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The Demise of Truth

by | June 21, 2020 | | 3 Comments

Photo by Danya Gutan from Pexels

I’ve been reading science fiction all my life, starting with the Mushroom Planet books when I was seven or eight, graduating to Heinlein and Asimov as a teenager, and branching out from there. Back in the eighties and nineties, I sampled a lot of cyberpunk: Pat Cadigan, Neal Stephenson, Bruce Sterling, William Gibson and their comrades. These authors imagined (or predicted?) many aspects of the modern Internet, decades in advance, and a startling number of their visions have become part of our everyday life.

A vast, worldwide, constantly accessible network of knowledge? These days, who could live without Wikipedia, Quora and YouTube? Voice queries, reminiscent of “2001: A Space Odyssey”? Siri and Alexa do quite a bit better than H.A.L. Instant notification about events? Telepresence? Synthetic on-line worlds where you can interact with avatars and artificial agents? Trends and fads that emerge, take control of the popular psyche then die off a matter of days? I first met all these ideas in science fiction stories.

There’s one aspect of today’s digital world, though, that no author whom I read predicted: the demise of truth.

You can find literally anything on the Internet – including completely contradictory sets of facts, multiple conflicting descriptions of events, alternative histories. It’s scary to realize that there is no such thing anymore as an authoritative source. We tend to believe and trust people who agree with us, but fundamentally that is just bias. Anyone who can tell a convincing story (and the Internet has nurtured and rewarded individuals who have this skill) can acquire a following of believers, no matter how absurd that story might appear to someone outside that circle. Some people are certain the moon landing in 1969 was a hoax – that the Holocaust never happened – that Elvis is still out there somewhere, shaking his hips and breaking hearts.

“Ah, but there’s evidence,” you might say. “Photographs. Historical records. Documents that support some stories and debunk others. Data that can be consulted and analyzed in order to choose one interpretation over another.” Alas, that might have been true a decade or two ago, but the digitalization of our existence means that absolutely everything is mutable. Photographs can be doctored without leaving the slightest trace, or even generated de novo – not just by humans but by AI systems who’ve been fed millions of similar examples. Deep-fake video technology makes it possible to literally put words in someone’s mouth. Software bots can invade social networks to manipulate so-called “popular opinion”, influencing elections and changing history. (But in fact, there is no one “history”. Even before the Internet, every country, culture and group had its own historical narrative.)

Most information needed to keep the world running is currently stored in digital form, in databases of one form or another. That information is unbelievably vulnerable to corruption, both accidental and deliberate. Given today’s technology, it would not be that difficult to erase all primary records of the moon landing to support the hoax claim. One doesn’t have to be a tech wizard to fabricate a totally believable case for almost any wild theory. It’s happening all the time, right now – as you read this blog post.

Now, I remember that initial walk on the moon with great clarity. I was in my senior year in high school, an enthusiastic science geek as well as a reader of science fiction, and from my perspective, this was definitely our first step toward a bright future in an expanding universe. Time corrodes our memories, though. When I compare notes with my husband of forty years about some past event we both experienced, we often have wildly differing recollections. The older I get, the less certain I am that even my most cherished and vibrant memories are accurate.

As prescient as the authors of my youth turned out to be, I can’t recall any of them portraying a world where it was impossible to know what was true. Honestly, this wreaks havoc with almost any philosophical perspective.

As a researcher and computer professional, I’ve been aware of the malleability of truth for quite a while, but the COVID-19 epidemic has shown me just how impossible it has become to discern “the truth”. Every day we are bombarded with “scientific data” and presented with the conclusions of so-called experts. The same statistics will be interpreted in completely opposite directions, depending on the nationality, the politics or the predispositions of the person offering up conclusions. The average person has probably looked at more graphs over the past three months than in the previous two decades. Is he or she any closer to the truth about this crazy disease? What a ridiculous notion!

So where does that leave me – or us? How can we cope in an environment where we’re bombarded by information, any and all of which could be manufactured to serve someone’s agenda – or simply in error due to sloppy programming? Sounds pretty hopeless, doesn’t it?

Well, I have two answers. First of all, we can trust our direct experience, more at least than we can trust something we read on Facebook, USA Today, or The New York Times. Be observant; use your eyes and ears; keep an open mind. If someone claims that immigrants are criminal degenerates, think about the immigrants you know personally. (And if you don’t know any personally, perhaps you should seek some out.) If you read that anyone who likes to watch porn is psychologically diseased and incapable of having normal relationships – well, ask yourself whether the examples you have in your environment confirm this claim.

Second, we can educate ourselves about the fragility of truth in our digital world, be skeptical about every claim, and examine the mustered evidence as objectively as possible. I noted above that almost any sort of information can be faked, but consistency is still a reasonable criterion for evaluating a story. It’s possible to construct an intricate edifice of lies to support a false conclusion, but it’s difficult to make all the pieces fit together perfectly – at least right now.

There is one prediction that shows up a lot in eighties and nineties scifi that hasn’t yet come to fruition – the idea that neural stimulation could create artificial sensory experiences so vivid and convincing that you couldn’t tell the difference between a stim-dream and real life. There are advances in neuroscience that point in that direction, but we’re not there yet.

I rather hope we never get to that point. Already I lament the way how so many of our experiences have switched from direct to mediated. Why go out on a date when you can chat on Messenger? Why bother to travel when you can browse Instagram or binge on YouTube? Why have sex when you can sext?

As I see it, some things can be imitated, but not truly replaced. I cling to that life-preserver as I navigate the shifting seas of today’s digital existence.

Thank you, Valentine Michael Smith

by | August 21, 2019 | | 2 Comments

As I get older, I’m increasingly aware of my good fortune. In particular, I’m grateful to have so few sexual hang-ups. It’s obvious that for many people, sexuality is fraught with guilt, shame, discomfort and fear. Somehow I managed to escape most of these issues.

For me, sex has almost always been a positive experience, ranging from simple fun to life-changing transcendence. I’ve had a wide range of erotic adventures, a rich sexual history which I can (and do) mine in my stories. I also find that I’m attracted to individuals across the gender spectrum, and aroused by a dizzying variety of kinks and quirks. Oh, and despite the fact that I’ve been married for decades, I don’t think I’m fundamentally monogamous.

I grew up in a pretty liberal family, where sex wasn’t condemned or forbidden, but at the same time, it wasn’t exactly a common topic of conversation. So where did I get my attitudes? Why am I so comfortable, relatively speaking, with sex? (I might also ask why I’m so fascinated by it….)

Recently, I got a reminder, when I re-read Robert Heinlein’s science fiction classic Stranger in a Strange Land.

I first encountered this novel when I was twelve or thirteen, just past puberty and drenched with hormones. I was primed for sexual themes. I devoured the book, sharing it with a geeky guy who was my first real boyfriend (though not my first lover). Heinlein’s tale had an incredible impact on my developing sexuality.

In case you’re not familiar with the novel, the “Stranger” of the title is a young man named Valentine Michael Smith, illegitimate son of two brilliant members of the doomed first expedition to Mars. When his parents and the rest of the crew perish, Smith is adopted and raised by the native inhabitants of Mars. Twenty-some years later, a second expedition brings him back to Earth, where he must try to reconcile his Martian upbringing with the demands and dangers of a bewildering and utterly alien new environment. Various powers on Earth want to exploit, control and even eliminate him, but he’s rescued by his nurse Jill and brought to sanctuary in the Poconos mansion of the venerable Jubal Harshaw, LL.B., M.D., Sc.D, bon vivant, popular author and contrarian.

Jubal succeeds in neutralizing the immediate threats to Mike’s life and freedom. Meanwhile, he and the other members of his unconventional establishment (including a captivating blonde, a buxom brunette and a perky red head, who function as his secretaries) discover that the Man from Mars has extraordinary abilities acquired during his education. He can manipulate time and space, including his own body; he can read the minds of people he trusts; he can recognize lies but is himself incapable of falsehood.

Adapting a Martian ritual, Mike “shares water” with Jill, Jubal and the other individuals who gather around him. Initially this involves a literal use of water, which is scarce and precious on Mars. Eventually, water sharing evolves into deeper communion, often involving sex – a joining of both bodies and minds. Martians biology and culture offers nothing remotely like human sexuality. Mike recognizes the unique power of sex, to bind, nurture, heal pain and gladden the heart. Meanwhile his human partners discover that sex with the Man from Mars involves an entirely different plane of experience, ecstatically pleasurable as well as spiritually uplifting.

The community that starts at Jubal’s home evolves into an extended polyamorous family of “water brothers”. At thirteen, I found this concept thrilling and seductive. Love, sex, trust, emotional support, pleasure, oneness, transcendence, all linked. Physical and spiritual connection, shared freely, without guilt or shame or jealousy. Though I was still a virgin, this resonated so strongly that I felt it had to be right and true.

I trace many of my feelings and attitudes about sex to that early reading. I still subscribe to this view of sex as sacrament.

What about now, though? Would Mike’s story still inspire me? When I saw a copy of the “uncut version” at my local used bookstore, I had to find out whether I’d react to the book the same way, after five and a half decades on earth.

Of course, it’s always risky to re-read a beloved book many years later. All too often, I find that the magic has fled, that the excitement kindled by that first reading reflected only my naiveté. I was amazed and delighted to find that Stranger in a Strange Land, first published in 1961, holds up very well in the twenty first century. That’s quite surprising for science fiction. Modern society is not all that different from what Heinlein imagined – the same greed and hunger for power, the same silly fads, the same religious cults, the same suspicions about people who are “alien”. In fact, I think I appreciate Jubal’s character more on this reading, having reached the status of curmudgeon myself.

And the water sharing? If anything, I found the sexual philosophy of the book more compelling on this read, though perhaps less novel. When I read SIASL as a teen, I accepted its message based on intuition. Now I can testify to its truth from personal experience.

The one thing I noticed that was missing in Mike’s world is same-sex coupling. It would seem a natural extension, but I guess that would have been too radical for a sixties author to contemplate. On the other, the book doesn’t explicitly rule out homoerotic interactions. Water sharing eventually morphs into a group ritual, an orgy (at least implied) where everyone is mentally connected with everyone else. Who’s to say the physical connections aren’t comprehensive as well?

Or am I reading my own philosophy and preferences into the tale?

In any case, this re-reading confirmed my long-time conviction that SIASL made fundamental contributions to my sexual development. I’m thrilled and grateful.

Without Valentine Michael Smith, there might never have been a Lisabet Sarai.

Spring Has Sprung

by | May 28, 2016 | | 4 Comments

Elizabeth Black
writes in a wide variety of genres including erotica, erotic romance, horror,
and dark fiction. She lives on the Massachusetts coast with her husband, son,
and her three cats. Visit her web site, her Facebook
page, and her Amazon Author Page. 

Her new m/m erotic medical thriller Roughing
It is out! This book is a sexy cross between The X Files and The Andromeda
Strain. Buy it at Amazon!

—–

It’s finally feeling like spring. The weather here on the
northeast Massachusetts coast has been cooler than average for this time of
year. It’s also rather wet. I like the cool temps, though. Now that the leaves
are sprouting and the forsythia has finished blooming, it’s time for me to get
into my warmer weather routine after being cooped up in the apartment the
entire winter.

I look forward to spring every year. That’s the time for me
to replenish myself and to assess my progress in life. I’ve begun my beach
walks again, complete with a stop at the beach ice cream shop. The shop has
been open for about two weeks. I like to run plots and characterizations
through my head as I walk in the waves. The very, very cold waves. LOL The
ocean up here is far too cold for me to swim in even during the dog days of
August. My husband and I are talking about moving to Hawaii when he retires in
a little over three years. We can swim in that water. Pacific, here we come!

I believe writers need a safe space where they can listen to
the quiet inside and work out their stories. The beach provides that solace for
me. I worked out a horror story in my head over this past weekend, and I
finished the first draft Monday morning. It’s one of those stories where the
movie version kept getting in the way of my imagination. I finally got past
that. Think outside the box, as my husband says. I’d go today but there isn’t
enough time. Until Wednesday.

I also relax by gardening, which I’m into full swing now.
Spring brings forth the herbs and veggies I like to grow that won’t survive in
the apartment over the winter. I’m growing tomatoes from seeds for the first
time. If you write to University of Florida and donate $10, the horticulture
department will send you tomato seeds. This department is developing tomatoes
that actually taste delicious. Most mass-grown tomatoes you buy in the
supermarket are so bland they’d might as well not have any taste at all. The
two tomato strains I bought are Garden Gem and Garden Treasure. The seeds have already
sprouted and are doing well. I bought more seeds in the hope they’ll take and I
can plant them in pots. I bought more tomato seeds (Roma and Best Boy),
chamomile, and cilantro. They’re planted but the seeds haven’t sprouted yet. I
also buy starter plants. This year I picked up sage, rosemary, oregano, and
three varieties of thyme – lemon, orange, and English. Then there are the
pineapple sage, tarragon, and marjoram. My jalapeño peppers from last year
survived and they’re just starting to flower. The peppers grow from the
flowers. My bay plant needs to be transplanted since it’s root bound and it’s
complaining. I have a huge plastic pot for it. My tiny avocado I grew from the
pit three years ago is now almost five feet tall. That one is adjusting to a new
pot and the great outdoors. Here are pictures of my herb garden, which I keep
in pots since I can’t plant them in the ground.

Getting outside myself and away from the computer only makes
my writing flow easier. I need time away from writing so that I may continue to
write. It’s easier for me to do this in the spring, summer, and fall since
there are so many opportunities out there for exploration and enjoyment. I
don’t get that sort of thing during the winter. It’s too easy to hole up up
here, and I’m reclusive by nature.  It
also doesn’t help that I took on far too many projects recently, and I need to
finish them before the end of the month. Hopefully by the time this article
posts, I’ll be mostly finished. One can hope. By getting away, I come full circle
to meet my muse and the words flow. I need that.

Muse versus Market

by | February 21, 2016 | | 8 Comments

By Lisabet Sarai

A few nights ago I woke from a vivid dream with an idea for a new story. Consumed with excitement, I grabbed the notebook I keep on the shelf in my headboard and scribbled down a synopsis, in the dark. When the next day dawned, I was delighted to find that (a) I could actually read my notes, and (b) the story premise still struck me as really promising.

Having just released a novel, I’ve been wondering what project I should tackle next. This new concept—a scifi tale that resonates with a lot of contemporary issues—really got my mental wheels turning. Though the dream was little more than a single scene, with hints of a back story, I could see how to expand it, and how to focus its harrowing emotional intensity. Tragically romantic—intellectually challenging—distinctly different—the idea really sank its claws into my psyche.

Then I realized that although what I’d envisioned was a love story, it definitely did not have a happy ending. So if I wrote and published it, I couldn’t sell it as romance. And at this point in my publishing carreer, romance is what I know how to promote. The readers on my 300-odd mailing list, the daily visitors to my blog, the people who enter all my giveaways, are readers of romance. They crave an ending where the characters ultimately get what they want, not a finale where the hero dies. Yet that’s the natural way my dream would play out, if I spun a story from it.

Could I make it into a romance with a HEA? Probably, though finding a believable solution to the hero’s impending demise would take significant creativity. As a romance, I suspect this would sell, at least among the readers who have come to appreciate my unconventional approach to romance tropes. Did I want to turn this notion into a happily ending tale, though? Wasn’t that a betrayal of my midnight vision?

I could always keep the original ending and market the book as erotica, of course. Although the thematic core of the tale is not primarily about sex, I expect it to contain a significant amount of carnal activity, since the hero is a prostitute. Even erotica readers tend to shy away from dark endings, though. They might not require the characters to make a commitment, but they like it when everyone ends up satisfied. Heartbreak, injustice, terror—these aren’t favorite topics in erotica.

In any case, I don’t know how to market erotica these days, at least not stuff that would probably be more literary than smutty. Blue Moon is gone. Cleis (and just about everyone else) wants romance. In the old days, Circlet would have been the perfect publisher for this tale. But even Circlet seems to have largely climbed on the romance bandwagon.

What about turning the dream into mainstream fiction? Tragic endings are always welcome in literature. Or genre science fiction? But then what would I do about the sex? Play it down? Leave it out? I’d probably need to create a new pseudonym, too, to avoid being tarred with the opprobrium of also writing “porn”. I’d be starting from scratch, in an environment about which I know very little, at least as an author.

Let me be clear. I don’t make my living from my writing. Heaven forbid. I don’t write primarily for the money. On the other hand, I have very limited time to write, so I try to produce books that I think people will actually read. That’s the payoff, for me—emails like the one I received a few weeks ago, from a guy who absolutely loved Rajasthani Moon, or gushing reviews like I’ve been getting for The Gazillionaire and the Virgin. I write to be read. So I don’t want to put effort into creating something that will go over like a lead balloon.

It’s a dilemma. Do I follow my muse down a barely-trodden path, or divert her onto a more well-traveled highway? I go back and forth about this. Is it principled or foolish to stick to my original notions? Or maybe a bit of both?

A lot of authors read this blog, so I’ll ask: what would you do? Which would you choose, the muse or the market?

Hot Chilli Erotica

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