dams/your relationships) apart almost as quickly.

Just a thought.

Good writing, thanks for posting it!

Best wishes,

Jillian

Hello Jillian:

Thanks for the great comments! You totally caught me. I have had three different concepts for this opening, and the digging concept came to me last weekend. The fourth paragraph was written some time ago and it hadn't occurred to me to integrate the imagery into the rest of the intro.

Here is a tightened up version, with a couple of additions including what you suggested.

Thank you again!

Zonder


Introduction
Digging in the Dirt

I was forty and it was a beautiful summer. A Saturday. The bridge next to my house was being demolished, and the rural highway in front of our property was closed. I was supremely content. There was no traffic and no noise except the xxxxxx River flowing over a stony bed. The swallows that normally live under the bridge were gone. I was alone and indulging myself in an activity I have enjoyed since I was a child – digging in the dirt.

A pipe had been cut during demolition of the bridge and road surface, and from somewhere underground a stream of water flowed. It was somewhat more than a trickle. Using dirt and gravel, with a stick and my hands, I constructed lakes, streams, dams, and cascades. I repeatedly built and breached tiny earthworks behind which I had let water collect, so I could watch the force of nature erode the riverbanks and then slow and disperse on a flat delta. The flowing water was soothing. The sound of pebbles tumbling in the stream was exquisite and musical to my ears. I lost myself in this manifestation of gravity and the feel, motion, and sound of an almost-forgotten childhood fascination. I longed to reenter that time in my life, before I started school, before I consistently became anxious, before I had to learn to relate to people. I longed to be free of the emotional uncertainty I remember experiencing since I entered kindergarten.

For about a month that summer, every weekend, I climbed through the construction site, trying to recapture the peaceful place in the back of my mind I had found when I discovered the water stream flowing through the debris. Only a few times did I worry that some neighbor or passerby might see me and question my behavior. My mother watched me out of the kitchen window and wondered. After the second weekend she couldn’t contain herself any longer and exclaimed to me, “I don’t know what to think. A grown man digging in the dirt, like you were a little kid again!”

*****

Lately I have been digging through the detritus stored in my mind and taking stock of the course of my life. At times I still feel like a child with an earthwork barrier between others and me. Into my early forties I’d never had a romantic relationship that lasted for more than a couple of months, and the idea of having a family was overwhelming. A family and a career were out of the question because I felt I didn’t have the emotional capacity for both. I chose the career. And since grade school I’d taken comfort in the thought that I wouldn’t want children of mine to suffer through life as I have. . .

I think the rewrite, above, is terrific. The narrative is excellent in that it flows nicely and blends especially well with your running metaphor referencing the obsession with digging, which is hinted at nicely in the final paragraph of the post. I hope you keep on with this memoir, it is an interesting read and I find your unique perspective and writing style fascinating.

Best wishes & do keep writing,

Jillian

I'm not sure if this is the right style to apply to a Jane Austen novel, so I am giving some people a sneak peak at the first three, tenative pages as they stand. It may be totally off the mark, I'm not sure. The curse of being an asperger's writer I suppose.
Thanks for your time.

My Dearest Jane
I feel I have been neglecting you in writing. It seemed only yesterday since we both were wed, and its actually been six months. Mr. Darcy has introduced me to almost every member of royalty in England except the King’s court himself. They are all glad to see Mr. Darcy wed, and most say they have never heard such a beautiful voice as mine. I dare say that I have impressed most of them.
How are you doing? I know with all the balls around Neverfield it must be hard for you to find time within your own head. I hear Mr. Bingly has been twice as gracious in his celebrations of marriage as Mr. Darcy has. But, on the other hand, I have met some of the greatest legends of our time. It truly has been a great honor having Mr. Darcy as my husband. And I have yet to be denied anything I needed or wanted. Georgiana takes most of the time on the piano, so he bought another one, just so I could practice. And the books! Oh I could never treasure such a library as his as much as it should…
“Writing to your eldest sister?” Mr. Darcy said, coming in to the drawing room.
“Yes. We are most dreadfully sad when we are apart.”
“Then I shall not keep you from your writing. Give my regards to her and Mr. Bingly.”
“But of course.”
As Mr. Darcy walked out of the drawing room, Elizabeth noticed a post in his hand. She recognized the scrawl of Lady Catherine de Burg, and her seal, almost instantly. She continued writing.
It has been strange, however, that with all of the family and acquaintances we have seen, Lady Catherine de Burg has not been among them. Yet, Mr. Darcy receives a post from her nearly every day. I do hope she is not nagging him on marrying me. But, he is of strong character, and will no doubt sever all connection to her if necessary.
Oh, have I told you. I’ am learning to ride a horse. It is the next best thing to actual walking. I truly am enjoying it. Of course, I have not ridden at anything less than a mild trot since starting. But, its is so invigorating, it helps with health you know. I have never felt more alive than I do now.
Please write back, and give Mr. Bingly my dearest wishes, as Mr. Darcy gives his to you.
Love
Elizabeth
She put it in the post pile to be sent out the next day, then wandered down the main gallery to the music room. As usual, Georgiana was playing. It had the overtones of a happy melody, but Elizabeth could tell she was having difficulty with this new piece. She had her eyebrows in a frown she was so concerned.
“Easy Georgiana. I know you will find the musical talent to play it soon enough, probably better than I could.”
“It is the third arpeggio of the second movement that I have problems with. It requires such fast fingers, at such differing octaves.”
“I was just about to go out for a walk in the garden. Would you care to join me?”
“I dare say I have spent most of the day at this piano. It would be a welcome diversion.”
The two found capes for their heads and necks, and soon were walking through the lush greenery and flowers of Pemberly estate. A gardener was pruning the shrubs that surrounded the garden.
“Fine day today.” Elizabeth called out to the gardener.
“Yes, shan’t find many more like them before the fall.”
“I certainly hope my skin isn’t getting too tan.”
“Oh, I think its perfect.”
“Not as bright as yours.”
“That’s from years of being inside. But I find the more your out of the sun, the less tolerant you are of it.”
“That may be true, but what is there for a woman of grace to do outside.”
“How about a game of croquet?”
“Why not? We have a few hours before dinnertime.”
The game was quite the art for Elizabeth, never having been accustomed to anything but horseshoes. Georgiana always won, but she never took it as heavily as some people would.
“I just got lucky, that’s all. You kept with me the entire game.”
“I wish I could think of myself as gracefully and charming like you are.”
“I see what my brother sees in you. A sense of responsibility, and a rare breath of fresh air into the dullness of gentry life.”
A bell was rung from the entryway into the garden.
“Is it time for tea already?”
“I dare say it is. Come, the servants can put away the wickets.”
Elizabeth had been inclined to do it herself, but she forgot, there were servants to pick up after her, a facet of nobility life she was just getting accustomed to.
Darcy joined them for tea.
“My dear Elizabeth, I have good news. Mr. Bingly must have been reading your thoughts, because he just said his wife is getting lonely too. I’ve invited them over for dinner tomorrow night, and I think you will be in for a surprise.”
“With so many things surprising me, I doubt anything will be a surprise soon.”
“Oh, but this one can be quite shocking, no matter what the situation.”
“You seem very mysterious about it. What is so secret?”
“I figured you would rather your eldest sister told you.”
“It must be personal.”
“That it is, indeed.”
“What type of tea do we have today?”
“Spiced tea, with a hint of jasmine.”
“Oh how delightful! My darling, you do treat us with the greatest confection.”
“Thank you, but it was the servant’s idea today for what type of tea should be served.”
“You do have delightful servants here.”
“Comes from years of never hearing a cross word. Thank you.”
“Will you be needing anything else?” The servant added.
“No, that will be all.”

The preparations for the next nights dinner were extravagant, even compared to the recent balls. Much of the wild game was hunted down by Mr. Darcy himself. Several pheasants dressed the long dinning table, as did potatoes, and every other good thing. Darcy had, on his request, allowed the women and men to be received separately. Jane was a welcome sight to see, especially after six months of her absence from Elizabeth’s life. But, Mr. Darcy had been right, there was some special news to be had. And it was so kind of Darcy to let Elizabeth find out from Jane herself.
“Your pregnant! Congratulations!” Elizabeth said in a croak of a whisper, throwing her arms around her sister.
“We just found out a few days ago. It should come some time in March.”
“Is it a boy or a girl?”
“I don’t know. I do hope it is a boy. Mr. Bingly would be tickled pink to hear that it was.”
The gentlemen and the ladies came together at the dinner table.

In case you are not familiar with the characters, Jane is the eldest daughter of the Benets, Elizabeth the next eldest, both were close in pride and prejudice. Mr. Darcy is Elizabeth's husband, Mr. Bingly is Jane's. This begins six months after the marriages of both Elizabeth and Jane. I post it because something does seem to be missing. What?

Written very well. The only thing that feels 'missing' to me is a little bit of tension between the characters, or prehaps a hint of tension to come. The dialogue, though extremely well done, seemed a little too bright and cheery. Granted, this is probably because I don't have the entire story in front of me to read, so I'm assuming that the tension between characters comes either in an earlier or later chapter. Only a little touch of tension might be needed in the dialogue or narrative, nothing drastic.

best wishes,

jillian

I am proud to anounce the completion of the second book in the Adventures of Abigail Whipple series, Under the Cloak of Darkness. Its only 187 pages long, so I'm not sure its a novel, even with the first one being 235 pages long. The second book has slightly more than 46 thousand words. I think I've fiddled with it all I'm going to, there's not much I'm not happy with in this second book. The third one is going to be a really technical one, by standards of the other two books. It will involve a lot of megalithic mathematics and some self written Arthurian legend. She'll be traveling all over Britain in the third book, all ending in Glastonbury. But, I digress.

Zach

Bill Gates has defied all odds to become a mind-boggling success. If you're worth more than the Vatican, social skills don't mean squat. If I had Gates' money, for God's sake I'd get Lasik therapy and lose the damned glasses! (No disrespect, Mr. Gates.)