Rodger E. Carty's Blog
September 19, 2025
Character expectations
It was fun to write the interaction between Peter and a villain by the name of Colonel Graff in Falling Up.
In his paranoia, Graff has 'interrogated' many people, so has come to expect certain reactions from his victims. Fear is a big one. It can't be truth if he doesn't get the expected reactions.
Since Peter is protected by a shield, it thwarts Graff's efforts and infuriates him.
—
He waited perhaps a half hour before the door opened and in walked a military leader of some sort. He sat down at the other end of the table from Peter, leaned his elbows on the table, and just sat there staring closely at him for more than a minute. The blank stare suddenly changed into a snarl. "Check those straps! The drugs should have taken effect by now!"
Both guards scurried over and checked the straps, one on each side of Peter. "They're tight, sir!" And with that, they scurried back to their posts by the door.
"Well, then, some mechanical malfunction. I shall have to do this the hard way." With that, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a pouch, which he unrolled on the table. Peter could see several shiny, sinister-looking and no doubt very sharp metal tools reside there. Watching him caress each one in turn, Peter involuntarily shivered, imagining the many people who had likely suffered excruciating deaths at the hands of this man.
It was not lost on the officer, who showed a tight-lipped, toothy, predatory smile. He had misinterpreted Peter, thinking he was now in fear for his life.
Peter said, "Tell me why you have detained me. I arrived here by my own free will — "
The guard further demolished his rifle, this time swinging it at the back of Peter's head like a club. "Prisoners will not speak unless spoken to!" He managed a fair amount of belligerence this time, despite likely permanently ending the ability to ever fire the weapon again. He had reduced it to just a metal club in two strokes. Of course, Peter's head moved not at all from the impact on the shield, and he chose to not even acknowledge the guard's actions.
Peter resumed his sentence, "And yet, you treat me like an enemy." Peter sensed the guard behind him reaching back to hit him again, then subside at a hand gesture from the officer. "If I'm indeed an enemy, it's because you have made me one by this horrendous treatment of a guest. I'm not bragging overmuch to say that this could have been a very beneficial alliance, had you done this differently from the start. Bringing that jet home is a small demonstration of what I can do.”
The officer struck his hand on the table with a loud 'crack'. "Bringing home the plane that you crippled is hardly the kind of benefit we are looking for in our allies."
"That wasn't me who shot at it — "
Jumping up and leaning in on the table, he shouted back, "I had a look at that wing. It was not shot at, it was cut cleanly through, disabling the plane."
"I cut off what was burning. I was concerned the fuel would explode. I saved the plane and the pilot's life."
"Enough!" he thundered. "Enough lies! You shall tell me the truth before you die, let me assure you."
"Not likely. You cannot even touch me with those things."
"Ah, perhaps the drugs are finally taking effect. Let us see just how you react to the sight of your own blood." He played his fingers gently and lovingly back and forth over the tools on the table again, finally selecting one. Turning and twisting the instrument so it would catch the light, he slowly came around the table to stand beside Peter. He reached toward Peter's chest, aiming for the buttons on his shirt, but found he couldn't contact the buttons. After poking and slashing at several to no effect, he began to wildly slash across Peter's chest, again, to no effect. The shield easily turned the blade every time. He changed to an overhand grip and tried to stab him, but the force of the stroke simply broke the blade. Peter heard it whine by his ear on its way to some corner of the room. The officer looked wide-eyed at the broken knife for a few seconds, then threw what was left of it in Peter's face. It too simply bounced, but the officer didn't notice because he was already jumping for another tool. He brought out a fairly impressive-looking pointed tool. It had a curve to it, almost a hook, and he rounded on Peter with this, stabbing and slashing over and over in vain. Peter just sat there calmly and patiently, thinking there had to be a point where he would give up, and then they might actually have a dialog here.
After perhaps 30 seconds of frenzied stabbing at Peter, the officer stopped, and stood over him, staring at him with wild eyes, gasping for breath. There was blood on his hands; apparently he had cut himself in his efforts to injure Peter.
Peter said, "Can we talk now?"
His response was a howl and a renewal of stabbing attempts. After just a few seconds he stopped, stepped back and shouted, "Guards! Shoot this prisoner!"
In his paranoia, Graff has 'interrogated' many people, so has come to expect certain reactions from his victims. Fear is a big one. It can't be truth if he doesn't get the expected reactions.
Since Peter is protected by a shield, it thwarts Graff's efforts and infuriates him.
—
He waited perhaps a half hour before the door opened and in walked a military leader of some sort. He sat down at the other end of the table from Peter, leaned his elbows on the table, and just sat there staring closely at him for more than a minute. The blank stare suddenly changed into a snarl. "Check those straps! The drugs should have taken effect by now!"
Both guards scurried over and checked the straps, one on each side of Peter. "They're tight, sir!" And with that, they scurried back to their posts by the door.
"Well, then, some mechanical malfunction. I shall have to do this the hard way." With that, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a pouch, which he unrolled on the table. Peter could see several shiny, sinister-looking and no doubt very sharp metal tools reside there. Watching him caress each one in turn, Peter involuntarily shivered, imagining the many people who had likely suffered excruciating deaths at the hands of this man.
It was not lost on the officer, who showed a tight-lipped, toothy, predatory smile. He had misinterpreted Peter, thinking he was now in fear for his life.
Peter said, "Tell me why you have detained me. I arrived here by my own free will — "
The guard further demolished his rifle, this time swinging it at the back of Peter's head like a club. "Prisoners will not speak unless spoken to!" He managed a fair amount of belligerence this time, despite likely permanently ending the ability to ever fire the weapon again. He had reduced it to just a metal club in two strokes. Of course, Peter's head moved not at all from the impact on the shield, and he chose to not even acknowledge the guard's actions.
Peter resumed his sentence, "And yet, you treat me like an enemy." Peter sensed the guard behind him reaching back to hit him again, then subside at a hand gesture from the officer. "If I'm indeed an enemy, it's because you have made me one by this horrendous treatment of a guest. I'm not bragging overmuch to say that this could have been a very beneficial alliance, had you done this differently from the start. Bringing that jet home is a small demonstration of what I can do.”
The officer struck his hand on the table with a loud 'crack'. "Bringing home the plane that you crippled is hardly the kind of benefit we are looking for in our allies."
"That wasn't me who shot at it — "
Jumping up and leaning in on the table, he shouted back, "I had a look at that wing. It was not shot at, it was cut cleanly through, disabling the plane."
"I cut off what was burning. I was concerned the fuel would explode. I saved the plane and the pilot's life."
"Enough!" he thundered. "Enough lies! You shall tell me the truth before you die, let me assure you."
"Not likely. You cannot even touch me with those things."
"Ah, perhaps the drugs are finally taking effect. Let us see just how you react to the sight of your own blood." He played his fingers gently and lovingly back and forth over the tools on the table again, finally selecting one. Turning and twisting the instrument so it would catch the light, he slowly came around the table to stand beside Peter. He reached toward Peter's chest, aiming for the buttons on his shirt, but found he couldn't contact the buttons. After poking and slashing at several to no effect, he began to wildly slash across Peter's chest, again, to no effect. The shield easily turned the blade every time. He changed to an overhand grip and tried to stab him, but the force of the stroke simply broke the blade. Peter heard it whine by his ear on its way to some corner of the room. The officer looked wide-eyed at the broken knife for a few seconds, then threw what was left of it in Peter's face. It too simply bounced, but the officer didn't notice because he was already jumping for another tool. He brought out a fairly impressive-looking pointed tool. It had a curve to it, almost a hook, and he rounded on Peter with this, stabbing and slashing over and over in vain. Peter just sat there calmly and patiently, thinking there had to be a point where he would give up, and then they might actually have a dialog here.
After perhaps 30 seconds of frenzied stabbing at Peter, the officer stopped, and stood over him, staring at him with wild eyes, gasping for breath. There was blood on his hands; apparently he had cut himself in his efforts to injure Peter.
Peter said, "Can we talk now?"
His response was a howl and a renewal of stabbing attempts. After just a few seconds he stopped, stepped back and shouted, "Guards! Shoot this prisoner!"
September 8, 2025
The taboo topics. Religion and politics.
It can be destructively controversial to include religion or politics in a novel. I mostly avoided it in my debut novel Falling Up; however, because I am a Christian, I wanted to write it 'Christian friendly'. So, I have the MC's mother mention that she's been praying for her son in a potentially dangerous situation; I have another person, an orphan, respond to the MC's charity by saying he will pray for him; and the MC offering to his soon-to-be parents-in-law to bring their pastor along to co-officiate at the wedding.
There is another rather delicate situation. The premise of the story is the MC has a supernormal ability. Note, I didn't say paranormal nor supernatural, as both of those terms have extremely negative connotations for Christians. I think that makes my point and need say no more about it.
Now the politics part. My MC becomes King in two places by the people he has saved from tyrants. The smaller one has no hierarchy of government, so is pretty simple to establish justice and order. The larger one, however, has a distributed government in place but with minimal authority, so it became ineffective and chaotic when the tyrant was removed. It will make for some interesting discussions in the sequel about how best to govern, I hope.
I'm hoping I will be able to avoid stepping on any landmines in this, but to keep the reader's interest, the MC must encounter some individuals who are seeking their own best interests, not the country's.
There is another issue here, as well: economics. It's not typically thought of as tied to politics, but it is actually integral. I read an economics primer called Naked Economics by Charles Wheelan to research this topic for the sequel, and he did a good job of showing how they are inextricably linked. The role of a good king or government is to enable prosperity, health and safety for all the people. Not necessarily to provide it, but at least make it so it can happen. And there is the controversy. How do you provide a safe environment without resources? You can't. Thus, the government must take away some portion of the wealth of their people to operate. On the surface, it seems contradictory to take money away from people, to make it so people can have more money. When it comes to questions about taxes, most people take it very personally.
There is another rather delicate situation. The premise of the story is the MC has a supernormal ability. Note, I didn't say paranormal nor supernatural, as both of those terms have extremely negative connotations for Christians. I think that makes my point and need say no more about it.
Now the politics part. My MC becomes King in two places by the people he has saved from tyrants. The smaller one has no hierarchy of government, so is pretty simple to establish justice and order. The larger one, however, has a distributed government in place but with minimal authority, so it became ineffective and chaotic when the tyrant was removed. It will make for some interesting discussions in the sequel about how best to govern, I hope.
I'm hoping I will be able to avoid stepping on any landmines in this, but to keep the reader's interest, the MC must encounter some individuals who are seeking their own best interests, not the country's.
There is another issue here, as well: economics. It's not typically thought of as tied to politics, but it is actually integral. I read an economics primer called Naked Economics by Charles Wheelan to research this topic for the sequel, and he did a good job of showing how they are inextricably linked. The role of a good king or government is to enable prosperity, health and safety for all the people. Not necessarily to provide it, but at least make it so it can happen. And there is the controversy. How do you provide a safe environment without resources? You can't. Thus, the government must take away some portion of the wealth of their people to operate. On the surface, it seems contradictory to take money away from people, to make it so people can have more money. When it comes to questions about taxes, most people take it very personally.
September 4, 2025
Is the phrase "Let out a breath she didn't know she was holding" a sure sign of being AI generated?
IMHO, at most it's a trope, not a clear indicator of AI generation. In my novel Falling Up I used this behaviour, not those words, more than once. It is a known behaviour in certain circumstances. Some examples from the novel:
—
Sam didn't cry out this time as they passed over the peak. He knew what to expect, and it gave him a thrill. He let his breath out in a whoosh when he realized he had been holding it.
—
Then he formed the walls and roof, but added two pipes above them, one directly above the burning torch in Lucy's hand. They could feel air moving past the torch and up the pipe. A smell like frying bacon filled the air, making Peter's mouth water. Then he lowered them into the water.
Lucy reflexively took a deep breath and held it, then about the time it was up to their knees but clearly held back by the shield, she exhaled with a little self-conscious laugh.
—
The children were just standing there, looking at him expectantly. After a second, he crouched down, motioning for them to crouch as well, and holding his arms out to his sides. This would be a stretch! So many children at once, and he'd better not let even one fall! He concentrated all around him, fixing in his awareness where each one was. Then, when they were all crouching with their arms out just like him, he swept his arms down and up, then jumped! All the children copied him, and instead of a small jump, they soared into the air, paused motionless at the top, then gently returned to the sand. The children were screaming in joy, waving their arms around, and several were trying to jump like that again on their own.
He crouched down again with his arms out to the side, and though the sound of their joy reduced, it didn't go away until they were all crouched once more. Then they seemed to all take a deep breath and hold it, waiting for the jump. They shrieked as he took them just a little higher before bringing them back to the sand.
—
Emilio gasped at the sensation of falling, then started breathing quickly when he and Peter rose off the floor a few centimeters.
—
Martina Ramirez stood beside Peter on the path, pensively watching the children playing inside the zero-G playground Peter had just created. She had to speak loudly and distinctly to be heard over the shrieks and shouts of the children. “I know I gave permission for this, but it looks very dangerous. Are you sure the children will be safe?”
“Gabriel and the other children have one of these on their island, and so far, nothing serious has happened there. I agree, though, accidents can happen, and on this kind of playground, perhaps are more likely. Could I suggest that you ask staff to take breaks here, possibly with a bandage or two in hand?”
Martina gasped and held her breath as a child tumbled down the stairs onto the grass, then let it out when the child immediately jumped up and ran back up the stairs, hooting, apparently unharmed.
“Well, it seems my fears are somewhat unfounded.”
—
Martina was not expecting that a 'quick flight' would entail flying straight up several stories and over the building, then down to the pavement by the emergency entrance. She held her breath for the whole minute or so the trip took. When gravity returned, and she was standing again, she was red-faced and started breathing heavily.
Peter asked, “Are you all right?”
She managed to gasp out, “Yes! Oh, yes, I am fine! So thrilling!”
Peter nodded, grinning. “See you again soon.” With that, he and the other men flew off.
Martina was still walking a little unsteadily when she passed through the doors into the hospital. It appeared no one had seen her arrive, and the receptionist looked up with mild interest as she slowly walked by on the way to her office. For the receptionist, this was just an ordinary day.
—
Peter sensed Gabriel nearing the door in the hallway, and he turned just in time to see Gabriel burst back into the room. “The doctor allows you to make me fly here, but warns there should be no ac-ro-bat-ics.” Lucy translated, and with a slight grin, faithfully pronounced the big word at the end the way Gabriel had.
Grinning back, Peter replied, “Well, then, let's not waste any time.”
Gabriel raised the arm that wasn't in a sling, staring at Peter in expectation. He felt the weightlessness growing inside him. He turned his face upwards, drew in a deep breath, then closed his eyes. Peter held him there a few seconds, saw him breathing deeply, then raised him off the floor.
—
The man tensed as Peter built a gravity field inside him, and Peter waited for him to get used to it enough to not move during the turn. It was at least a minute before the man started relaxing. Then his gasps changed to deep, relaxing breaths. “Thank you, thank you, this is so wonderful!”
The doctors looked both surprised and confused because so far, they hadn't seen anything happen, the man hadn't moved.
—
Martina had understood Peter could travel long distances, but it hadn't really sunk in before. The shock of it made her feel faint. She stared at Peter. “Wait, do I have this right? You had breakfast in Puerto La Cruz this morning, flew to Maine to get Lucy, went back to Puerto La Cruz and picked up Carmen, then flew all of you in the van here to Bogotá before lunch?”
Peter nodded and opened his mouth to answer, but she wasn't finished yet.
Her arms — and her voice — started to rise as she continued. “And now you're going to do that whole trip again, soon enough to get Lucy home before her parents start to get worried about you bringing her home too late this evening?”
Peter, not realizing Martina's mental state, replied, “I don't think this will be a record for me. After all, we did a fair amount of travel recently where we and the Colombian military took out all the drug plantations along the coast of Venezuela in one day. Carrying more, too. Tanks, armoured vehicles, buses, troop carriers full of soldiers...” His voice trailed off as he noticed Martina standing, unmoving, eyes wide and arms still raised.
The silence seemed to break her out of her stupor. She dropped her arms to her sides and sighed, “I need to sit.” She stumbled as she turned, and would have fallen if Peter hadn't caught her.
He set her down in a chair, and watched as she limply put her elbows on the desk and her head in her hands. He wasn't sure if she even noticed she had flown there.
Then he turned to see if Carmen was ok. She seemed to be, though she was standing there unmoving, except for blinking rapidly.
Then he looked at Lucy, who closed her mouth, turned from staring at Martina, and looked back at him calmly. Then she smiled. “I guess she's not that used to taking trips with you yet.”
Peter realized he had been holding his breath and started breathing again. “This was only the second time she's been flying.”
—
Sam didn't cry out this time as they passed over the peak. He knew what to expect, and it gave him a thrill. He let his breath out in a whoosh when he realized he had been holding it.
—
Then he formed the walls and roof, but added two pipes above them, one directly above the burning torch in Lucy's hand. They could feel air moving past the torch and up the pipe. A smell like frying bacon filled the air, making Peter's mouth water. Then he lowered them into the water.
Lucy reflexively took a deep breath and held it, then about the time it was up to their knees but clearly held back by the shield, she exhaled with a little self-conscious laugh.
—
The children were just standing there, looking at him expectantly. After a second, he crouched down, motioning for them to crouch as well, and holding his arms out to his sides. This would be a stretch! So many children at once, and he'd better not let even one fall! He concentrated all around him, fixing in his awareness where each one was. Then, when they were all crouching with their arms out just like him, he swept his arms down and up, then jumped! All the children copied him, and instead of a small jump, they soared into the air, paused motionless at the top, then gently returned to the sand. The children were screaming in joy, waving their arms around, and several were trying to jump like that again on their own.
He crouched down again with his arms out to the side, and though the sound of their joy reduced, it didn't go away until they were all crouched once more. Then they seemed to all take a deep breath and hold it, waiting for the jump. They shrieked as he took them just a little higher before bringing them back to the sand.
—
Emilio gasped at the sensation of falling, then started breathing quickly when he and Peter rose off the floor a few centimeters.
—
Martina Ramirez stood beside Peter on the path, pensively watching the children playing inside the zero-G playground Peter had just created. She had to speak loudly and distinctly to be heard over the shrieks and shouts of the children. “I know I gave permission for this, but it looks very dangerous. Are you sure the children will be safe?”
“Gabriel and the other children have one of these on their island, and so far, nothing serious has happened there. I agree, though, accidents can happen, and on this kind of playground, perhaps are more likely. Could I suggest that you ask staff to take breaks here, possibly with a bandage or two in hand?”
Martina gasped and held her breath as a child tumbled down the stairs onto the grass, then let it out when the child immediately jumped up and ran back up the stairs, hooting, apparently unharmed.
“Well, it seems my fears are somewhat unfounded.”
—
Martina was not expecting that a 'quick flight' would entail flying straight up several stories and over the building, then down to the pavement by the emergency entrance. She held her breath for the whole minute or so the trip took. When gravity returned, and she was standing again, she was red-faced and started breathing heavily.
Peter asked, “Are you all right?”
She managed to gasp out, “Yes! Oh, yes, I am fine! So thrilling!”
Peter nodded, grinning. “See you again soon.” With that, he and the other men flew off.
Martina was still walking a little unsteadily when she passed through the doors into the hospital. It appeared no one had seen her arrive, and the receptionist looked up with mild interest as she slowly walked by on the way to her office. For the receptionist, this was just an ordinary day.
—
Peter sensed Gabriel nearing the door in the hallway, and he turned just in time to see Gabriel burst back into the room. “The doctor allows you to make me fly here, but warns there should be no ac-ro-bat-ics.” Lucy translated, and with a slight grin, faithfully pronounced the big word at the end the way Gabriel had.
Grinning back, Peter replied, “Well, then, let's not waste any time.”
Gabriel raised the arm that wasn't in a sling, staring at Peter in expectation. He felt the weightlessness growing inside him. He turned his face upwards, drew in a deep breath, then closed his eyes. Peter held him there a few seconds, saw him breathing deeply, then raised him off the floor.
—
The man tensed as Peter built a gravity field inside him, and Peter waited for him to get used to it enough to not move during the turn. It was at least a minute before the man started relaxing. Then his gasps changed to deep, relaxing breaths. “Thank you, thank you, this is so wonderful!”
The doctors looked both surprised and confused because so far, they hadn't seen anything happen, the man hadn't moved.
—
Martina had understood Peter could travel long distances, but it hadn't really sunk in before. The shock of it made her feel faint. She stared at Peter. “Wait, do I have this right? You had breakfast in Puerto La Cruz this morning, flew to Maine to get Lucy, went back to Puerto La Cruz and picked up Carmen, then flew all of you in the van here to Bogotá before lunch?”
Peter nodded and opened his mouth to answer, but she wasn't finished yet.
Her arms — and her voice — started to rise as she continued. “And now you're going to do that whole trip again, soon enough to get Lucy home before her parents start to get worried about you bringing her home too late this evening?”
Peter, not realizing Martina's mental state, replied, “I don't think this will be a record for me. After all, we did a fair amount of travel recently where we and the Colombian military took out all the drug plantations along the coast of Venezuela in one day. Carrying more, too. Tanks, armoured vehicles, buses, troop carriers full of soldiers...” His voice trailed off as he noticed Martina standing, unmoving, eyes wide and arms still raised.
The silence seemed to break her out of her stupor. She dropped her arms to her sides and sighed, “I need to sit.” She stumbled as she turned, and would have fallen if Peter hadn't caught her.
He set her down in a chair, and watched as she limply put her elbows on the desk and her head in her hands. He wasn't sure if she even noticed she had flown there.
Then he turned to see if Carmen was ok. She seemed to be, though she was standing there unmoving, except for blinking rapidly.
Then he looked at Lucy, who closed her mouth, turned from staring at Martina, and looked back at him calmly. Then she smiled. “I guess she's not that used to taking trips with you yet.”
Peter realized he had been holding his breath and started breathing again. “This was only the second time she's been flying.”
August 17, 2025
Economics in the sequel
I'm working on a sequel to my debut novel Falling Up, a post-apocalyptic story of rebuilding from largely frontier technology. The main character is a trader, and that means barter. I set up the situation in the novel to move from that to currency in the sequel, so to research this, I recently read an economics primer called Naked Economics: Undressing the Dismal Science.
When I finished it, I was wondering how I could use that information without getting into all the technical details. I realized that I don't have to provide the reasoning behind the principles, I only have to use them. It's only a matter of having plausible actions in my story.
When I finished it, I was wondering how I could use that information without getting into all the technical details. I realized that I don't have to provide the reasoning behind the principles, I only have to use them. It's only a matter of having plausible actions in my story.
August 11, 2025
economics
Currently reading Naked Economics: Undressing the Dismal Science as research for the Falling Up sequel, where the main character is involved in converting various barter economies into ones based on currency.
The first time this occurs in the story is inadvertent based on his actions, but once he resolves that issue he sees the value of using it in other places too. I won't say more about that circumstance as I don't want to spoil it.
Falling Up has some seeds for this, in that the highly variable perceived value of gold is encountered. There is also the value of work, in that the main character can lift and transport unusually large and heavy loads, so he is paid very well. Likewise, he can transport great distances, so can provide rare goods. All this led me to research what makes something a real value to base currency on, to perhaps make it immune to inflation. What I intuited would work when writing the debut novel appears to be a good choice: monetary units based on KWh. The cost to generate a KWh might change, but the payment for usage doesn't. So it insulates the user from inflation, even as it leaves the system or organization that generates it subject to change.
The first time this occurs in the story is inadvertent based on his actions, but once he resolves that issue he sees the value of using it in other places too. I won't say more about that circumstance as I don't want to spoil it.
Falling Up has some seeds for this, in that the highly variable perceived value of gold is encountered. There is also the value of work, in that the main character can lift and transport unusually large and heavy loads, so he is paid very well. Likewise, he can transport great distances, so can provide rare goods. All this led me to research what makes something a real value to base currency on, to perhaps make it immune to inflation. What I intuited would work when writing the debut novel appears to be a good choice: monetary units based on KWh. The cost to generate a KWh might change, but the payment for usage doesn't. So it insulates the user from inflation, even as it leaves the system or organization that generates it subject to change.
August 5, 2025
Counterpoint
The movie Falling Down is a story about a man who lost his job and events spiral downward from there. Desperation, depression and destruction. My novel Falling Up is set generations after a nuclear apocalypse, when people are beginning to rebuild from a largely frontier level of living.
So the counterpoint is clear in the opposite wording of the titles, and also demonstrated in the opposite direction of the story arcs. I wrote the main character as a person who, though he could easily destroy to accomplish his goals, chooses instead to build.
The title also happens to be quite on point in the context of the character's special abilities.
So the counterpoint is clear in the opposite wording of the titles, and also demonstrated in the opposite direction of the story arcs. I wrote the main character as a person who, though he could easily destroy to accomplish his goals, chooses instead to build.
The title also happens to be quite on point in the context of the character's special abilities.
July 24, 2025
Rock Art
In the novel Falling Up, Peter carves shapes into rocks for children in a remote village.
Movement to Peter's right caught his attention. He turned to see three children standing at the edge of the crowd, each one holding a rock. Turning back to Li, he said, “Ah, our wait is over. Please ask one of the children to bring their rock to us.”
Li spoke to the children, and to their parents who he also recognized, standing behind them. “Please come forward one at a time with your rock. This man will carve your rock for you.”
After a few seconds of hesitation, one of the men holding his son relaxed his grip and let him come forward. The boy carried the rock in front of him in both hands, though the rock didn't appear to be large enough to be very heavy. To Peter, it seemed like he was holding it out in defence, ready to drop it and run back at every step. He stopped, holding out the rock to Peter.
Peter gently took the rock and examined it, both with his sight and also within the rock, looking for cracks. It would ruin the carving if the rock cracked apart from his cuts. “This rock will do nicely. It has a very interesting pattern, and it's very fine-grained, so will take detail well.” It was a fairly flat rock, more or less oval, and fairly smooth. Apparently, a river rock. If the other children brought river rocks too, it would make his job much easier.
Li and the boy watched closely as he turned the rock over, this way and that. Once he had the pattern he was going to cut set in his mind, he lifted the rock into the air. This brought an intake of breath from many in the crowd, and an 'Aah' from some. Once it was clear of his hands, he put his imagined pattern into the rock, lined it up with the lighter streaks running through it, then cut the rock. He separated the two pieces in the air, then reached for the one with his hand, examining it closely with his eyes. Yes, that turned out very well. The lighter streaks within became branches with a leaf to the side in relief. The edges of the rock were sharp, and Peter lifted the rock once more to round the edges with a few judicious cuts. Taking it again in his hand, he rubbed his thumb across the shape and along the edge, confirming it was safe to handle. It laid nicely flat in his palm. He held it out to Li.
Li was amazed at the detail, and how shiny the surface was, as if it had been highly polished. The unpolished original surface on the other side seemed so rough in comparison. “That is beautiful, Peter!” Reluctantly, he handed it to the boy, who held it close to his face, while he brushed fingers back and forth across the smooth surface.
After several seconds, the boy looked up at Peter, said what Li translated as 'Thank you' while he bowed, then turned and walked hurriedly back to his parents, holding up the rock. His father took it from him, and he and his wife examined it together. Then, carefully and visibly not letting anyone else take it from his hands, he showed it in turn to others nearby, to a chorus of 'oohs' and 'ahs'.
Encouraged by this positive outcome, the next child was promptly sent over with her rock. Peter examined this rock in turn, found no cracks or flaws in it, and noting this rock was rounder as well as larger, chose to make a small group of flowers. Since this pattern was more three-dimensional, it took multiple cuts to free the flower shapes. He also cut a flat bottom on it so it would sit well wherever they chose to display it. The dark grey of the rock seemed to turn even darker with the polished surface.
It, too, was well received, as were other rocks which followed. Then there was a rock that was so large, Peter was surprised the boy could carry it. He chose to make it into a small container with a hinged lid with inlaid flowers, suitable perhaps to hold jewellery. He left the sides rather round but inlaid them with patterns of ferns and other plants, and left a small knob at each corner of the bottom for feet. There was a chorus of 'oohs' when he first lifted the hinged lid, then several 'ahs' joined when he lifted out the interior piece which made it into a container. He left the interior surface plain, the corners sharply defined. By the time he was done, there was only a little of the back that was the original surface, and the box was perhaps half the weight it was originally.
—
Many rocks later, there was a fellow who stumbled as he started forward, looking as if he would fall flat on his face. He threw his arms out in front to catch his fall — inadvertently throwing his rock into the air. Peter caught the rock, for it could have reached the crowd and hurt someone, and also caught the boy mid-fall. He brought the boy over and set him on his feet in front of Li and himself, holding him until he was sure he could stand on his own, gently ebbing the gravity holding him up until he was standing again, though a little wobbly.
This was another river rock, unremarkable in size, shape or colour. Peter chose to be a little bit adventurous by putting the now-smiling faces of his parents and the boy's face in relief into it. It seemed to come out looking ok to his eyes, and Li and the boy seemed very pleased. His parents responded with many bows to him when they saw it, so it seemed to be good for them as well.
The next boy took one step forward, stopped, then flung up his arms above his head, rock in one hand. His intent was obvious to Peter, who, chuckling and turning to Li, said, “Well, it looks like our rock-art time is over. It's time to fly!”
Carty, Rodger E. Falling Up (pp. 82-85). self. Kindle Edition.
Movement to Peter's right caught his attention. He turned to see three children standing at the edge of the crowd, each one holding a rock. Turning back to Li, he said, “Ah, our wait is over. Please ask one of the children to bring their rock to us.”
Li spoke to the children, and to their parents who he also recognized, standing behind them. “Please come forward one at a time with your rock. This man will carve your rock for you.”
After a few seconds of hesitation, one of the men holding his son relaxed his grip and let him come forward. The boy carried the rock in front of him in both hands, though the rock didn't appear to be large enough to be very heavy. To Peter, it seemed like he was holding it out in defence, ready to drop it and run back at every step. He stopped, holding out the rock to Peter.
Peter gently took the rock and examined it, both with his sight and also within the rock, looking for cracks. It would ruin the carving if the rock cracked apart from his cuts. “This rock will do nicely. It has a very interesting pattern, and it's very fine-grained, so will take detail well.” It was a fairly flat rock, more or less oval, and fairly smooth. Apparently, a river rock. If the other children brought river rocks too, it would make his job much easier.
Li and the boy watched closely as he turned the rock over, this way and that. Once he had the pattern he was going to cut set in his mind, he lifted the rock into the air. This brought an intake of breath from many in the crowd, and an 'Aah' from some. Once it was clear of his hands, he put his imagined pattern into the rock, lined it up with the lighter streaks running through it, then cut the rock. He separated the two pieces in the air, then reached for the one with his hand, examining it closely with his eyes. Yes, that turned out very well. The lighter streaks within became branches with a leaf to the side in relief. The edges of the rock were sharp, and Peter lifted the rock once more to round the edges with a few judicious cuts. Taking it again in his hand, he rubbed his thumb across the shape and along the edge, confirming it was safe to handle. It laid nicely flat in his palm. He held it out to Li.
Li was amazed at the detail, and how shiny the surface was, as if it had been highly polished. The unpolished original surface on the other side seemed so rough in comparison. “That is beautiful, Peter!” Reluctantly, he handed it to the boy, who held it close to his face, while he brushed fingers back and forth across the smooth surface.
After several seconds, the boy looked up at Peter, said what Li translated as 'Thank you' while he bowed, then turned and walked hurriedly back to his parents, holding up the rock. His father took it from him, and he and his wife examined it together. Then, carefully and visibly not letting anyone else take it from his hands, he showed it in turn to others nearby, to a chorus of 'oohs' and 'ahs'.
Encouraged by this positive outcome, the next child was promptly sent over with her rock. Peter examined this rock in turn, found no cracks or flaws in it, and noting this rock was rounder as well as larger, chose to make a small group of flowers. Since this pattern was more three-dimensional, it took multiple cuts to free the flower shapes. He also cut a flat bottom on it so it would sit well wherever they chose to display it. The dark grey of the rock seemed to turn even darker with the polished surface.
It, too, was well received, as were other rocks which followed. Then there was a rock that was so large, Peter was surprised the boy could carry it. He chose to make it into a small container with a hinged lid with inlaid flowers, suitable perhaps to hold jewellery. He left the sides rather round but inlaid them with patterns of ferns and other plants, and left a small knob at each corner of the bottom for feet. There was a chorus of 'oohs' when he first lifted the hinged lid, then several 'ahs' joined when he lifted out the interior piece which made it into a container. He left the interior surface plain, the corners sharply defined. By the time he was done, there was only a little of the back that was the original surface, and the box was perhaps half the weight it was originally.
—
Many rocks later, there was a fellow who stumbled as he started forward, looking as if he would fall flat on his face. He threw his arms out in front to catch his fall — inadvertently throwing his rock into the air. Peter caught the rock, for it could have reached the crowd and hurt someone, and also caught the boy mid-fall. He brought the boy over and set him on his feet in front of Li and himself, holding him until he was sure he could stand on his own, gently ebbing the gravity holding him up until he was standing again, though a little wobbly.
This was another river rock, unremarkable in size, shape or colour. Peter chose to be a little bit adventurous by putting the now-smiling faces of his parents and the boy's face in relief into it. It seemed to come out looking ok to his eyes, and Li and the boy seemed very pleased. His parents responded with many bows to him when they saw it, so it seemed to be good for them as well.
The next boy took one step forward, stopped, then flung up his arms above his head, rock in one hand. His intent was obvious to Peter, who, chuckling and turning to Li, said, “Well, it looks like our rock-art time is over. It's time to fly!”
Carty, Rodger E. Falling Up (pp. 82-85). self. Kindle Edition.
July 19, 2025
When 'no' is a good reply.
On my walk yesterday, I was handing out bookmarks as usual to let people know about my novel.
In one interaction with two women, I held up a bookmark and said, "Hi, have I given you a bookmark already?"
One smiled and said, "Yes."
The other, smiling, said, "No, thank you" — as she snatched the bookmark from my hand.
Falling Up
In one interaction with two women, I held up a bookmark and said, "Hi, have I given you a bookmark already?"
One smiled and said, "Yes."
The other, smiling, said, "No, thank you" — as she snatched the bookmark from my hand.
Falling Up
July 4, 2025
Travel
It's tourist season here in the Yukon, and we often see those who are here on an adventure. From here, they can go west into Alaska, or they can go north past the Arctic Circle, where in the summer the sun never sets, it just circles.
How fortunate to live in a time when people can make such long trips, and have the reasonable expectation of safety.
Not so in Falling Up, which is post-apocalyptic. The world's governments have fallen, most of the world is in anarchy, except for places where often nefarious people have seized power for their own gain. The world is a dangerous place to travel in. Peter and Lucy talk about this in Chapter 20:
“Well, I can shape gravity, and that's how I can fly.”
“Just with your mind?”
“Yes, I just imagine in my mind what I want gravity to do, and it happens.”
“Amazing! How I wish I could do that! I could travel the world!”
Grinning again, Peter said, “I've been just about all over the world, and it's wonderful indeed!”
“A world traveller! And all I've done is sail down the coast of half a continent! Perhaps one day.”
“Don't minimize what you've done. While I've been zooming along high in the sky, safe even when on the ground, you've sailed alone and put yourself at risk every bit of the way! I'd say you're the one with the biggest adventure!”
How fortunate to live in a time when people can make such long trips, and have the reasonable expectation of safety.
Not so in Falling Up, which is post-apocalyptic. The world's governments have fallen, most of the world is in anarchy, except for places where often nefarious people have seized power for their own gain. The world is a dangerous place to travel in. Peter and Lucy talk about this in Chapter 20:
“Well, I can shape gravity, and that's how I can fly.”
“Just with your mind?”
“Yes, I just imagine in my mind what I want gravity to do, and it happens.”
“Amazing! How I wish I could do that! I could travel the world!”
Grinning again, Peter said, “I've been just about all over the world, and it's wonderful indeed!”
“A world traveller! And all I've done is sail down the coast of half a continent! Perhaps one day.”
“Don't minimize what you've done. While I've been zooming along high in the sky, safe even when on the ground, you've sailed alone and put yourself at risk every bit of the way! I'd say you're the one with the biggest adventure!”
July 1, 2025
Still reading my novel for fun
Five months after publishing my debut novel Falling Up, and I'm still enjoying reading it for the fun of it. I'm in chapter 18: Armoury right now, one of my favourite chapters. Peter's new friend Jack is a gun lover, and it was such a pleasure writing his kid in a candy store delight.
“Do you have your shopping list ready?”
“Yes, right.” Jack's eyes moved across the shelves and stacks of crates, walking briskly up one row and down the next. “I don't see them. Ah, they must be in the back room. Care to unlock another door for me?”
Peter focused on the lock mechanism, but this time saw it was a simple spring-loaded handle on the inside. No key required to get out of the room, so he just rotated the handle, then pushed the door open from the other side. It was fully open by the time he and Jack walked up to it.
Jack looked from the now open door to Peter and grinned. “Keys to the kingdom! You're a real handy guy to have around, you know that? Yes, this is it! We need to open this crate to make sure it's not empty.”
“From here, I can already tell it has guns in it — big guns. Neatly racked, and no empty slots.”
“Oh, right. Um, I'd still like to see them with my own eyes.”
Nodding, Peter said, “It's screws, not nails, so we'll have to unscrew them if you want to keep the crate intact.” Then, half to himself, he said, “I might be able to turn them if I shape a shield to fit.”
While Jack went to a tool bench to find screwdrivers, Peter focused on the star shape in the head of a screw, filled it with a shield, then rotated it. It was tricky because not only did he have to rotate the shape, but he had to raise it as the screw backed out of the hole. He got the first screw out and started on the second by the time Jack got back with two screwdrivers.
Jack held the other screwdriver out for Peter, saw he didn't need it, and put it in his back pocket to leave his hands free for his own. Then he applied his screwdriver to the screw closest to him.
Peter found the movement of the screw was predictable enough he could speed up removing the next one. And sped up even more on the next one. He had three out by the time Jack had his first out, and his fourth screw came out so fast it made a creaking noise. Then he found repeating the pattern in the next screw was easy enough that he could start on another before it was finished. Soon there was a chorus of creaking screws.
As Jack was laboriously finishing getting his third screw out, he saw Peter had finished all the rest. With a laugh, he said, “Hey, thanks for helping me with these screws. You're so fast, you nearly kept up to me!”
Peter chuckled and smiled back.
Putting the other screwdriver in his back pocket with the first, Jack lifted the top off the crate and peered in. He stroked the closest weapon. “Barrett M107A1! I'm in heaven! Look at all those beauties!” Turning his head toward Peter, he said, “I'm going to need scopes and ammo for these! And extra mags too!”
He set the lid back down almost reverently, then he practically ran from shelf to shelf, looking for accessories for his prized guns.
“Do you have your shopping list ready?”
“Yes, right.” Jack's eyes moved across the shelves and stacks of crates, walking briskly up one row and down the next. “I don't see them. Ah, they must be in the back room. Care to unlock another door for me?”
Peter focused on the lock mechanism, but this time saw it was a simple spring-loaded handle on the inside. No key required to get out of the room, so he just rotated the handle, then pushed the door open from the other side. It was fully open by the time he and Jack walked up to it.
Jack looked from the now open door to Peter and grinned. “Keys to the kingdom! You're a real handy guy to have around, you know that? Yes, this is it! We need to open this crate to make sure it's not empty.”
“From here, I can already tell it has guns in it — big guns. Neatly racked, and no empty slots.”
“Oh, right. Um, I'd still like to see them with my own eyes.”
Nodding, Peter said, “It's screws, not nails, so we'll have to unscrew them if you want to keep the crate intact.” Then, half to himself, he said, “I might be able to turn them if I shape a shield to fit.”
While Jack went to a tool bench to find screwdrivers, Peter focused on the star shape in the head of a screw, filled it with a shield, then rotated it. It was tricky because not only did he have to rotate the shape, but he had to raise it as the screw backed out of the hole. He got the first screw out and started on the second by the time Jack got back with two screwdrivers.
Jack held the other screwdriver out for Peter, saw he didn't need it, and put it in his back pocket to leave his hands free for his own. Then he applied his screwdriver to the screw closest to him.
Peter found the movement of the screw was predictable enough he could speed up removing the next one. And sped up even more on the next one. He had three out by the time Jack had his first out, and his fourth screw came out so fast it made a creaking noise. Then he found repeating the pattern in the next screw was easy enough that he could start on another before it was finished. Soon there was a chorus of creaking screws.
As Jack was laboriously finishing getting his third screw out, he saw Peter had finished all the rest. With a laugh, he said, “Hey, thanks for helping me with these screws. You're so fast, you nearly kept up to me!”
Peter chuckled and smiled back.
Putting the other screwdriver in his back pocket with the first, Jack lifted the top off the crate and peered in. He stroked the closest weapon. “Barrett M107A1! I'm in heaven! Look at all those beauties!” Turning his head toward Peter, he said, “I'm going to need scopes and ammo for these! And extra mags too!”
He set the lid back down almost reverently, then he practically ran from shelf to shelf, looking for accessories for his prized guns.
