Andrew Robie - Applying the Relationships to my Work lyrics

Knowledge in and of itself is fascinating but not particularly practical unless something is done with that knowledge. In this case, as discussed a scientist may pursue different sources of inspiration based on his or her knowledge of the relationship between science fiction. Someone studying literature may use this knowledge in their research, possibly developing certain aspects of this relationship further with regards to the literature he or she is studying. For my part, it would involve writing. In this case, using Asimov's three types of science fiction to structure stories. In doing this, I am not necessarily seeking direct inspiration from cutting edge scientific advances, but using my understanding of how each of these genres makes use of scientific knowledge in the context of the story. Just as a writer working on a historical fiction novel has limitations in regard to what he or she is able to do, a writer working in science fiction has certain limitations in regard to what he or she is allowed to do before the story is no longer science fiction. This also holds true of Asimov's three types of science fiction. Though an author may unintentionally write a piece that falls into one of these categories, having a knowledge of them and what each entails can help an author more fully form a basic idea for a story. Should the author start a story, but be unsure of where to take it, he or she can determine to which type the story most similar and turn to past works of that type for inspiration. Another possibility could be considering how the conventions of each type would affect the story and choosing to pursue the one that seems most interesting. Should an author not have a story in mind already, deciding which category to pursue can work to focus the author's thoughts and research. This is where I started. Each of the stories I wrote was completely new and each was written with a specific type of science fiction in mind. By knowing what the type entailed, I could map out a general plot more clearly than if I were to start writing a general science fiction story with no plot structure or intent in mind. For example, in my story “Murphy's Last Hurrah,” I knew I wanted it to be a space opera. In sticking with the idea of a plot-driven piece in which the technology was purely cosmetic, I came up with the story of an outlaw. This was inspired by the idea of horse operas, which are similar to space operas, but set in the “Wild” West (Turning Points 39). Wanting to keep the story relatively brief, I didn't want to choose a grandiose topic, like Star Wars, but I wanted to keep a distinctive feel. The combination of these got me thinking about common themes in Westerns, and eventually, inspired somewhat by Butch Ca**idy and the Sundance Kid, I settled on a heist gone wrong. In the story, Murphy, a con man and thief, is forced into hiding after “What had started out as a little heist on some backwater planet had turned into the biggest manhunt he'd ever found himself the target of” (“Murphy's Last Hurrah” 19). Knowing he can't hide forever, he decides to attempt fleeing to his home on Earth. In keeping with a space opera, while there is futuristic technology present, none of it is explained and all of it is cosmetic. Instead of hiding in the rings of Saturn and trying to return to Earth, Murphy could just as easily be in some remote country on Earth, hoping to make it back to his home country, rather than planet. The one piece of technology that is somewhat important to the story is hyperspace, specifically entering it, which requires Murphy to have “cleared the atmosphere” (“Murphy's Last Hurrah” 20). I decided to include hyperspace because even space operas must follow the rules of science. With the great distances between objects in space, conventional travel would result in literally years long trips between all but the absolute closest celestial bodies. For the sake of the plot, I decided to include a way to travel more quickly. The limitation on entering and exiting hyperspace was also a result of story constraints. Were Murphy able to enter or exit anywhere, he could land immediately anywhere on Earth, avoiding the Galactic officers after him and undermining the conflict. Despite these implications on the story, the technologies are not focused on which keeps with the idea of technology being more aesthetic than functional in space operas. This necessity to make the technology not play a part in the story was somewhat limiting. Most of my experience with writing science fiction has had the technology play some role. Making sure the story could work in any other setting was somewhat unusual for me. But this was primarily an issue when I first started the story. Once I had the technologies set and the story planned out, it was much easier to keep the technology from playing a role. On the other hand, my story “Neuroplastic,” as a gadget fiction story, had to pay a lot of attention to the technology. As with most science fiction, certain things were taken as givens. In this case the technology used to draw and wipe circuit boards, the “tracer” and “nullifier” respectively, or the “electron bath” (“Neuroplastic” 29, 32). Since this was not the focus of the story, it did not need to be explained in depth. The technological focus of the story, a circuit board that could alter its physical makeup based on input, did need to be explained. This acted as both a limiting and focusing force. By forcing me to at least minimally explain the theoretical workings of the technology, I was forced to only discuss a topic of which I had some understanding. In this case, it was the idea of neurons in the brain forming connections based on simultaneous stimulation and that neural connections communicate through transmitting electrons. In the story itself, Chad, a doctoral candidate “[making] a circuit board that could adjust its topology based on user inputs to learn basic addition and subtraction,” spends time agonizing over how to accomplish this task (“Neuroplastic” 29). The story is about Chad's difficulty with this project and the resolution comes in the form of his discovery and learning “it should be enough to keep [his] funding for now” (“Neuroplastic” 36). While this technology may or may not have implications for this fictitious Earth, it is the trial of creating it which causes the conflict, not the effects it may have on society. But in my story “Just a Tool” the interaction between people and the technology is the story. For the sake of keeping the story brief, I decided to have it concern a very small segment of society, a single family. Mary, a very caring person, is excited about the prospect of getting a robot, even “[feeling] like a kid again” (“Just a Tool” 37). After she meets the robot, Homer, she immediately starts treating him like a friend, saying “I have so much to show you” and talking to him when they're alone together (“Just a Tool” 41). She even comforts him, saying “It's not your fault” and “I shouldn't have distracted you,” when Homer accidentally hurts himself (“Just a Tool” 44). Mary's husband, Greg, on the other hand, is much less friendly towards Homer. While Mary talks to Homer, Greg is “clinically monitoring the poor dear” and isn't concerned that Homer was hurt (“Just a Tool” 42). While the technology that makes Homer work remains unexplained, it does play a role on multiple levels, causing the friction between Mary and Greg. The first of these points, and the more absolutely tied to the technology, is why robots would be created to feel pain. This was based in the scientific understanding of why people have a sense of pain: to keep themselves safe. As the story discusses, “It was either have them feel pain and protect themselves or not feel pain and have them potentially destroy themselves” and this ideology seemed like it would carry over to robotics (“Just a Tool” 45-46). Being expensive, it would seem that those purchasing the robots would want to protect their investment, and a robot with no means of detecting harm would be in danger of unknowingly destroying itself. Given this knowledge, it would make sense that the developers would include some manner of danger detection and response, in this case, pain and reflexive jerks. However, unlike humans and other animals, robots could theoretically be calibrated to feel it to different extents based on their purpose and durability, as Greg mentions, making them more suitable to certain tasks (“Just a Tool” 45-46). The second point of conflict is less definitely tied to the technology behind Homer, but is rooted in it in the story. This is the idea of whether robots should be treated as tools, because they are “literally machines we make to do the things we don't want to,” or beings worthy of respect (“Just a Tool” 46). The same topic could be explored through other methods, such as animals instead of robots, but by distancing the object in question from real life, the story is less likely to elicit an already ingrained belief in a reader. This idea also leads into the idea of what it means to be real at the very end of the piece, a topic which, again, could be examined with a different test subject, but by distancing the subject, the reader is more likely to be influenced by the narrative than previously held beliefs. Writing these three pieces with rules already in mind was difficult, but in the end the knowledge of the structures helped. By having rules of what I could and could not do, I was able to focus on the key aspects of a narrative type, such as the plot in “Murphy's Last Hurrah” or the process of invention in “Neuroplastic,” rather than being distracted by unnecessary elements, like the specifics of the technologies in “Murphy's Last Hurrah” or “Just a Tool.” While I probably wouldn't start a story with the intent of it being one of Asimov's three types of science fiction, it will definitely help with my future work, both in being able to focus in on a specific element of a story based on what I have, and in giving me an idea of where to look for inspiration.