On Godot 3.0

For a couple of years now, I’ve been talking about the amazing Godot Engine. Recently, I’ve been writing so much that I haven’t had time to get back into coding, but the announcement of Godot Engine version 3.0 got my attention. Now, I’ve had some time to play with it, and here’s my verdict.

First off, Godot is free. It’s open source. It’s cross-platform, for both development and deployment. All three of those are important to me. I’m poor, so an engine that costs hundreds or thousands of dollars just to get started is, well, a non-starter. Second, my desktop runs Linux, so a Windows-only tool is probably going to be useless, and something proprietary really isn’t good when you have the very real possibility of having to delve into the bowels of the engine for customization purposes.

Yes, something like Unity is probably better for someone who’s just starting out. It’s got a bigger community, it’s more mature, and it does have a much more professional air. On the other hand, Godot’s new version really ups the bar, putting it on the same general level as other “indie-friendly” game engines.

New and improved

The biggest new feature in Godot 3.0 has to be the improved 3D renderer. 3D was always Godot’s weak point, especially on certain hardware. Namely, mine. Last year, I was running on integrated graphics (A10 Trinity, if you care), and I got maybe 5 FPS on Godot’s platformer demo. Fast-forward to January 1st, 2018, after I installed a new (to me) RX 460 running the fancy amdgpu drivers and everything. Curious, I fired up Godot 2.1 and the demo. Results? 5 FPS max. No difference.

With 3.0, though, that’s no longer a problem. From what I’ve read, that’s because the developers have completely overhauled the 3D portion of the engine. It’s faster on low-end (and medium-level) hardware, and some of the sample images are stunning. I’d have to do more tests to see just how well it works in practice, but it could hardly be worse than before.

In a way, that perfectly describes all the new features. The renderer’s been rewritten to be better. Physics now uses the Bullet engine instead of a homebrew system. Audio? Rewrite. Shaders? Rewrite. It’s not so much revolution as evolution, except that doesn’t work. No, think of it more as evolution by revolution. Now, that’s not to say there are no new features in this version. It’s just that those are overshadowed by the massive improvements in the existing parts.

I’ll gladly admit that I don’t care much about VR gaming. I’m not one of those who see it as a gimmick, but it’s not ready for primetime yet. But if you’re of a different persuasion, then you might be interested in the VR support that’s been added. I’ll leave that to you to discover, as I honestly have no idea how it all works.

More to my taste is the additional programming support. Godot uses a custom scripting language by default, a Python clone designed to interface with the engine. I’m not really a fan of that approach, as I’ve written before. Clearly, I’m not alone in that thinking, as version 3.0 now offers more options. First up is GDNative, way to extend the engine using external libraries (written in native code, hence the name) without going through the trouble of recompiling the whole thing every time you make a change. That one looks good on its face, as it opens up the possibility of integrating popular and well-tested libraries much more easily.

But that doesn’t really replace GDScript, although it does add the ability to make bindings for other scripting languages. The new Mono support, on the other hand, actually does change the way you write code. It’s not perfect (as of this writing, it’s not even complete!), but it definitely shows promise.

As you know, Unity uses C# as its language of choice; they’ve deprecated JavaScript, and they try to pretend Boo never existed. Well, now (or once it’s done) Godot will let you write your game in C#, too. Even better, it surpasses Unity by using a much newer version of Mono, so you get full C# 7.0 support, assuming you trust Microsoft enough to use it.

If that wasn’t enough, there’s also a “visual” scripting system, much like Unreal’s Blueprints. That one’s in its early stages, so it’s not much more than a flowchart where you don’t have to write the function names, but I can’t see it not getting improved in future versions.

So there you have it. I haven’t even scratched the surface here, but I hope it whets your appetite, because I still think Godot is one of the best indie game engines out there. If you don’t have the money to spend on Unity, you’d rather use a platform without a port of the Unreal editor, or you don’t want to risk getting sued by Crytek, then there’s almost no reason not to give Godot a shot. It’s only getting better, and this new version proves it.

Languages of the Otherworld: Philosophy

The main storyline of Chronicles of the Otherworld follows a group of eleven college students who are transported from an archaeological site in Mexico to a planet inhabited by descendants of the original settlers of the Americas. Over the course of eight books, 64 chapters, and some 400,000 words, they learn to live in this new world, and one of the primary barriers they run into is that of language. For this land is not Mexico, and the speakers use a language wholly unknown to our world.

Let’s talk

As the Otherworld setting originated as a linguistic playground, it stands to reason that I would place heavy emphasis on the speech of its natives. And I did. The first native words appear almost as soon as the first native shows up, in Chapter 8 of Out of the Past. (That’s the main reason why Jeff, the linguist character, has the perspective for that chapter.) As I write this, I’m a couple of weeks removed from finishing the 19th story in the setting, and new words and phrases are still popping up.

This is by design. It’s not that I’m trying to make the story hard to read, but it follows my preference for limited-perspective narration. The characters don’t always know what these words mean, so I leave them untranslated. Once they start gaining comprehension, the fake language slowly shifts to English. As the books progress, the native terms become fewer and farther between. Entire conversations can pass without them, but the reader is aware that the Earthlings are talking in a decidedly unearthly tongue.

Sometimes, they mix in Americanisms, and I’ve made this a plot point on a few occasions. “Okay” is such a common word that college-aged men and women use it liberally, and the dialogue reflects that. As they use it, though, the natives begin to pick it up, and the same goes for words for other concepts they wouldn’t have, like “phone” and “science”. (In the few cases where I’ve had native points of view, this gets a bit trickier, I’ll admit. There, the only words left untranslated are mostly those that don’t easily map to English equivalents.)

Speaking the truth

To make this somewhat more believable, the primary language of the setting—at least in the area where our story is concerned—couldn’t be too complex. Indeed, it has to be fairly simple, which led me to a conundrum. As you may know, the indigenous languages of the Americas are widely regarded as some of the most complex on the planet. They use unfamiliar sounds, unusual grammatical categories, and distinction that Indo-European languages either ignore or gloss over. Even if I did know enough about them (and I don’t), I doubt I could create something derived from, say, a Mayan language, let alone something a few kids in their twenties could pick up in less than three months.

Fortunately, that’s where the backstory helps me. The languages of the Otherworld don’t have to be derived from existing Amerind languages. They don’t even have to come from their ancestors. Because I placed the divergence point so far in the past, I consider myself to have almost free reign. After all, the last connection between our world and that one was at the end of the Ice Age (as confirmed in A Peace Shattered, Chapter 7). That’s about twice as much time as you need to evolve the whole Indo-European family.

Given that many centuries, anything can happen, so I felt comfortable creating something entirely from scratch. And thus we have what the natives call Virisai, the speech of the Virissea. In the next post, I’ll start going into greater detail about the language itself, but I’ll finish this one with a bit more philosophy.

First off, I’ve been adamant that the conlangs I make for Otherworld need to be written, and written easily. These are books, novels, and I feel that throwing in a cacophony of diacritics is just going to turn people completely off. (Yeah, because the story wouldn’t.) Also, I want something that isn’t too hard to pronounce, both for the characters’ benefit and because I imagine Chronicles as a TV series. Media conlangs aren’t complex, unless they’re Klingon.

So Virisai doesn’t have a horribly baroque phonology. As a matter of fact, it’s quite tame, especially compared to its supposed relatives in our world. There’s no /f/ sound, but that’s not too unusual; actually, my oldest active conlang, Suvile, has the same restriction, so maybe it’s a personal thing. The main /r/ sound is more like that of American English rather than, say, a Spanish-like trill. About the only real sticking points are the long vowels—it’s a proper length distinction, one of quantity rather than quality—and the odd realization of /v/, which does come out closer to Spanish ([β̞], in case you were wondering).

Grammar-wise, it’s also nothing too out there. I could have thrown in antipassives or some other bizarre (compared to Europe) ideas, but I didn’t. That’s not to say there aren’t oddities. Virisai does have a case system. Its genitives are head-marked, which is fairly weird. There’s a suffix -te used for things like naming, and that can catch the unwary.

All in all, though, I’ve endeavored to make this a beginner-friendly conlang, something that wouldn’t be too difficult to pick up. The vocabulary is entirely unlike anything anyone on Earth knows, but that’s probably the hardest part.

Later on, we’ll delve more deeply into that, as well as the other languages of Otherworld. For now, enjoy “The Code Breaker” and the rest of A Bridge Between Worlds.

Release: The Code Breaker (A Bridge Between Worlds 1)

The cycle begins anew…but not really. The Return to the Otherworld won’t come around until 2019 (coincidentally enough, the year in which the original Chronicles of the Otherworld takes place). Until then, you’ll be getting 6 shorter novellas I’ve entitled A Bridge Between Worlds. As the name suggests, they bridge the nine-month gap between Long Road’s End and the next story in the “main” Otherworld sequence, The Second Crossing.

First up is “The Code Breaker”:

Lee never regretted his decision to stay in the other world. He knew it would be hard, but he believed his hard work would be rewarded. Nimiesa left everything she knew behind, and now she waits for the day when she enters a new world of her own: the world of motherhood. Together, they are the first to bridge the stars, but leaving their past behind is harder than it seems.

Once again, the Otherworld series is, for the time being, a Patreon exclusive, and you can get access to it for a pledge of only \$3/month. On top of that, you’ll get the complete first season of the series, as well as many other novels and short stories.

Next up is “The Red Magician”, coming in March. Until then, keep reading!

On mountains

The mountain looms large in our imagination. We speak of summits and pinnacles and peaks as though anything could be compared to a mountain. We use them in logos (Paramount) and brands (Denali) to represent quality, immovability, toughness. Mountains have a majesty, and they always have. The Greek gods had their abode on Mount Olympus. Noah’s Ark is said to be on Mount Ararat. Frodo had to take the One Ring to Mount Doom.

That last, of course, is a purely literary creation. (Some would say the others are, too, but that’s not the point of this post.) And that naturally brings us to the question of how to use mountains in a story. What is so special about them? What makes them stand out in literature? Read on for my thoughts.

Reaching the peak

First, I think that a mountain, more than any other geographical feature, represents achievement. In a way, that’s because we often hear tales of mountain climbing, but those tales only came about because people saw mountains as things to be conquered. And that’s a relatively recent phenomenon. Only in the past few decades has it really become a major source of adventure.

But it’s perfect for that. Climbing a mountain can be a grueling, demanding task. For the tallest and most remote peaks, you need some serious training and preparation. The environment is inhospitable at best, deadly at worst. Just catching sight of the summit is an accomplishment. Reaching it is a true achievement, and the flanks of, for example, Everest are littered with stories of failure.

And really, when you think about it, there’s no reason to bother. The whole thing’s a fruitless pursuit, a pure adventure with no true payoff. Why do people climb Mount Everest? Because it’s there. That’s it. No other reason at all, but that it’s something to do, a visible goal we can strive towards.

In that, the mountain serves as the perfect metaphor. Even better, climbing quite naturally gives us a definite climax, as well as the perfect opportunity for a “false ending” where the presumed climax isn’t actually the conclusion of the story. After all, sometimes the hardest part is getting back down the mountain.

But back to the metaphor…well, metaphor. It really does have a lot of levels, but they all find their way back to that same inescapable conclusion: there’s a peak, and we have to reach it. If you’re a writer who can’t find a way to make that work, then you might be in the wrong line of work. You don’t even have to put a volcanic chasm at the top, as Tolkien did. Any mountain can evoke the same sense of accomplishment, of achieving one’s aims.

Scenery

Beyond that, mountains can also make for good scenery, even in written form. Visually, as you know, a jagged line or solitary, snow-capped peak can be downright stunning. Described well, they can make the same impact in a novel, too. But you have to go about it a different way.

In my opinion, mountains as scenery, as backdrop, work best when they’re integrated into the story, but not the primary focus. A mountain is rugged, remote, inaccessible. It’s not the kind of place that is often the center of attention. Thus, it can fade into the background while still casting a shadow over a setting.

Who knows what lurks out there? Mountains can be the abode of gods, monsters, or just backwoods hill folk. Whatever the case, we’re talking about beings who don’t normally visit the cities and towns. They’re wild, but a different sort of wild than the denizens of, say, a forest. Mountains, because of their harsh nature, imply a harder life. We have the stereotypical image of the “mountain man”, as well as legendary creatures such as the Yeti, and these both speak to the myth of the mountain.

All alone out here

Another thing that follows from the idea of mountains being remote is their isolation. They’re the perfect place to get away from it all. The taller ones are bleak, seemingly lifeless, while shorter peaks may be covered in trees, but they share that common bond. The mountain is a retreat.

Today, we might think of that in terms of ski lodges, campgrounds, or hiking trails, but there’s a deeper history here, one that plays into fantasy and other fiction. If you want to escape, you head to the hills, whatever your reason for escaping in the first place. Monasteries (or their fantasy equivalents) work well in the mountains, and what alpine story doesn’t have a secret hideaway somewhere up above the treeline? Nobody knows about these places for the very simple reason that they’re not meant to be found. So what better place to put them than the one nobody would think to look in?

Disaster

Finally, mountains are a great setting for disaster, whether natural or man-made. Obviously, volcanoes are exciting, dangerous spectacles. Avalanches are more sudden, but their aftermath can make for a good survival story. Flooding (possibly from melting snow) can provide a relatively slow, yet no less unstoppable, threat.

On the highest mountains, it’s the storm that is the biggest, most cinematic of disasters. The snowstorm that struck Mount Everest in May 1996, for instance, spawned the book Into Thin Air and the more recent movie Everest. Once the mountain gets tall enough where climbers need oxygen tanks, then that’s a consumable that can run dry at the exact wrong moment. Add in blinding blizzards, hurricane-force winds, deadly cold—you get the picture.

On the artificial side of the disaster aisle, you have the fantasy standby of the siege, especially when the defenders in their mountain fastness are heavily outnumbered; think the battle of the Wall in A Storm of Swords, although that, strictly speaking, wasn’t an actual mountain. Combined with the idea of a hidden society shut away behind the rocky faces, and you have a lot to play with.

Last on the list, in a strange twist, is what was actually the first mountain disaster movie I ever watched: Alive. The true story of the 1972 Andes plane crash is a gripping tale that needs no embellishment. Weeks of cold, of starvation and injury and general privation, ended in death for most, miraculous survival for a very few. The same story could be told on a deserted island or in the middle of the ocean (In the Heart of the Sea works for the latter), but the mountain setting of this disaster gives it a starkness that anywhere else in the world would lack. For beating the odds, it’s hard to beat the peaks.

First glance: Kotlin

In my quest to find a decent language that runs on the JVM (and can thus be used on Android without worrying about native compilation) while not being as painfully awful as Java itself, I’ve gone through a number of possibilities. Groovy was an old one that seems to have fallen by the wayside, and it’s one of those that always rubbed me the wrong way. A bit like Ruby in that regard, and I think that was the point. Scala was another contender, and I still think it’s a great language. It’s a nice blend of functional and object-oriented programming, a true multi-paradigm language in the vein of C++, and it has a lot of interesting features that make coding in it both easier and simply more fun than Java.

Alas, Scala support is sketchy at best, at least once you leave the world of desktops and servers. (Maybe things have picked up there in the past year and a half. I haven’t checked.) And while the language is great, it’s not without its flaws. Compilation is fairly slow, reminding me the “joys” (note sarcasm) of template-heavy C++ code. All in all, Scala is the language I wish I could use more often.

A new challenger

Enter Kotlin. It’s been around for a few years, but I’ve only recently given it a look, and I’m surprised by what I found. First and foremost, Kotlin is a language developed by JetBrains, the same ones who make IntelliJ IDEA (which, in turn, is the basis for Android Studio). It’s open source under the Apache license, so you don’t have to worry about them pulling the rug out from under you. Also, Android Studio has support for the language built in, and Google even has a few samples using it. That’s already a good start, I’d say.

At the link above, you can find all the usual hallmarks of a “modern” programming language. You’ve got docs, tutorials, lots of press-type stuff, commercial and free support, etc. In that, it’s no different from, say, Typescript. Maybe there’s a bit more emphasis on using IDEA instead of Eclipse or Netbeans, but that’s no big deal. All in all, it’s nothing special…until you dig into the language itself.

Pros

Kotlin’s main mission, essentially, is to make a better Java than Java. Maybe not in the wholesale sense like C#, but that’s the general vibe I get. Java interop is an important part of the documentation, and that’s a good thing, because there’s a lot of Java code out there. Some of it is even good. It’d be a shame to throw it all away just to use what’s undoubtedly a better language.

But let’s talk about why Kotlin is better than Java. (Hint: because it’s not Java.) It borrows heavily from Scala, and this is both intentional and promising. Like Scala, there’s a heavy pressure on the programmer to use the immutable val where possible, while reserving the mutable var for those situations where it’s needed. Personally, I’m not a fan of the “all constant, all the time” approach of e.g., Haskell or Erlang, but the “default constant” style that Kotlin takes from Scala is a happy medium, in my opinion.

In addition, Kotlin makes a major distinction between nullable and non-nullable types. For instance, your basic String type, which you’d normally use for, well, strings, can’t be assigned a value of null. It’s a compile-time error. (If you need a nullable type, you have to ask for it: String?.) Likewise, you have an assortment of “safe” syntax elements that check for null values. Compiler magic allows you to work with a nullable type without hassle, as long as the compiler can prove that you’ve checked for null. That only works with immutable values, another instance where the language guides you onto the “right” path.

Those two alone, nullability and mutability, are already enough to eliminate some of the most common Java programming mistakes, and Kotlin should be lauded for that alone. But it also brings a lot of nifty features, mostly in the form of syntactic sugar to cut down on Java’s verbosity. Lambdas are always nice, of course. Smart casts (the same compiler trick that lets you dispense with some null checks) are intriguing, and one of those things that makes you wonder why they weren’t already there. And then you have all the little things: destructuring assignments, ranges, enum classes, and so on.

All told, Kotlin is a worthy entry in the “what Java should be” competition. It fits the mold of the “modern” language, taking bits and pieces from everywhere. But it puts those pieces together in a polished package, and that’s what’s important. This isn’t something that involves arcane command-line incantations or a leaning tower of 57 different build systems to get working. If you use IDEA, then it’s already there. If not, it’s not hard to get. Compared to the torture of getting Scala to work on Android (never did manage it, by the way), Kotlin is a breeze.

Cons

Yet no language is perfect, and this is no exception. Mostly, what I find to be Kotlin’s disadvantages are minor annoyances, silly limitations, and questionable choices. Some of these, however, give rise to bigger issues.

The heavy emphasis on tracking nullability is worthwhile, but the documentation especially turns it into something akin to religious dogma. That gets in the way of some things, and it can make others cumbersome. For example, although the language has type inference, you have to be careful when you cast. The basic as cast operator doesn’t convert from nullable to non-nullable. That’s good in that you probably don’t want it to, but it does mean you sometimes have to write things in a roundabout way. (This is particularly the case when you’re taking data from Java code, where the null-checks are toned down.)

Interop, in fact, causes most of Kotlin’s problems. There’s no solving that, I suppose, short of dropping it altogether, but it is annoying. Generics, for instance, are just as confusing as ever, because they were bolted on after the JVM had gone through a few revisions, and they had to preserve backward compatibility.

Except for syntax choices, that’s my main complaint about Kotlin, and I recognize that there’s not a JVM language out there that can really fix it. Not if you want to work with legacy Java code, anyway. So let’s take a look at the syntax bits instead.

I can’t say I like the belt-and-suspenders need to have both classes and methods final by default. I get the thinking behind it, but it feels like the same kind of pedantry that causes me to dislike Java in the first place.

Operator overloading exists, after a fashion. It’s about as limited as Python’s, and one of the few cases where I wish Kotlin had swiped more from Scala. Sure, you can make certain methods into infix pseudo-operators, but that’s not really anything more than dropping a dot and a pair of parentheses. You’re not making your own power operator here.

The verdict

Really, I could go on, but I think you see the pattern. Kotlin has some good ideas, none of them really new or innovative by themselves, but all bringing a welcome bit of sanity to the Java world. The minor problems are just that: minor. In most cases, they’re a matter of personal opinion, and I’ll gladly admit that my opinion is in the minority when it comes to programming style.

On the whole, Kotlin is a good language. I don’t know if I’d call it great, but that’s largely because I don’t really know what would make a programming language great these days. I’m not even sure we need one that’s great. Just one that isn’t bad would be a start, if you ask me.

And that’s what we have here. If I get back into Android development in 2018, I’ll definitely be looking at Kotlin as my first choice in language. Anything is an improvement over Java, but this one’s the biggest improvement I’ve seen yet.

Languages of the Otherworld: Introduction

In this new year of 2018, I think my “Let’s Make a Language” series can be retired. Maybe it’ll come out of retirement at some point down the line—that’s all the rage these days, isn’t it?—but it’s at a good stopping point, in my opinion.

But that means I need something else to write about, something to do with constructed languages. Well, since I’ve been writing so much on my own fiction, and one of my main settings involves heavy use of conlangs, why not use that? So here we are. This is another one of my sporadic post series, and it will focus on the languages I have created for my Otherworld setting. So far, I’ve put out 8 short novels (or long novellas, if you prefer) over at my Patreon, with another 6 shorter novellas coming this year. All told, I have plans for a total of 50 stories in the “main” course of this setting, and the languages are a key element. They’re pretty much the reason I started Otherworld in the first place. (That, and because Stargate Universe got canceled. The one thing I can thank Comcast for, I guess?)

So here’s how this is going to work: I don’t know. Seriously. I’m just going to write, and we’ll see what happens. I do want to talk about the creation of languages in general, using my own as both inspiration and example. I want to show off a little, too, and I hope you don’t mind. Most of all, I want this to be a kind of “behind the scenes” set of posts, a producer’s commentary for one element of the Otherworld.

Lay of the land

For this introductory post, I won’t go into too much detail about the languages themselves. Instead, I’ll give a broad overview of my thought processes going into the creation of the Otherworld setting.

First off, when I started Otherworld back in 2013, I had a goal in mind: to create a believable world. I’m not opposed to the kind of generic fantasy that gives no thought to its own backstory, but my preference is verisimilitude. I like a “realistic” world, one that I can imagine myself visiting, living in.

Thus, when making the languages of Otherworld, I didn’t set out to create anything too outlandish. The core conceit of the setting is that the fictional world is inhabited by a parallel development of humans that branched off from the first inhabitants of the Americas at the end of the Ice Age. Given the time and distance differences separating them from our familiar Old World languages, I felt comfortable creating those of the Otherworld from scratch. Too little is known about the protolanguages of America to disprove me, but that also means I didn’t really have much to work with. No matter. I prefer the a priori approach.

Early on, one of my ideas was a multiracial world, though one where the races were superficially similar to those of fantasy literature. So I needed at least one language for each race, because we’re dealing with a pre-modern world that wouldn’t have the normalizing elements of TV, radio, and other mass media. To preserve my sanity, though, I’m only fully detailing the most prominent examples of each. I justify this in text by simple expediency: the protagonists are too far away from other examples. They’re placed in an area that sees members of other races, but doesn’t always recognize their internal differences. So they consider the “Arassea“, for instance, to have a single language, and they name that language after its only known speakers.

My main concession to bias, I suppose, would be the mild stereotyping I’ve done with some of these languages. The Fassea race, to take one example, inhabits islands and coastal regions, and I drew heavily on Polynesian grammar and phonology for them.

All told, Otherworld has nine living races, and thus nine main conlangs. The tenth belongs to the Altea, mythologized forebears that, I must admit, are heavily inspired by the legends of Atlantis. They were human, but highly advanced, and they were the ones who originally colonized (and, for that matter, terraformed) the Otherworld itself. The timing just barely works, based on current archaeological evidence and theories.

So that’s our jumping-off point. Next time, we’ll get to looking at “Virisai”, the common tongue of the main story area. It’s by far the most well-developed of the Otherworld set, so it’s only natural that it gets top billing. Later on, I’ll work the others in where possible.

PPC in 2018

So 2017 has been an eventful year, and that’s just for me. I’ve written more in this single year than in the rest of my life combined, and I’ve found that I love that feeling. I love being able to escape this world and enter those that I create. I love looking over at my bookshelf (or, more often, stack) and seeing my own name on a cover.

There is a problem, though. I want to write more fiction, more stories and novels and books. Yet I don’t want to forsake my posts here. That’s a conundrum, because the schedule I’ve set for myself in 2018 doesn’t leave a lot of room to give this site the attention it deserves. For this year, I cut my posts down from 3 a week to 8 a month, and many of those were simple release announcements. Next year, as much as I hate to do it, I think I’ll have to make further cuts on this side of things.

So here’s how I see it. First off, release announcements are staying. They have to, because this site is my Internet home. It’s where I want to show off my creations. And that does mean I’ll continue linking to Patreon and the Kindle store, but so be it. Also, November Novel Month isn’t going anywhere. That’s my public declaration of my own progress, my single concession to ego.

As for original content on here, though, I don’t see how I’ll have time for too much of it. There are still a few posts I want to do, like more entries in the “Future Past” alt-history series, or more coding posts, or even picking up that “RPG town” thing I did this time last year. However, these are going to be more sporadic than before. There may be months where I make only a single post, others where I throw up 5 or more. I can’t guarantee anything yet, except that the volume will be lower than before. I’m sorry for that, but until I can work through these stories in my head that so long to be released, that’s how it has to be.

Let’s make a language, part 28c: Entertainment (Ardari)

Ardari, as usual, prefers creating native terms rather than borrowing. We see this in jevikön “television”, literally a “far seeing thing”, a fairly straightforward loan translation. (German does the same thing.) This process also shows up on the word list below in allgarògh “football”.

With the other words, you can see a lot of the derivational processes at work. Some words, such as rògh “bell” and rhòma “horn”, are onomatopoeic. A few, including drakön and tylyankön, are agents. The word for “match”, as in a single playing of a game, is rejnyn, which more literally translates as “a thing that is played”.

The “native-first” approach of Ardari extends far beyond this small set, as well. In some cases, however, there are matched pairs. A speaker of Ardari might talk about a kompyutör, but another could instead refer to his dätyekön. Both words mean the same thing, but the first is obviously borrowed (it would be used in, for example, advertisements), while the second is native-born.

Word list

  • actor: drakön (from dra “theater”)
  • art: käpi
  • artist: käpikön
  • athlete: avilkön
  • ball: rògh
  • bell: dola
  • doll: nanyi
  • drum: nang
  • football (or soccer): allgarògh
  • game: bynèr
  • horn: rhòma
  • match (game): rejnyn
  • music: tylyan
  • musician: tylyankön
  • song: azalli
  • sport: bynèrölad
  • story: gard
  • television: jevikön (from je-ivit-kön “far-seeing-thing”)
  • to defeat: tòve-
  • to lose: gru-
  • to play: rej-
  • to sing: ajang-
  • to win: twè-
  • toy: bèb

Otherworld talk 8

And so it ends. Well, the first season, at least. I’ll be revisiting the Otherworld for some time to come. But today, in the aftermath of Long Road’s End, let’s see how far we’ve come, and maybe where we’ll be going.

Trajectories

Each of the 7 main characters of the story grew. They learned, they improved—or so they like to think. The experience of the Otherworld was life-changing in most cases. In a few, it was instead life-affirming, but the principle is the same. After eighty days of living in a different world, a different culture, each takes something away.

Amy was the first character we saw, all the way back in Chapter 1 of Out of the Past. She spent most of her first morning in the Otherworld hiding in a corner, and she often had to be dragged or cajoled into helping with the overarching mission of survival. But that all changed with her first visit to the village of Alwan. The tiny town fit her like a glove, to the point where she learned to love her strange surroundings, and she most definitely went out on a high note. Now, she wants nothing more than to go back.

Jeff doesn’t have to go back; he’s already there. That’s a complete turnaround from the timid, nerdy linguist having nightmares of being left behind, but he’s got a very good reason. Okay, two reasons, the second being that he’s a young man who’s been snared by a borderline nymphomaniac. At least he realizes that much, and he does remember his goal in the coming months: to learn everything he can about the locals and their history, so the next group won’t have to go in blind.

Jenn doesn’t want to stay in the Otherworld, but she doesn’t mind visiting every year—but only if she’s in charge. Her biggest discoveries about herself were that yearning to be a leader and her faith. Put the two together, and she’s the most like the last group of people to find a whole new world full of Indians. But she did prove herself, and she wants the chance to do so again. Whether that’s as a leader, explorer, or missionary, she doesn’t really care.

Ryan was his own sort of leader. He had the charisma Jenn lacked, and he used that to immerse himself more in the local culture. That, in essence, was his plan all along, but he was really the only one out of the group who could pull it off. Maybe he spent two months on a summer construction job, but he feels those were productive months. Even his injury didn’t stop him; in reality, it gave him a new respect for the abilities of the natives. And now he sees the Otherworld as an opportunity to prove himself to, well, himself.

Lee, of course, had the most dramatic time of it. He sprained his ankle while falling into a lake, got married to a thief, saw her get abducted, rescued her, and made an enemy in his new home. His most important aspect remains his race—he’s the closest to the locals of anyone—but he spun that into an advantage. Now, he’s among people like those he always to meet, and he’s becoming one of them. In a way, his story is almost done, but those around him will have their tales to tell.

Alex started out as the geek of the squad, and so he remains. But he was able to take that and run with it, because the natives don’t see him as a nerd, but a wise, intelligent man. A teacher. One of them hopes to see him as much more, which leaves him baffled, but his experience in the Otherworld is all about learning and teaching. It may not be his kind of adventure, and he went through a rough middle portion of the journey. Since that didn’t kill him, he hopes it will make him stronger. It certainly made him thinner.

Ashley, last of our original seven, began her stay in the Otherworld as the feminist outraged at being stuck in a society dominated by men. She made friends—almost all women—because that’s how she is. And her specialty was sociology, so she felt it her duty to learn as much about the local culture as possible. That brought about her two most surprising revelations. For the native culture does, in its own way, like women just as much as men…and so does she. For Ashley, the hardest part will be dealing with these discoveries without letting them consume her.

Still to come

The remaining four members of the expedition didn’t get as much screen time, but they’re not forgotten, and that leads us into the plan for the future. There will be a Season 2. Right now, it’s titled Return to the Otherworld, though that may change.

Before that, however, I have a series of 6 shorter novellas, A Bridge Between Worlds. These cover the intervening time, because, if you’ll recall, there’s still nine months to go before the next time anybody can go through the gateway in Mexico. I didn’t want to pick things up then, as I’m not really a fan of skipping ahead like that, so this was my solution.

First up is “The Code Breaker”, centered around Lee and Nimiesa as they deal with troubles in their home and their potentially growing family. This one builds on some of the storylines first introduced in Episodes 7 and 8, as well as setting the stage for the rest of the “bridge” stories and Season 2.

That’s followed by “The Red Magician”, which, as you may expect, is Ayla’s story; Niel, the native student first met in Episode 6, has a supporting role as he tries to figure her out while she’s figuring out how best to bring science to a world that doesn’t really want it.

Next up is “The Control Variable”. This one’s a bit out of place, as it’s set on Earth. Following Amy and Alex, it’s almost a bit of a travelogue. They’re coming to terms with their journey, but also going around the country in search of the other Altea sites. Do they find them? You’ll see.

Fourth on the list is “The Dark Continent”, which only has a single point of view: Damonte. Except for that brief interlude at the end of Episode 8, he’s been missing for quite a while now. This is his story, almost completely apart from the others, and it’s our first real chance to get into his mind. As it turns out, that place can be darker than his skin, as he’s haunted by his last real encounter with the rest of the expedition.

Following that is “The Lessons Learned”. That one is Jeff’s story, as he delves into the history of the natives, hoping to find references to the even older Altea. But it’s also a story for Irai, because she has a tale to tell. Her chapters are a marked contrast to, say, Nimiesa’s; though they’re essentially in the same situation (in love with an Earthling), they treat it in two very different ways.

And last we come to “The Candle’s Flame”. The final bridge between Seasons 1 and 2 remains set in Mexico, following the other interplanetary couple: Ramón and Etanya. He brought her back with him for a reason, and this story is that reason. It’s also the only one of the set where it’s the native who’s the main character, but there’s a good reason for that: she’s the one out of place. She’s learning about a whole new world, and doesn’t that sound familiar?

This set of stories will come out through 2018. Hopefully, they’ll tide you over until I can finish Season 2. I’m hard at work on that, though, so you shouldn’t have to wait too long. I hope you’ve enjoyed this journey of mine. It’s had its highs and lows, its ups and downs, but I like to think I’ve created something great. No, I want to think I’m still creating it, because there are many more stories to be told in the Otherworld.

Release: Long Road’s End (Chronicles of the Otherworld 8)

So here it is. We’re at the end of our road, our long road. Appropriately enough, Episode 8 of Chronicles of the Otherworld is the season finale, and it’s titled Long Road’s End.

The end is in sight.

Over two months ago, eleven students found themselves stranded in another world. Now, they have made it their second home, but the time has come to return to their first. Before that, all that remains is a week-long holiday. A festival. Surely nothing can go wrong now, can it?

The trials are not done, and the members of the expedition know that nothing is set in stone. Until they are safely on Earth once more, anything can happen. And what if some of them don’t want to go back?

I hope you’ve had fun. I know I have. I took this journey long ago, but I feel I’ve been reliving it over these past few months, and not only because I’ve reread the series many, many times since then. Whatever your December holiday of choice, I hope you’re having a good one, and consider this last story of 2017 my gift to you. Yes, you have to pay for it, and you can only get it as a Patreon exclusive, but I’d say that 8 novel-length stories (a total of over 400,000 words) for only $3 is a good deal. And if you don’t like them, you can always find a reader in your family who does.

This may be the end of Chronicles of the Otherworld, but it’s most certainly not the end of the Otherworld setting. Join me in 2018 for A Bridge Between Worlds, and keep checking back here and on Patreon for info on Season 2, Return to the Otherworld. Thank you, and enjoy the rest of the year.