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Info about Pumzi:
Pumzi, 2010, KenyaA 20 min
Sc-Fi film about futuristic Africa, 35 years after World War III “The Water War”.Directed by Wanuri KahiuNature is extinct. The outside is dead. Ashalives and works as a museum curator in one of the indoor communities set up bythe Maitu Council. When she receives a box in the mail containing soil, sheplants an old seed in it and the seed starts to germinate instantly. Ashaappeals to the Council to grant her permission to investigate the possibilityof life on the outside but the Council denies her exit visa. Asha breaks out ofthe inside community to go into the dead and derelict outside to plant thegrowing seedling and possibly find life on the outside.
In the 1970s, black fantasist Octavia Butler named the central protagonist in her "Patternist" series after an Igbo goddess. Back then, a publishing industry resistant to non-white characters (and writers) in genre fiction would never have predicted that, today, an American daughter of Igbo immigrants would publish critically acclaimed speculative fiction using Igbo elements and philosophical borrowings from the folklore of Central Asia, India, and the Middle East.
Superficially, Nnedi Okorafor's Who Fears Death is built around fantasy literature's most popular cliché: the mysterious, predestined child messiah. She pushes that cliché into psychologically (and physiologically) messier territory. The result of rape, a girl wizard named Onyesonwu hopes to murder the racist warlord who sired her. UnlikeHarry Potter, Onye's style of magic is Nomadic Shaman, not Medieval Mage. So not only does the novel read more like Carlos Castaneda than J.K. Rowling when describing Onye's magical apprenticeship, this angry young sorceress validates every patriarchal fear of powerful women. In the process of constructing this unabashedly neofeminist fable, Okorafor critiques Africa's endemic poverty, gender prejudices, female circumcision, and the twin plagues of Islamic and Christian fundamentalism.
It's an ambitious agenda for a single book, particularly since Okorafor also reworked the prose style of her award-winning teen fiction to better suit this, her first adult novel. But with few exceptions, it all comes together beautifully. Her pacing is tight. Her expository sections sing like poetry. Descriptions of paranormal people and battles are disturbingly vivid and palpable. But most crucial to the book's success is how the author slowly transforms Onye's pursuit of her rapist father from a personal vendetta to a struggle to transform the social systems that created him. SF and fantasy already claim many classic tales that are thinly veiled allegories of the Holocaust, the Stalinist purges, even China's "cultural revolution." So little wonder that Okorafor appropriated the narrative strategies and loopholes of speculative fiction to tell a cautionary tale inspired by the more recent political horrors of Biafra, Rwanda, and Darfur.
Note* There are eight great points to consider in the body of this blog when publishing; whether self or through mainstream. I hope this is helpful to everyone who is trying to take their work to a universal and commercial level. This is really great for those that have already self-published. Write on! ~Moses
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“The infiltrator,” she said knowingly.
Sawyer smiled brightly. “That’s me sweetheart. Now toss over that gun you got, real slow.”
She clenched her teeth in anger, reaching to her waist and pulling her weapon from its holster before throwing it over. Moving forward carefully, he kicked it down onto the tracks, far out of her reach. And to think she had just saved his life. She was really going to have to have a word with Aseel about her new recruits. From the corner Akila growled threateningly, ears laid back as his reflective eyes glared at the man.
“Better quiet that mutt,” he warned.
She put out a hand, calling Akila to her. The wolf slowly walked over, never taking his eyes from the man. Once he reached her, she put quieting fingers to his fur, stroking softly.
“So what do you want?” she asked calmly.
“You,” the man replied. “The famous Shadow. You’ve got one hell of a bounty on your head.”
“So I hear,” she retorted. “I’m sure Omaha would be real proud of you right now.”
He laughed aloud.
“I’m set to be the richest man from there in a short while.”
“Thirty pieces of silver is all it took.” She spat in disgust. “You’d sell us all out for some money. We’re fighting to be free here. Don’t you understand that? That’s got to be worth more—”
“Oh spare me the fucking propaganda speech,” he sneered. “I’ve heard it all before. It’s what made me come here, thinking that I could do something to free the planet. A luta continua !” He lifted a fist mockingly before lowering it again. “It was all bullshit. There’s no glory in this, just a lot of running around in the dirt, living like worms.”
“That’s the nature of a guerilla war,” she responded coolly.
“War?” He laughed aloud. “That’s what you think this is? We’re mosquitoes. That’s it. We’re just mosquitoes buzzing in their ears. So you snipe a Rag here, blow up one of their ships, wipe out a small battalion—don’t make no difference. There’ll just be more of them, with better weapons. This ain’t no war—it’s just a slaughter waiting to happen.”
“You can’t defeat an insurgency on its own ground,” she told him. “We have the advantage.”
“Please…” he said derisively.
“Motomura was right,” she pressed. “Not all Ragnarok are behind this occupation. Protests have been growing daily against it on their world. Even their soldiers are getting weary. There’ve been suicides, mental breakdowns, some are deserting—they can’t keep this up forever. Maybe a shift in power in their government will bring new policies. I don’t know. Can’t say what the future holds. It might take years. It might take decades. But I know we’ll outlast them. All we have to do is believe we can win.”
“Decades?” he scoffed. “Sweetheart I ain’t got that long. And come to think of it, neither do you.”
She let out a deep breath, shaking her head. There was no convincing him. He was too far gone.
“So what you plan on doing with me?”
“Well that all depends,” he mused. “See the Rags want you for several reasons. First off, you’ve just been a pain in their ass. Capturing you they think’ll demoralize the resistance—the celebrated Shadow. But, they also want you for what you know.”
Her heart suddenly stopped as she listened.
“They haven’t been able to break that encryption code of yours. They know you made it with your friend—the DJ who sends out music across the underground pirate airwaves, with messages encoding within—calls himself the Digital Guerilla. Tracked him down to his base in Atlanta, but he had disappeared by then. Way they figure it that leaves you as the only other person with that information. And they want it real bad.”
She remained silent, glaring at him with a burning hatred. He was right. She had been one of the ones that helped make the code, the very one now used by the resistance. It was made by software that continuously caused it to shift, changing repeatedly. If the Ragnarok got their hands on that….
“Now you can just tell me—”
“Go to Hell,” she spat. “I’m not giving you anything.”
“You might want to think that over,” he warned with a playful smile. “The Rags. They’ll get the info outta you, one way or another. You seen them images of torture that came out from Sing Sing on detainees? And those were men. Don’t even want to think what they’ll do to a pretty little thing like you….” He paused, seeming to enjoy himself. “Now, you tell me, and I promise I’ll just shoot you right here—quick and simple. A death like that beats what they’re sure to put you through.”
She yet said nothing, simply watching his movements. He was right in his own way. The Ragnarok would certainly torture her to get everything they wanted. And though she doubted she would talk, they had other ways of pulling information, right out of your minds. If she allowed herself to fall into their hands, who knew what she could unwittingly reveal to them. No, that couldn’t happen. Yet to be taken out by this traitorous filth, that wasn’t the way she planned on leaving this world. She sighed to herself. Thank God she always kept a third option.
“So you have it all figured out,” she said.
“Not bad for a kid from Omaha huh?” he asked with a bright smile.
“I’ve seen better,” she replied dryly. “Shame I’m going to have to make this a little more complicated for you.”
He frowned, not seeming to understand.
“Tell you what,” she smiled. “I’ll make you a deal. Walk away now, and you live.”
The man stared at her incredulously.
“And if I don’t?”
Her smile disappeared. “You die.”
The seriousness in her voice must have unnerved him because a hint of fear crossed his face before he put on a brave look once more. Laughing heartily he took a few steps towards her.
“And how do you plan on doing that sweetheart?”
She smiled again, and began to laugh with him.
“Kind of like this.”
Releasing the glow stick, she let it fall suddenly to the ground. It shattered to a dozen pieces, plunging them into darkness. There was a curse from the man as he stumbled about, trying to figure out what had happened. He managed to find his own glow stick, breaking it and quickly bringing it to bear. But by then it was too late.
She remained where she had stood, never moving from place. But now in her hands was a plasma gun as well, pointed at her foe. He stared at her in shock, still holding his own weapon threateningly. She figured at the moment he was trying to figure out where the gun had come from. Stupid rookie really thought that she only carried one. If he had any wits at all, he would have searched her. As it was, all she needed was a diversion to reach into her cloak to retrieve it.
“How…?” was all he could manage.
She smiled deviously.
“You didn’t think I got my nickname for nothing did you?”
He frowned now, angry and uncertain of what to do in the face of the unexpected Mexican standoff.
“Why don’t you drop the gun,” she suggested, “before somebody really gets hurt.”
“You’re bluffing!” he accused. “You shoot me, I shoot you. We’ll both be dead!”
She shrugged.
“I’ve been dead before.”
She took a step forward. He hastily took several back.
“Why so jumpy?” she taunted.
“Stay the fuck away from me!” he stammered.
“But you sought me out,” she went on, still walking forward slowly as he stumbled back. “You came looking for Shadow. Seven years of bounty hunters from different worlds, Ragnarok traps, and more—and you really thought you’d stroll up from Omaha to do the job?”
The man was scared now, his gun hand trembling.
“I said stay away!” he yelled. “You come any closer and I swear, I’ll put a hole right through you!”
“No. You won’t.”
She stopped in her tracks. She hadn’t said that.
Sawyer went pale, as he realized much the same. Spinning about in the darkness he seemed intent on firing—but never had the chance. A blast of hot light lit up the tunnel platform, striking the man squarely. He blinked once before looking down, noticing the wide yawning space that stood where his chest once did. Emitting a strangled sound he fell forward flatly, his dead body going immediately still.
Shadow looked on, as her savior stepped forward.
Motomura.
The man limped a bit, his clothes and skin singed from the plasma fire of the drone craft. Looking down at Sawyer, he kicked the still corpse before looking up to her.
“I thought you were dead,” she said.
“No sir. Just got separated.”
“Sawyer—you knew he was the infiltrator?”
Motomura nodded.
“Commander Aseel suspected it. But wasn’t certain. When Sawyer volunteered to come help find you, she sent me to keep an eye on him.” He paused. “Sorry for dropping the ball sir.”
She cast a gaze down to the dead body on the floor.
“I’d say you did a damned good job. Aseel picked you well.”
A look of surprise came across the man’s face, accompanied by a sheepish smile.
“Thank you sir—Commander.”
She bent down to pick up Sawyer’s still operable glow stick, and his gun—prying both from his hands. Akila came to her side, sniffing the body with distaste. Gladly, he didn’t eat just anything. Gathering herself, she jumped down to the tracks, beginning the trek to the underground’s hiding place. Motomura fell in behind. Walking in silence for a short while a sudden thought came back to her. Turning about she walked up to the man.
“Hope,” she told him. “My name…you wanted to know. It’s Hope.”
Motomura smiled, nodding in understanding.
Resuming her walk she let Akila lead the way. She’d rest well tonight. Tomorrow would bring a new day, and she had a war to fight.
End- 1st story- Shadow & Akila
2nd story- Motomura
Calculating the rise and fall of science fiction books, television shows, and movies, I've determined the obvious. Science fiction is no longer dismissed easily as distractions for geeky misfits or as fanciful tales for children, and that may be because the world's observed science fiction over the years become science fact.
Photo from Flickr, by kodiax
So, here I am at 50, a Star-Trek-Twilight-Zone-Outer-Limits-Lost-in-Space-fed child of the 1960s. When I finished high school in the 70s, universities anxiously pitched computer science to graduates with the right test scores, hoping potentials could be drafted to the future. My generation may be part of the reason television's pushing out science fiction shows -- the retired Lost; Fox'sFringe; CBS's FlashForward, which has been cancelled; and the return of V and Battlestar Galactica. The last on the list has given birth to a prequel, Caprica.
My generation grew up on television, pressed the on-buttons of the first personal computers, made playing video games the cool thing to do as we nursed our Pac-Man addictions, and passed our growing dependence on technology onto our children who flock to movie theaters jonesing for special effects and silver screen spectacles that make them believe not only can Superman fly, but so can they. And they dream it into their visual arts, dance, music, and want so much more.
My daughter, 29, is working on a novel about a female general in a matriarchal society, and I am working on a novel about humans in peril on another planet. She and I had a discussion a few months ago about technology. I said ... Please read more of this post at BlogHer.com.