LANCE ARMSTONG and Le Argument Circular.

     Items continue steadily appearing in newspapers about Lance Armstrong and his possible involvement in doping. So far as I understand it the argument put forward by the agency that wishes to convict him goes like this. We are certain that Lance Armstrong is a drugs cheat. We can find no proof of this, therefore Mr Armstrong is not only a drugs cheat but also incredibly cunning, hugely organized, unbelievably lucky, and well-protected by his cohorts. Er, pardon? If you can find no proof of this, isn’t it possible that Mr Armstrong isn’t a drugs cheat? Again I have no strong opinion myself as to whether or not he is, but increasingly I am bothered by the arguments that say “he must be because we want him to be we can’t find proof which means that he is but he’s so cunning we can’t prove it, and because he can no longer afford the time and money to fight us so he’s had to cease, he must be guilty”.

 

Consider this scenario. I open my door to a polite knocking by several police officers.

“We have come to arrest you as being a bank robber involved in the robbery of seven major banks and the theft of tens of thousands of dollars, they say.

“I don’t rob banks and I’ve never had tens of thousands of dollars, I protest.

“We know you don’t have the money and all our investigations can only agree. However the Police Commissioner is adamant that you are a bank robber therefore you are and we must arrest you. Besides, you have been consorting with bank robbers.”

“What bank robbers?”

“Several customers at the bank you use are under suspicion of bank-robbery, several others have in the past been known to commit such crimes. Since you all use the same bank you are an associate of bank-robbers.”

“You mean that because I am involved in a business, and others I may know casually use the same business it is assumed that I am in their line of work? But my vet also uses that bank, as do my minister, my doctor, and my car mechanic. You do not assume that I am a vet, a minister, a doctor or a mechanic?”

“Of course not, they are not criminals and we are not planning to prosecute anyone for being a a vet, a minister, a doctor or a car mechanic. Besides, several of the bank robbers have admitted that you have assisted them in the past.”
     “What?”
    “Well, we had to offer various inducements for them to say so. We’ve promised not to prosecute them, or not so stringently anyway. Some we’ve agreed to allow to go free, or with minor sentences if they would say what we wanted to hear.

“But how could anyone believe what they would say? Haven’t judges in the past agreed that such evidence should be weighed very carefully since criminals will say whatever is demanded if it results in reduced punishment? ”

“That’s all true, however we’re certain that if we bring enough of these bank robbers to testify against you, and if we talk about it in dozens of papers, pointing out over and over that you must be guilty because so many criminals say you are, then the public and ultimately a judge and jury will agree. You must understand that once we have you convicted in the court of public opinion, we can then arbitrarily have you convicted in a real court.

“But you have no actual evidence, nothing other than possibly-coerced testimony and your own obsessive belief that I’m guilty.”
     “That’s irrelevant. We know you to be guilty and we will convict you. Besides which, you must be guilty because we can’t find physical proof, that shows how cunning you are. If you’re that clever you have to be guilty.”

“What?”

“And anyhow once we’ve charged you, you’ll use up all your money on lawyers, and once you are emotionally exhausted by all the legal processes through which we’ll drag you, you’ll decide not to keep fighting and we’ll be able to point to that and say you must be guilty, and that you know it or you’d keep fighting us.”
“
But if I’m exhausted and have no more money how CAN I keep fighting.
     “That’s irrelevant and once we’ve pointed it out to the public several dozen times in many venues, they’ll understand that. No, you’re guilty and there’s nothing more to be said.

Except that there is. A citizen is innocent until proven guilty, not by hearsay, but in a court of law. Not because they run out of time, money and energy and stop fighting, but because there is solid proof and they’re convicted on that. Not because a number of those with their asses to protect give testimony – which should be taken apart and tested strand by strand and their reasons for speaking considered very suspiciously – and that testimony tested thoroughly in a court of law. Lance Armstrong may or may not be a drugs cheat, but so far as I can see, the only things against him are the obsessive determination of an agency to convict him, and the possibly coerced testimony of those who already are self-admitted cheats and who may be motivated by inducements or by simple jealousy of a man who has been a giant in their sport. And repeating that he is a drugs cheat in newspapers, magazines, on TV and radio, insisting over and over that he is guilty until he proves he is innocent is contrary to the laws of both our country and the United States. Lance Armstrong may be guilty, but merely saying he is, claiming that his ceasing to fight proves it, that many self-confessed drug cheats say that he’s one of them so he must be, is not evidence! And until someone produces something genuine in that line, if nobody minds, (and even if they do) I’ll continue to assume that Lance Armstrong is innocent until proven guilty. And wonder about the motivations of those who insist so hysterically that he has to be guilty, and that several hundred negative drug tests have had to be faked in some completely undetectable way which only goes to prove what a cheat he is. Yeah, right!

Win/Nomination.

The mail car stopped at my gate about half an hour ago, I strolled out and collected that which had been delivered, and on opening a large flat envelope find that I’ve received the Certificate of Excellence from the (International) Cat Writer’s Association, for my story – The Domen – in the May issue of UK’s Penumbra ezine. Receiving this is also a nomination for the Muse Medallion,which is announced in November after further evaluation of the nominee stories.
(The Certificate is judged by a panel of three judges. In order to receive it all three must assess the work quality as 90% or higher, so receiving the Certificate is something of an accolade.)

LET THE TIGER DIE

by Manning Coles. Hardcover, H&S published January 1948.  8th in series.

I have almost all of the Manning Coles’ “Tommy Hambleton” books. I love them, read my way through them all every few years, and would really like to acquire the couple  that I don’t yet own. They’re witty, clever, often very funny, and I have liked the series character since I first ran across him in a copy of Pray Silence, which I picked up in a charity shop in the mid1960s.

Let the Tiger Die is one of those books that makes you chuckle almost from the start. Tommy is on holiday in Sweden soon after the war. Over some days he observes a German being followed by three men and being Tommy he’s interested. When the man is abducted he can’t bear to stay out of events and follows the abduction car in a taxi. This results in two murders, that of the abductee and the taxi driver, while the abductors phone the police and claim that the killer was Tommy. He flees Sweden – in the abductors’ own boat, which then seizes up, and he is rescued by a Dutch captain with an obsession about company promoters, which he believes Tommy to be – and imprisons him until they arrive and he can turn him into the Dutch police. Things then become complicated. This book is the second in which two ex-Argentinian model-makers appear. Forgan and Campbell have a shop in Clerkenwell Road in London, and a habit of becoming embroiled in odd events. In fact any event in which they become embroiled becomes odd even if it hadn’t started out that way. (They turn up in several books in this series, adding farce and colour to those books thereby.) As in the series to date, this book while set after the war, continues to pit Tommy against Germans determined to continue with Hitler’s work. The book ends with Forgan using one of their number’s bombs to blow up the conspirators while only Hambleton, Forgan, Campbell, and a large dog named Tonio, escape.

This series started with Drink to Yesterday, which was frankly brilliant. Witty, incisive, and very funny, although it is the second book (Pray Silence) that I prefer by a small margin. I enjoy the entire series although I find some books better than others, however that is personal preference and other readers would, almost certainly, prefer different ones according to the type of theme they favour. The series is notable for its one liners – although most run rather longer than a single line. But very rarely does one of Cole’s books fail to produce one or more out-loud laughs from me each time I read them. Since recently we have also been seeing on TV a series called Nazi Hunters, I’ve found it interesting to note how often what is said on the TV series agrees with items from the Cole’s books. Of course, since one of the authors, (the author” Manning Coles” was actually two people,) was a spy in Germany during WWI and returned to the Intelligence Service before WWII and into 1958, they should know what they’re talking about – and they do.

I would recommend the series, however readers should be aware that several of the earlier books have minor comments or brief episodes that embody the casual racism of the time. I do not believe that the authors were genuinely racist, but the terms and 2-3 brief episodes particularly in the first couple may anger or distress readers. It’s a pity, and I hope that should the books be republished in future, these offhand mentions and minor events could be altered or expunged so as not to leave false impressions and spoil the books for younger readers.

 

 

Weather, Eggs, and Firewood.

several more days of ferocious gales of late, the geese are still sitting grimly although there are no guarantees on results as last week we also had an afternoon of simmering thunder. Very annoying as I have several people who’d like a gosling or two but with thunderstorms prone to kill developing embryos, it may be that the current three hatches – won’t. And while my firewood stack has held out quite well, that’s about to come to an end with the last of it in by the fire now, so that unless I can find some more dry wood to see me through at least one more month, I’m going to have a rather chilly and unhappy October. Either that or a warmer but more expensive month as I use heaters. Sigh.

SPACE JUNK

It’s interesting to note how often commonsense predictions in SF come true. Arthur C. Clarke’s predicted satellites for example. The most recent item was a report I saw on TV just the other week, in which they demonstrated a space harpoon. Not for whales, but for space debris floating in an orbit around the Earth and endangering communications satellites, the space station, and shuttles coming and going. Currently we have a huge amount of debris in Earth orbit, and this gadget is designed for someone to harpoon items, and place them in a trajectory into the atmosphere where they’ll burn up, thus reducing the hazards of space.

Of course, the thing that occurred to me was to wonder why this hadn’t been done to start with. SF writers have been using the problems of artificial space debris in earth-orbit for decades for both short stories and books. Why did it never strike scientists and governments, that leaving all sorts of trash to hurtle about around Earth wasn’t a good idea. I’m not altogether certain that sending chunks of it hurtling towards Earth as an alternative may be a good idea either. Depending on just how likely it is for the item to burn up that is. It may be necessary to have some space-going garbage person out there cutting up the items before they’re sent on their way, so that they are of a size to burn up safely rather than braining some unfortunate below. And to think that it could have been avoided if only those putting items into space had read the right SF or used common sense. Creating a band of millions of bits of rubbish presenting a lethal barrier to future space exploration, is, to say the least, counter-productive. They say that what goes up must come down, it looks as if that was a saying to which more of those who sent it up in the first place should have paid heed.

 

 

Story Sale

Yes, this morning I had an email confirmation that my story, Arafel, will be appearing in the Strange Christmas anthology. That makes about 14 of my stories sold and scheduled to be out this year. Not a bad year to date.

 

New Anthology Arrived.

This is Strange Halloween from Whortleberry Press. It’s a nice production with twenty-two stories, great cover, and solid editing. I had one of my “Detective Luisa Garcia” stories in this one, (The Mailman,) which I wrote specifically for the anthology although, as I’ve also sold the collection of ‘Luisa Garcia’ stories to Cyberwizard, which collection will appear in 2015, (baring Acts of Ghod) this story will be added to that too. The anthology arrived a couple of days ago and was immediately passed to a friend for review. (I prefer not to review anthologies in which I have work.) You’ll find Steve’s comments in the ‘review’ section under the same date as this.

Small Bird Season

and to celetrate that time of the year Thunder caught one. I heard the scuffling and hurried to the rescue to emerge with a handful of greenfinch, short a few feathers and decidedly ruffled. I stroked the feathers back into place while the bird eyed me, apparently unafraid. Cats are scary, people aren’t so bad. I took it out and sat it on top of the big concrete watertank. There was a brief pause while it sorted out events, current freedom, and … it was gone. Flying steadily (so whatever the lost feathers, none had been vital) and no indication of shock or incipient heart attack.

Great. I like the finches and I don’t want any to die here if I can prevent it. Thunder mostly doesn’t mean them to die either. He catches a bird or mouse, he plays. As a byproduct of his games the whatever it was usually dies from shock, but he rarely kills or even injures them intentionally and in all his seven years here he’s only eaten two prey, both mice – which I suspect he damaged in his games so that the scent of blood combined perhaps with early-hours hunger. This year there looks to be more finches than usual, and with nesting season in full swing he may find incautious babies landing in the cat park. I’m staying on the alert.

Strange Halloween

an anthology from Whortleberry Press edited by Jean Goldstrom. softcover. Reviewed by Steve Johnson.

Fine  job here, excellent cover that picks up the anthology theme very nicely, and a good selection of 22 stories with only one I really didn’t like. Favourites were Black and Silver (very nice use of history) The Guy With the Lantern (cleverly written) The Mailman (a subtle ghost tale) and A Storm of Memories (poignant.) Lyn says that she agrees with most of those but that she also very much likes Pumpkin Moon, Leaves, and Horror in Hootenanny Holler.

One the flip side I didn’t much like Shadows in the Dark. Woman runs out of gas, police officer in scary small town assists her. Nothing happens to woman, her kids, police officer, or small town. Huh? Was the town’s atmosphere supposed to be the theme? We’ve all had that ‘hair up on the back of the neck’ feeling. But if nothing validates it then there’s no story. And I was not at all impressed by Into The Wood, which I thought pretentious, and confused. However that’s a good end result, that out of 22 stories I enjoyed 20. The Whortleberry Press anthologies are good value for money.

Allsorts.

To me, writing isn’t something you do by finding one tiny narrow niche and sticking to it forever more. That is something that produces burnout, boredom, and a strong desire to move on – sooner rather than later. But then sticking to that tiny niche has never been my forte, even if many in the business think it should be how writers operate. Years back Andre Norton told me a joke commonly heard in USA writer circles.

A woman sits down to write her first fiction book. It’s brilliant, insightful, and becomes a best seller overnight. About a year later the publisher comes to her. “Your book was wonderful, but we think that you need to do a second book to keep the momentum. We want another novel from you that’s exciting, fresh, completely new – and exactly the same as the other one.”

Which, as she said, is why, increasingly, American publishers want a series, and not a line of standalone books.

I don’t operate that way, which is why I’m far less likely to burn out, become discouraged, or bored and quit writing. Yes, I do write series, but aside from my usual short stories and books, I also write (and often see published) the occasional poem, ordinary articles, a series of articles on ‘making savings’ for our local small newspaper, my blog with five sections, and assorted other items that are often written for fun with no great expectation of selling or winning.

That’s been typical this past few weeks when I’ve been a competitor in the karaoke poetry competition in town (and won the Pam Ayres section – mmm, lots of chocolate.) Written a poem for entry into a specialized poetry competition in Napier, completed a piece of ‘art writing’ for a competition in Wellington, and sent our local paper an article on dealing with hangovers – Xmas is coming. During the period and as actual writing work I’ve been revising my latest Daze book, revising a new book not yet sold, and putting together a short story collection I hope to sell. I write to sell my work, yes. But about half the time selling what I wrote is a byproduct of having had fun doing something. And the outcome is a lack of boredom, burnout, or bafflement as to what I should do next. There’s always something to do. Oh, and retirement? What’s that? No writer who has a working brain and the ability to produce words has to retire, and personally I intend to write just so long as those criteria apply.