New Eden – a Sci-fi disaster novel

Posted on by Opher

The world government is looking for a way to reduce population numbers and remove the unproductive billions who are no longer required. In this futuristic novel they devise a fiendish plan that goes horribly wrong. Follow the intrigue and machinations to a very unexpected conclusion.

New Eden: Amazon.co.uk: Forsythe, Ron: 9798637512867: Books

Excerpt – New Eden

‘Surely we can manipulate that?’ Paul remarked reasonably. ‘It all depends on marketing and propaganda. The scientists can deal with the environment.’

‘Not when it is a battle for such severely depleted resources,’ Virginie Chauvin interjected.

‘Marketing cannot touch the have-nots, don’t-wants or can’t-gets,’ George remarked morosely. ‘I reiterate: there are huge numbers of them out there, billions, who are simply surplus to requirements. They are not consuming and they are not contributing. All they do is generate huge problems and the rest of us suffer because of them. They are responsible for the crisis. That is my point. We are better off without them.’

‘So how are they surviving then?’ Mya Jannot enquired with a petulant tone. She found George’s callous approach hard to take. ‘They must be consuming something.’ Mya knew that in the end it would come down to the economics. That is what upstairs always cared about.

‘They are scavenging,’ George Handley replied with an air of disgust. ‘Living off our detritus. They are not part of any chain of consumption. They serve no useful purpose. They are surplus to requirements.’

George’s phrase echoed round the chamber and set the minds racing. Was it as simple as that? They all knew what George was referring to. He was proposing the extermination of a good percentage of the world’s population. Surely there had to be a reasonable alternative. It was incontrovertible that the population was now raging out of control. The environment was teetering on the brink of catastrophe. They were in the last chance saloon. They had to do something.

‘So what are you suggesting George?’ Mya Jannot asked, looking at ways to address the issue. ‘A huge welfare programme to bring them into the frame so they can be consumers?’ She knew that was not the solution. Indeed it would only make matters worse. If they all started consuming at even a small percentage of the most affluent the resources would be exhausted and the world would be plunged into conflict. ‘A benefits scheme? A massive work programme?’ Even as she voiced it she could see the preposterous nature of the idea. ‘Or are you looking at enforced contraception? Sterilisation? Education for females? Because they all seem to have failed. So what are you actually suggesting?’

The whole room focussed on George Handley. It was quite clear what was on the table but they wanted to hear it from him.

George pouted and tapped his fingers on the table. ‘I am simply pointing out that we have a large rump that is proving a drain on wealth creation,’ George replied, ducking the question. ‘There are billions who are surplus to requirements and of no use to anyone. They are a drain on our resources and serve no purpose. They are having a catastrophic effect that is costing us dearly and will only get a lot worse. We are having to pick up the bill for the mess they are creating. If we do not do something drastic now we will end up paying far more later. I cannot imagine that is what our friends upstairs would want. We have to be decisive.’

They all knew what he was getting at. They had to face it.

‘We could stoke up a few more wars,’ Pascal Bosco proposed. ‘That is always a good way of reducing numbers plus it has the added benefit of stimulating productivity. There’s nothing like a good bit of arms trading to stimulate the economy. There are plenty of fanatics out there in the hinterlands and there’s nothing like religion or survival to focus the mind.’

‘One thing is certain,’ Virginie Chauvin remarked pointedly. ‘Natural processes do not seem to be working as well as they used to.’ She glowered round at them as if it was their fault. ‘Every time we have a natural catastrophe we get the Aid groups wading in. They pull at everyone’s heart-strings and the money pours in. There are too many do-gooders. They rush in and mop up before the natural processes have a chance to work their normal attrition.’

‘Technology has certainly taken the sting out of natural disasters,’ Hans Shultz agreed. ‘There is a rapid deployment of resources and so much more that can be done. Disasters do not reach the same proportions as they used to.’

‘There you are,’ Pascal Bosco remarked triumphantly. ‘That’s where technology comes in. War is more efficient than ever. We can take out millions.’

‘But it’s so indiscriminate,’ Paul Shank argued. ‘It doesn’t just get rid of the ones you’d like to eliminate. It just……’

‘It is too limited in scope,’ George asserted, interrupting Paul in mid-flow. ‘War is too restricted. We need something on a bigger scale and something more general. We have scroungers everywhere now. They’ve become universal. We should cut out the cancer once and for all.’

God’s Bolt – The end of the world

Posted on by Opher

I wrote this novel to create a setting for my lone character. I wove in Sagan, aliens, AI, global politics and interstellar travel into an intriguing tale. It started at the end and worked towards a new beginning.

God’s Bolt: Amazon.co.uk: Forsythe, Ron: 9781092713597: Books

Here’s an extract:

Chapter 2

Carl Sagan – 1934 – 1996

I don’t know why I became a scientist. It could have been down to my parents. Yes, I think I’ll blame them.

I was born in Brooklyn in 1934. We were a poor Jewish family hustling a living like everybody else. My father had come in as an immigrant from what is now Ukraine and he was full of all that immigrant energy. He was a good man who worked hard and had a joy of life. He ran a garment factory. He wasn’t a religious man but he saw the wonder in everything and was bursting with benevolence. He did not know what science was but he encouraged me to be inquisitive and question everything. I think that was his greatest gift to me.

My mother was born in Brooklyn and was religious. Her life seemed to centre on the synagogue. She came from a very poor family and I think she’d seen too much of hard times. Life had dealt her hard blows and she was frustrated by it all. She had a mind on her but never had the chance to make anything of herself. She was held back by poverty, a lack of education, her gender and her faith. Back then Jewish girls were not expected to do anything other than bring up kids and look after the home and husband. But she doted on me. I think she put all her ambitions onto me. She was very analytical and taught me how to investigate and delve into the detail. That was her gift.

I suppose I married those two gifts together. It made me inquisitive and hungry to discover more. It made me look up in wonder and try to work out what it all meant.

From an early age I was always asking questions.

Brooklyn was a great place to grow up. It was a bustling hub of life. It wasn’t ideal for developing a career in science though. I guess I didn’t think about that too much when I was a child.

I’d play out in the streets with my friends but my Mum did rather cosset me. She spent hours encouraging me to think and do my school work. I was an extension of her dreams.

Sam, my Dad, would take me out with him to the garment factory and show me off to his friends. He was proud of me. My inquisitiveness bemused him but he loved it. He’d laugh at me and there was love in his eyes.

The streets back then were bustling with people. There were shops and street stalls selling everything you could think of and I like that bustle, weaving in and out of the crowds gripping on to Dad’s great paw of a hand. I’d look up and there, between the tall buildings, I could see the sky.

I was only five years old when I had my first epiphany. My parents took me to the World’s Fair. It nearly blew my eyes out of my head and sent my mind into overdrive. It was like I had woken up in a different world.

I was never quite the same.

The first thing that sent my mind whirling was an exhibition of the future. It was crazy – all super clean and modern with huge highways and families driving along in futuristic cars towards cities with gleaming skyscrapers. It looked a million miles from the bustling streets of Brooklyn with its dirty bricks, and all those street vendors with their wooden carts and litter. I wanted to see that world of the future. I wanted to be part of it.

I could imagine it. I could look into the future and see that incredible world that science was going to construct.

Then, with my head still reeling I was taken to the science exhibitions. They shone a light on this cell and it made noises. They made a noise with a tuning fork and it became a wavy line on this screen. I couldn’t believe it. I wanted to understand how light could become noise and how sound became light. I was thrilling with the excitement of it. My five year old brain was trying to make sense of all these wonders.

The most exciting thing of all was the Time Capsule. We went out to Flushing Meadows to see it being buried. It was a big container and they’d filled it with all these things from our age, everything that told a story about us, and buried it deep in the ground. It was like a snapshot of our world and it would sit there buried in the ground for hundreds of years. In my head I could imagine spacemen from some future world thousands of years in the future digging it up and finding out all about us.

New Eden – A Sci-fi novel – a man-made plague.

Posted on by Opher

This tale of botched government, intrigue, crooked scientists and sinister plans is set in a future world devastated by overpopulation, pollution and the destruction of nature.

What happens when devious politicians come up with drastic solutions. What could possibly go wrong?

A roller-coaster of a read:

New Eden: Amazon.co.uk: Forsythe, Ron: 9798637512867: Books

Extract

George Handley was a small man with longish grey hair swept back from his receding hairline and bushy side-burns. His immaculate pin-stripe suit and Etonian tie were anachronistic by any standards but he wore it with pride and considered it set the tone. It provided him with a bearing of historical gravitas, or at least that was how he liked to see it. His voice was measured and conveyed the same message with its cultured tones and paced delivery. It made him sound aloof and superior.

George grimaced with an expression which suggested he was sucking on something vile. ‘There are just too many of them,’ he noted disdainfully as if he was talking about an invasion of cockroaches. ‘Too many by far.’

Paul Shank allowed himself a reproachful smile. The arrogance of George Handley always amused him. The man certainly had a high opinion of himself. It was all a result of his background and class. Paul himself came from good old American farming stock. His family were wealthy but had none of the pretensions that George Handley projected. His folks were much more down to earth. But that did not prevent him from feeling completely at ease in all company. He was used to rubbing shoulders with the greatest men and women from all walks of life. Nothing fazed him. He would not be in this position if it had.

‘Come now George,’ Paul chided with a light easy manner. ‘Surely we have to have an expanding base? The economy cannot grow without expansion.’

George glowered down at the charts on his screen and flicked it off. He’d seen enough. There was no amusement or lightness of tone in his voice. ‘They are not contributing,’ he pointed out. ‘They serve no purpose. You are all missing the point. You cannot even go downtown without a respirator. Things are desperate.’

‘So what are you suggesting George?’ Pascal Bosco enquired. His dark eyes flashed mischievously. His modern one-piece suit was stylish and comfortable and set the tone for his personality. He was forward looking. He knew how George’s mind worked and liked to bring things out into the open. ‘That we do away with them all?’

‘They serve no purpose,’ George repeated as if this was sufficient in itself. It amply conveyed his opinion. ‘They do not work or contribute to the global economy. They are merely a drain on the financial system. They are unproductive. Their consumption is causing the problem. They do not earn and so are not able to contribute. Not only that, but their very presence is destructive. They are creating the problems we are having to face up to and try to solve. Let’s deal with the root cause.’

Pascal sat back in his chair, laced his fingers and raised his eyebrows, unwilling to take that step despite the fact that he knew it was inevitable. He felt a sinking inside but persisted futilely in focussing on the economic aspect even though he knew it had moved well beyond that. ‘Perhaps consumption is sufficient to stimulate the economy. They provide a need.’

‘They are a canker on the face of the planet,’ George stated bluntly.

‘Come now George,’ Mya Jannot said, reacting to the harshness of his words. ‘There is a trickle down. They, in their own way, are contributing to the global economy. They are consuming.’

‘Not so you would notice,’ George replied huffily. ‘They are parasites. They require eradication. Besides this is no longer an economic issue. You’ve seen the data on climate and the latest pollution figures. It’s unsustainable.’

The room fell into silence as all seven of them reflected on the latest data. The population was spiralling out of control. Drastic action was needed.

The Process of Writing.

Posted on by Opher

I am certain that this process is different with all writers. We all have our ways of working. It is also clear that it is not always the same with me. Sometimes I have carefully plotted out a novel while at other times, I work with a vague idea and allowed it to unfurl as I progress.

I used the Butch Cassidy principle: there are no rules.

But always, as a novel progresses, as a character develops, a novel takes on a life of its own. It is a coalescence of ideas. I will wake up in the middle of the night with an idea and have to get out of bed to write it down or it is likely to go.

All my novels start with an idea. That might be sparked by a news story, a book I am reading, a programme I am watching or a train of thought. One idea is never enough though. It has to be married with others.

Often the end of the novel is what emerges first. I will often write the end first.

Always there comes that time when you sit at a computer (or a typewriter) and begin. You have a blank page in front of you and a head full of ideas. With me there is excitement and anticipation.

The ideas have to have a setting and characters. With Sci-Fi, there are infinite possibilities.

I often write a beginning that is later superseded by another beginning. Once I get that first sentence down the rest seems to flow. The characters develop, the scenes change, the ideas chase one another. I struggle to keep up. It becomes like a line of dominoes. One knocks over another which sets two more falling over. I write quickly, trying to keep up with the ideas, following the characters and inventing settings. I work on the principle that with the first rewrite I can expand and fill everything out. It is as if the first draft is a rough sketch that gives the outline of the book. The rewrite starts to fill in the colour.

It is usual for me to increase the words by a good fifty percent.

The second rewrite will again add a lot more.

The third rewrite is more of an editing process – changing words, altering sentence structure, correcting grammar.

The most important part for me in writing a novel is to get that first sentence down. After that it is like an egg-timer. The sand grains are the ideas, characters and settings; I just allow them to trickle through until my head is empty.

The Back Cover Notes

Posted on by Opher

Having written the book, redrafted it and thoroughly edited it, you might think you have finished, but you haven’t. You might have written the best novel ever written but nobody would know. In order for anybody to know how good it is you have to persuade them to take a look.

There are millions of books out there. Why should anybody select yours to read?

One way that people select a book to read is by reading the cover notes.

There is an art to writing cover notes. You have to reveal, tantalize, entice and yet not spoil the plot.

A well-written back cover will make a reader want to find out more.

The power of the back cover notes should not be underestimated. They are crucial. Without good back cover notes your book will not be selected.

The Process of Redrafting.

Posted on by Opher

I love writing but I used to hate redrafting and editing. As my skills developed I have grown to love them both. They do not create such a feeling of satisfaction but they are fulfilling. Redrafting and editing is hard work. There is always great enjoyment to be gained from completing something difficult.

After I have produced the first draft I immediately start redrafting while it is still fresh in my mind.

I read through and begin fleshing out the bones. While my first draft may be forty or fifty thousand words, my second draft could be a third longer. It is as if the first draft is a skeleton on which I then place the flesh.

This is also the time when I attempt to focus on the areas that do not really work and rework them. This is when I flesh out characters, look at consistency, address areas of the plot so that it makes sense and start addressing grammar, punctuation and flow.

Usually I will then leave the novel in order to gain more objectivity.

When I am ready, and eager, I come back to it. The second redraft is the process of making the reading a smoother process. This is where I begin addressing sentence and paragraph structure in order to make the language flow.

My second redraft will usually add more words to the novel.

By the time I have completed the second draft I am usually ready to edit, but I may well play about with certain sections that I have been unhappy with until I am satisfied.

At this point, I am usually exhausted by the process and the novel. I need a break from it. Writing and redrafting require great concentration and effort. You have to hold the whole structure of the book in your head and mentally manipulate it. I always need a break.

As I normally have two or three projects going at the same time I can turn my attention elsewhere and happily leave it.

By the time I have completed redrafting it is ready to go off to my editor. Editing requires objectivity.

Before We Knew Anything

Posted on by Opher

Before We Knew Anything

Before we knew anything

                We thought

                                The sun and moon

                                                Were god.

Before we knew about stars

                We made

                                Mystery

                                                Of everywhere

                                                                We trod.

There was no end

                To the tales

                                We thought up;

                                                The ideas

                                                                We invented.

With allegiance

                To fictions

                                Out of our minds

                                                That were

                                                                Quite demented.

We created ritual

                Thought up nations

                                Manufactured culture

                                                Had systems

                                                                That we

                                                                                Implemented.

Now we are victims

                Of our own organisation

Slaves of a society

                Of our own creation.

Opher – 6.2.2021

Civilisation is a system based on myths that unite us and harness our energy.

Social cohesion is what has been behind our success. It enabled us to work together to achieve incredible feats.

We elevated men and women to kings and queens, emperors and bishops, imams and priests and gave them power.

We created religions, nations and culture – all fictions.

We practiced xenophobia, racism and misogyny and used it to justify genocide, invasion and slavery.

Now we are global.

It is time to do away with the frippery and become real.

One world – one people.

One planet.

Time to create a new story – a real one this time – one that can unite us all and enable even greater feats.

Time to shed the old out-dated narratives – we’ve outgrown them. The nations, religions and cultures need to be consigned to the past.

We need a global vision.