melodytaylorauthor

[melodytaylorauthor]

Maaaath

So I write fiction, yes? And like most English/writing nerds, I've always struggled with math. ESPECIALLY performative math, any time I have to solve an equation in my head while someone watches me or I'm on a time limit.

I always assumed I was just bad at math. Period.

So then I made friends with my new neighbor when my husband and I bought our house. She was funny, and smart, and loved animals as much as me, and talked about politics just the right amount, and shared her good scotch, and was a helluva cook. She was also a computer science instructor at the local university and held a master's degree in math. Her husband held a PhD in mathematics.

One evening, after a couple of good scotches and her husband tottling off to bed, she and I got on the topic of me being terrible at math. She asked me what made me think I was.

I talked about freezing during timed math tests, failing remedial algebra in high school, not being able to solve equations without a calculator, and struggling to make change at the till at my day job.

She said, "None of that sounds like you're bad at math. It sounds like you have performance anxiety."

I reiterated not being able to solve math problems in my head.

"No one solves equations without a calculator at higher levels," she said. "That's the computer's job. What mathematicians do is build equations."

I asked what exactly that meant. She explained that means taking known mathematical quantities, like the weight of the Earth, maybe, and adding it in to equation to understand like, the weight of other planets, perhaps. Or any number of things.

I said, "Like story problems in grade school?"

She said, "That's it exactly."

Holy shit. I loved doing story problems. Because the problem was never to solve the equation, or only sometimes to solve the equation, but to build the equation from the information given.

I always got all the problems right on those, and I was the only one who got excited and didn't groan when it was story problem time, which always confused me. Story problems were so easy. I was the only kid who ever got an A on a story problem assignment.

My friend swirled her scotch. "Sounds like you're not that bad at math, after all."

Well. Shit. Who knew.

My friend passed away a number of years ago from cancer. In addition to a bottle of unfinished good scotch that her husband let me keep, and her two cats that he couldn't care for, she gave me a whole new self-confidence.

I miss her so much.

[melodytaylorauthor]

There's a book I really like, called Trapped by James Allen Gardner, and I realized something super awesome about it today.

It's a sci-fi, set on Earth in a future where a shitload of humanity skipped the planet to go ride spaceships. The ones who are left are living in a weird technological-yet-feudal society because of the loss of so many people. The main character is a teacher at a posh private high school, and his family is wealthy.

The start of the book opens with a bar fight between the MC and his teacher friends and some ruffians at the pub. At the close of the fight, the MC pulls out a purse stuffed with coins and uses it to bean the last aggressor. The purse was a gift from his father, it's high-tech, it's immune to any sort of examination and can't be opened except by him. His family is into some shady shit that he isn't super keen on. He uses the fancy purse for coins.

Through the course of the book, it's uncovered that a hive-mind multi-celled alien is trapped on Earth, and some of its cells have gone rogue and started killing people. This normally wouldn't be a problem, as the peaceful cells would just absorb the rogue cells, but the rogue cells have trapped the collection of mother cells in an impervious jail. The MC and his friends battle their way past the rogue cells and free the mother cells, but the rogue cells have a plan and kill every single one of the mother cells once they're free.

And then after the dust settles, the MC opens his high-tech purse and releases a handful of mother cells of the alien. The mother cells then go absorb the rogue cells, saving everyone, and the alien departs Earth.

It's such a glorious example of the solution to the problem of the whole book being presented at the very beginning. The high-tech purse is mentioned exactly twice -- at the end of the bar fight in the first chapter, and at the end of the whole book when he uses it to save an alien and thus mankind. By the time he takes it out to release the cells he rescued, the reader has almost entirely forgotten about the purse. As soon as he opens it up, the reader twigs to what's going on and is cheering as the alien mother cells creep out.

I believe the book is out of print, so go get yourself a used copy if you can find it. It's part of a series called "Expendable," and while it's a standalone book, the rest of the series is super worth it. The author is a master of fiction writing.

[melodytaylorauthor]

"We're all going to wind up underground someday.

Cut your bangs. Text your crush."

-- Alie Ward

[melodytaylorauthor]

My sister once called our grandmother to come knock a spider off her car so she could go to work.

Our grandma said, "What do you think the spider will do to you?"

My sister said, "It will jump off the car, onto my arm, scurry up my arm and into my ear. From there it will eat my brain and take over my body and everyone will think it's just me but it will actually be the spider."

Our grandma said, "Oh, we can't have that now, can we?" and drove over to knock the spider off her car.

[melodytaylorauthor]

Nuts and bolts

I've been using the Story Grid method for editing my latest novel and the one before it, and I have to say, I am thrilled.

I used a combination of the Story Grid and Save the Cat! Writes a Novel plotting methods, and I loved how that came out. It made writing the novel itself -- not exactly easy, but easier, and it made sure I had all the working parts of a story in place before I began.

The Story Grid's Youtube channel has been focused more on scene writing lately than overall whole novel writing, and I'm digging it. Right now I am going through my book scene by scene and filling out this very simple formula: "The MC wants X without having to Y." By the end of the scene, the MC has to either do Y to get X or refuse and do without. The tension comes from wanting something and not being able to get it without making some sort of sacrifice, no matter how small.

The thing I love the most about this is that the formula comes from years of reading and analyzing scenes, and figuring out what works in a scene and what doesn't, why a scene seems boring or flat and why other scenes pop and keep one reading. I've been able to look at scenes in my own favorite books and movies and do this little exercise and see exactly what's going on and moving the story.

In my own work, I had thought at least one chapter needed to be cut, because it didn't seem to be doing any work. But upon filling out this formula, I realized my main character does indeed have a solid want and a solid aversion. (Sebastian wants to protect Ian without letting her know he is trying to do that, because he told her he wouldn't be able to and she'd be on her own.) The want and aversion are more emotional, and he isn't even especially aware of them himself, but they are present, they are clear enough to the reader, and they add depth to the character and thus to the story. The chapter stays. Without this formula, I would have cut it without really seeing the work it was actually doing. (Spoiler alert, Sebastian isn't able to protect Ian very well without tipping his hand about what he's trying to do -- so he doesn't give up Y, and he doesn't get X.)

I'm having a lot of fun doing this, actually. I love telling stories. I want them to be the best they can be. This is helpful.

[melodytaylorauthor]

Just here switching between my favorite science podcast and my favorite ghost story podcast because I'm a well-rounded weirdo.

[melodytaylorauthor]

Remarkably good advice.

sometimes you gotta remind yourself we're on a spinning rock in space that floats in an endless void. write whatever tf you want, just write a thing but also don't kill urself over trying to make it perfect. like bro we're just meat-sacks with gooey conciousness

[melodytaylorauthor]

Women in fiction, being belittled and ignored since . . . oh, forever.

[melodytaylorauthor]

I find it weird that typical advice given to writers is to treat their writing like a job given that it's pretty well acknowledged that most jobs in the US are toxic and damaging.

[melodytaylorauthor]

Hanging out with old people rules because after a while they trust you enough to confess to murder totally unprompted

[melodytaylorauthor]

Ghosts.

I do believe in them. I understand if you don't, I don't think less of you for it.

When my sister and I were kids, we lived in a nice apartment while our mom went to college. It was a duplex, we lived on the lower floor. The building was older. It sort of looked like it might have been one whole house originally, but had been divided up into two apartments at some point. Given the upstairs and downstairs were virtually identical, it may always have been intended as a duplex; I was a kid so I don't know for sure.

When we moved into the apartment, I remember my mom talking to the landlord about how he came to own the property. It had been owned and lived in by an old lady before he purchased it, and when she passed away, her family sold it. My 7-year-old ears perked up at the words "when she died."

"She died here?" I demanded.

"Not in the house," my mom said, in that too-quick way that means the adult is lying to you. "At the hospital."

"He said she died here," I insisted, but my mom was sticking by what I knew was a lie and I knew she wouldn't budge on it. And I wanted to believe no one had actually died in my home. I let it drop.

That house always creeped me out just a little. It was a nice apartment, clean, the landlord was a good guy who kept it fixed up and let us have a cat. But when the sun went down, it just felt -- uneasy.

I told my mom I thought it was haunted. She said, "Oh, Melody, there's no such thing as ghosts."

One night, and I don't recall exactly how old I was, I woke up in the middle of the night. We used the light in the closet as a night-light, and it was on with the closet door propped mostly shut. I woke up, looked at the closet light, and watched it go out. Not flicker, not blink, not fade, just, boom. Out. I figured the bulb might have burned out right at that moment, so I got out of bed and went to pull the cord and see if the light came back on.

It came back on. The bulb was fine. Someone had to have pulled the cord and shut it off.

I skittered back to bed and threw the covers over my head so fast.

That happened at least three times that I recall.

Another night, I woke up and was lying in bed looking around our room, when one of the little child-sized rocking chairs we had slid across the floor. Not an inch or two, a couple feet. Sideways. I jumped out of bed and ran to my mom's room as fast as I could. She said that couldn't have happened, but let me sleep with her anyway.

My sister tells the story of watching the little rocking chairs rock by themselves at night. I never saw that, just the one slide across the room.

My grandma gave me a peace lily for my birthday one year. One day I was playing in my room alone and I noticed it needed watering -- they droop when they need water, they're very dramatic. I was in the middle of something, so I decided I would take care of it when I was done.

Suddenly I heard a soft clattering sound. I looked up and watched my peace lily -- pot and all -- shaking on the table by the window. I stared at it for several seconds, wondering if I was imagining it, but the plant and pot kept shaking, making a little clattering sound. It shook as if a big truck or train was going by right outside the house. But there was no truck or train, and nothing else in my room shook. I got up, went to get a cup of water, and watered the plant. The clattering stopped. After that, any time I forgot to water it and it started to droop, it would begin to shake.

"No such thing as ghosts," my mom repeated.

We moved out the year I turned eleven. Mom was expecting my other sister, Annie, and nice as the place was, it was a little small for all of us. The new apartment was not haunted.

One day, as adults, my middle sister and I were telling each other spooky stories from the white house we lived in as kids.

"Where?" our mom said as she walked into the room.

"Charles street," my sister said.

"Oh, that house was so haunted!" my mom exclaimed. "The old lady that died there never left."

"You said she didn't die in the house!" I shouted. "You said there was no such thing as ghosts!"

"Oh, yeah, she died right in that front bedroom."

"You mean OUR bedroom?" my sister demanded.

"Yeah," my mom said.

"No such thing as ghosts," I said sarcastically.

"You were already so freaked out, what was I supposed to tell you? That your bedroom was totally haunted by the lady that died in there? You would never have come back inside!"

I had to admit she had a point. I would have high-tailed it out into the yard so fast, and nothing could have persuaded me back in. Maybe a thunderstorm.

So yes, I do believe in ghosts. These days they don't scare me so much as fascinate me. I actually like to go looking for ghosts.

Maybe I'll tell you about some other times I found some . . . next Halloween.

[melodytaylorauthor]

I'm working on the eighth novel I've ever written in my life, and it's so neat and interesting but also frustrating and annoying to still be learning new things as I do it.

Damn.

:D

[melodytaylorauthor]

I'm editing my latest novel. It's had two passes so far, once for plot changes and once for word choices and spelling; then I gave it to an alpha and am working on doing some plot changes she suggested.

A chapter's been worrying me, as I wasn't sure it was doing the work a scene should do, and just now, I realized -- it's absolutely got a nice layer of subtext, and the main character is trying to protect his ward after he told her he wouldn't be able to spare much thought for her.

I was prepared to cut it. Now it stays, but I find nice subtle ways to emphasize the unspoken motive of the main character.

Nice.

[melodytaylorauthor]

Okay, as a biology nerd and a Star Trek nerd, this pleases me deeply.

Meet the seven new frog species we just named after iconic Star Trek captains!

Artwork by A. Petzold, CC BY-ND 4.0

At the right time of year along rushing streams in the humid rainforests that stretch the length of Madagascar's eastern and northern mountain ridges, otherworldly trills of piercing whistles can be heard.

Are they birds? Insects? Communicator beeps? Tricorder noises?

No, they're little treefrogs!

Boophis janewayae. Photo by M. Vences, CC BY-SA 4.0

Until recently, we thought all of the populations of these little brown frogs across the island were one widespread species, Boophis marojezensis, described in 1994. But genetics in the early 2000s and 2010s showed that there were several species here, not just one.

Now my colleagues and I have shown that they are in fact eight separate species, each with unique calls!

These whistling sounds reminded us so much of Star Trek sound effects that we decided to name the seven new species after Star Trek captains: Boophis kirki, B. picardi, B. janewayae, B. siskoi, B. pikei, B. archeri, and B. burnhamae.

Photos of all new species described by Vences et al. 2024. CC BY-SA 4.0

I subtly and not-so-subtly built some Star Trek references into the paper, but probably the best one is this one:

'Finding these frogs sometimes requires considerable trekking; pursuing strange new calls, to seek out new frogs in new forests; boldly going where no herpetologist has gone before.'

— Vences et al. 2024

There’s a real sense of scientific discovery and exploration here, which we think is in the spirit of Star Trek.

Of course, it doesn't hurt that there are at least two Trekkies amongst the authors (including yours truly). As fans of Star Trek, we are also just pleased to dedicate these new species to the characters who have inspired and entertained us over the decades.

On a personal note, this marks a milestone for me, as it means I have now described over 100 frog species! I am very pleased that the 100th is Captain Janeway's Bright-eyed Frog, Boophis janewayae (if you count them in order of appearance in the paper)—she is probably my favourite captain, and I really love Star Trek: Voyager.

You can read more about the discovery of these new species on my website! You can also read the Open Access paper published in Vertebrate Zoology here.

[melodytaylorauthor]

Gonna just reblog a little cool art because cool.

[melodytaylorauthor]

I write because I can totally come up with witty retorts, but only during editing.

[melodytaylorauthor]

Listen, this is amazing.