There are a lot of things in this world that I can say I love, and having a website is one of them. If I’m being completely honest, I wouldn’t have set one up had it not been for a friend educating me on the merits of POSSE (Publish (on your) Own Site, Syndicate Elsewhere), owning your own content, and maintaining an internet presence independent of social media sites.
Funnily enough, this is the same friend that encouraged me to get a VPN, and I will forever be in his debt for both of these suggestions.
As an aspiring author, developing an online audience has always been one part marketing strategy, one part something to do, and one part a way to make friends that share the same interests as me (this part has become one of the most rewarding aspects of being online). This isn’t to say that being here is only part of a grand marketing plan, but it’s definitely more encouraging to produce content for an audience.
That being said, I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve severely underutilized the full capabilities of having a website. To be fair to myself, I’ve been a bit busy this past month. I just started my first full-time job, but once I get settled, I have a lot planned for the months of September and October.
First off, I’m planning on releasing a monthly newsletter starting tomorrow and thereafter on the first Friday of every month. I’m not the biggest fan of making grand announcements on TikTok, so in the spirit of POSSE, the newsletter will become the center for my announcements.
Now, I want to talk about two upcoming projects I have slated for the next two months. First, we have Plenty of Tomatoes in the Sea, a TikTok series that I announced in my last post but didn’t start on the date I wanted to start it.
This delayed start is mostly due to the start date of my new job, but I’m finishing up the scripts, and I will start releasing it within the next few weeks.
Next, the True Crime sequel to my TikTok series Obligate will be released to my YouTube page on October 1st, the one-year anniversary of the erroneously named video that started it all: POV: You’re the Only Human on the Spaceship.
I am so unbelievably grateful for all the support I’ve been given throughout this journey, and I assure everyone that this is only the beginning.
Next week I start a new chapter of my life, my first job. Though I just completed my master’s degree in adolescent education, I don’t think it’s in my plan to utilize this degree in its traditional sense; however, I decided to take this opportunity to return to the sciences. I’m going back to the laboratory to work as a lab tech (I’ll get to use a micropipette and everything.)
This new development has gotten me back into the speculative nature of science fiction writing. To avoid confusion, I do not consider myself to be a hard sci-fi writer. While I ground a lot of the more technical aspects of my work in my own scientific background, I have never found myself drawn to the kinds of sci-fi that prides itself on multi-page essays regarding the physics of light speed travel. More power to you if that’s what you want to write or read about, but it’s not really my cup of tea.
This brings me to a conversation I recently had with a relative. To preface, it’s a double-edged sword being a STEM major in a small town; on one hand, you get to teach your family cool science facts, and on the other hand, you have to have every single statistic with a source memorized with the proper wording to even have a hope of anyone listening to you. In a recent conversation, I had to teach a relative what a genetically modified organism (GMO) was while simultaneously explaining that it’s not necessarily the technology that’s bad, it’s the corporate greed that goes along with it.
Of course, using the phrase corporate greed would’ve stopped the conversation in its tracks, so I had to lead up to that idea using the numerous examples of Monsanto’s notoriously vicious defense of its patents. This isn’t to say that I’m team anti-GMO, far from it. With climate change and other global catastrophes looming on the horizon, we need all the help we can get in modifying our food supply to meet current conditions. Like the FDA says, “The most common GMO crops were developed to address the needs of farmers, but in turn they can help foods become more accessible and affordable for consumers.”
Outside of food, a more recent example of a GMO is Darling 58, an American chestnut variant that’s tolerant to the chestnut blight fungus that demolished most wild American chestnuts. Like most things scientists come up with, GMOs have the potential to benefit every living organism barring their commodification.
I haven’t even gotten to the Flavr Savr tomato, but I’m sure I will in the process of writing my next TikTok series: Plenty of Tomatoes in the Sea. The first episode transcript is below, and the first episode is slated to come out this Wednesday.
I’m going to start by saying I don’t even like tomatoes. Of all the foods you can print, I don’t understand why you’d choose tomatoes. If you want a red food, go for an apple. If you want a juicy fruit, go for a nectarine. In fact, I’d wager that the only thing tomatoes are good for are sauces, and even then, why would you ever choose a tomato-based sauce over something like Alfredo.
Despite this, I’m still quite disturbed by the news we got this weekend. If you haven’t heard—and really, shame on you for not listening to the nightly news—this past weekend, a virus was found in the computer systems at OpilioneCo, and before it was caught, it made its way into the latest, automatic, mandatory software update. Within the past few hours, we got confirmation from OpilioneCo’s PR team that this virus is working to delete the file for tomatoes off of every organic printer sold by the company.
And, now you may be thinking, “why is this a problem?” Well, it is a problem if you like tomatoes because OpilioneCo holds the patent for the only known tomato genome currently in existence. To be fair, none of this was done behind closed doors, I’ve been warning all of you about this for years. Well, myself and the botanical community at large, but now it’s time to face the consequences.
That means no more tomatoes for you or anyone else unless we can cobble together a passable tomato genome that’s compatible with the digital stuff while being unrecognizable to the virus and without getting sued by OpilioneCo. Yay. Lucky us.
As a culture, the speakers of Lacerti highly value family and community connections. When I was developing the language, family and relationship words were some of the first I created.
Root Word
Variations (ipa)
Part of Speech
Meaning
Notes
Kesh
Kesh/Kesher (kɛʃ / kɛʃ.er)
Phrase
Hi/Hello (a way of greeting someone)
Kesh (kɛʃ)
n.
Friend, acquaintance
Kēsh (kɛ:ʃ or ke:ʃ)
v.
To enjoy
Kesherti
Kesherti (kɛʃ.er.ti)
Proper Noun
The homeworld of Lacerti
Most Lacerti speakers would refer to their species as Kesherti
Kesherti (kɛʃ.er.ti)
n.
Home in the abstract sense, can be used to refer to someone who feels like home
Keshērti (kɛʃ.e:r.ti)
n.
Home in the literal sense, the place where you reside
Keshsonll
Keshsonll (kɛʃ.sonɬ)
n.
Stranger (archaic)
Made by adding the word for friend to the word meaning unfamiliar or zero
Keshvi
Keshvi (kɛʃ.vi)
n.
Stranger (modern)
The suffix “-vi” means “not” or “without”
Kēshvi (kɛ:ʃ.vi)
v.
To look at someone strangely/with suspicion
Lorkesh
Lorkesh (lor.kɛʃ)
n.
Romantic partner, spouse
Title used post marriage spar
Lōrkesh (lo:r.kɛʃ)
n.
Romantic partner, significant other
Title used pre marriage spar
Mati
Mati (ma.ti)
n.
Caregiver, Mother
Lacerti as a species have one sex and three genders, this word is used for only one gender
Mātī (ma:.ti:)
n.
Caregiver of your caregiver, grandmother
Matī (ma.ti:)
n.
Strength, the concept of strength
Māti (ma:.ti)
v.
To create a physical thing
Nocerti
Nocerti (no.ser.ti)
Proper Noun
The Lacerti people/species
Very clinical sounding, a Lacerti speaker would probably call themselves Lacerti but their species Kesherti
Pato
Pato (pa.to)
n.
Caregiver, Parent
Lacerti as a species have one sex and three genders, this word is used for only one gender
Patō (pa.to:)
n.
Caregiver of your caregiver, grandparent
Pāto (pa:.to)
v.
To exist in more than one state of being
Telvma
Telvma (tɛlv.ma)
n.
Family, the glass family crest necklace given to a Lacerti child at age 24 to signify adulthood
Vata
Vata (va.ta)
n.
Caregiver, father
Lacerti as a species have one sex and three genders, this word is used for only one gender
A few months ago, I went on the Podcast VJ Talks. The host, V.J. Harris, is a TikTok mutual of mine, and I was excited that they invited me on to talk about worldbuilding, conlanging, and Obligate—the mini-series I was best known for at the time. I had a great time talking with V.J., but there was one admission that I made on that podcast that I’ve been hesitant to talk about on TikTok, that the universe I write in started as a derivative work.
Yes, the universe that my conlangs, my novel in progress, my short stories, Obligate, and most recently The Boston Androids exist in was originally a Star Trek original series that I called Star Trek: Apgar. The Apgar portion was taken from the name of the galaxy-class starship where the series would take place (I named the ship in honor of the scientist Virginia Apgar whose creation of the Apgar score has saved the lives of many newborns).
Star Trek: Apgar was a quarantine project. In the year 2020, I had just started my third year of college, my mom had just had major brain surgery, and we had just had one of the most contentious elections in US history. Emotionally, I wasn’t doing too hot. My answer to emotional instability was to start watching Star Trek: The Next Generation.
I fell in love with the series. The characters, the setting, and the story spoke to me. I took the world building, and I ran with it. I started wondering what the show could look like free from the constraints of 80s technology and TV budgets. I imagined complex life support equipment and languages that didn’t translate. I developed a new alien species, the Beskarans, who were amphibious, quadrupedal, and clear-blooded.
I soon remembered that Beskarans sounded a bit too much like Beskar (a fictional material from Star Wars). As a consequence, Beskarans became Lacerti, based on the Latin word for lizard. Beskaran also became the basis for Beshan, the family name of my new protagonist, Ehno Beshan.
I wrote Star Trek: Apgar as an episode concept. In it, Lt. Cmdr. Beshan’s homeplanet is considering joining the Federation, and the USS Apgar is ordered to oversee talks. It dealt with Beshan’s conflicting feelings on her family, her home, and her decision to leave it all behind to join Starfleet.
I wrote somewhere around 12,000 words before I realized that Star Trek was being used as window dressing. I wanted to write a character-driven story that felt like Star Trek, but that didn’t mean that I had to write within the confines of Star Trek. I think that’s the beauty of derivative works; they give you a familiar space to process what kind of story you want to tell.
There are a lot of stories that could be told in the sand box that is Star Trek, and I needed that sand box to assure me that I had the capability to write a compelling story. As soon as I felt confined by the preexisting worldbuilding of Star Trek, I realized that I could write compelling original content.
This was the push that got me to rewrite Star Trek: Apgar as my own original work, and I realized that once I took away the titles and transporters, there was very little Star Trek worldbuilding left behind. Now, my worldbuilding includes android societies, morally ambiguous parasites, and glassmaking physics that probably wouldn’t work out in the real world, but most importantly, it’s a universe of my own design.
Though I still worry that the echoes of Star Trek could one day cause some overzealous fanboy to call Major Ehnno Beshan an OP OC or Mary Sue, I have the self-confidence to know that this isn’t the case. I’m grateful to Star Trek for inspiring me to write complex characters that go on compelling adventures, but Star Trek doesn’t have a monopoly on this concept. When we write derivative works, we write out of love for the franchises that give us creative insight. I’m not ashamed that The Astroauroran Chronicles is reminiscent of Star Trek. The nature of existence, the draw to the unknown, and the complexity of the human experience are universal themes, and there’s more than enough room for one more franchise that explores them.
Back when I was consistently drawing concept art, I found myself drawing all Lacerti (the amphibious, web-handed speakers of the eponymous language) with four fingers on each hand.
As a consequence, when it came time to come up with a counting system for Lacerti, I questioned if a base ten counting system (like the one English and most other languages use) would be appropriate. Why would a species that has eight fingers to count on make a language that is based in tens.
Lacerti is now base eight because of my drawing style. Though, it’s not 0-7, it’s 1-8 because Lacerti uses the word for “deception” to convey the foreign concept of zero (and totally not because I didn’t initially know how number systems work).
In teaching biology, you often have to throw out a lot of really shocking statistics as your anchoring phenomena (analogous to a hook in writing) for a lesson. One number that always throws them off is that humans share somewhere around 40% of our DNA with bananas. Our genetic bases are a fascinating story for another time, and believe me, I’ll have a thing or two to say about them later, but I have another statistic that always threatens to send me into a spiral of existential thinking—of all the living things we’ve identified on planet Earth, roughly 40% of them are insects.
To preface, I was a bug kid. I loved bugs; I had a bug catching net and one of those cute dollar-store mesh cages that I’d use to keep my daily bug collections in for a few hours before releasing them. I helped my mom curate the wild milkweed that grew on the fringes of woods surrounding my childhood home. Shino Aburame was in my top five favorite Naruto characters growing up (though, my top spot would always be reserved for Hinata Hyūga).
(I still let bees perch on my hand; thankfully, I’m not allergic.)
Unfortunately, the world was not as fond of bugs as child-me was, and my poor creepy crawlies are disproportionately relegated to villainous on-screen roles. Though, I appreciate Starship Troopers’ forward nature with skipping the hassle of paper-thin world building and having the characters call the alien hoard as they appear—bugs.
There seems to be a sliding scale in sci-fi (at least in live action); the more humanoid something is, the more agency they’re given. Even though our real world contains variety beyond our wildest imagination as inspiration for alien biology, we always come back to humanity as our template for sapience. I don’t think this inclination is accidental. It’s a mechanism of storytelling. We need to relate to the characters we see onscreen, and it’s easy to see yourself in Spock or Worf, beings that are aliens in only the most superficial of ways.
In live action media, it’s tempting to paint an actor’s skin green or insert colored contacts in place of costly practical effects or CGI. Animated media and books, by their nature, allow for more flexibility in design. It’s easier to describe an eight foot tall sapient praying mantis-amoeba hybrid on paper or animate one in the style of the rest of the cast than it is to underpay a team of VFX artists to add one in during post-production.
(My own alien species, the Lacerti, got less human looking until I tried to make them quadrupedal. Then, I scaled it back to bipedal but kept features like gills.)
Personally, I don’t see anything wrong with making aliens humanoid. No one is complaining about Deanna Troi (who, like Spock, is half-human, but that’s a blog post for another time), Kira Nerys, or Elim Garak looking too human. In my opinion, mimicking the appearance of humanity in sci-fi is a form of shorthand; if something appears human, it means that its intentions, whether good or bad, should be understood in human terms. Non-humanoid aliens such as the bugs in Starship Troopers aren’t given that instant benefit of humanity. We don’t mind that Deanna, Kira, and Garak look human because they fulfill the narrative promise of being something that acts human.
Does this mean that non-humanoid aliens cannot be fully sapient characters capable of human-like emotions and audience sympathy? No, not at all, but it does mean that they’re starting at a disadvantage. The need to make your sympathetic aliens human-like and your unsympathetic aliens cold extensions of an insectoid hive-mind is tempting and something I struggle with in my own writing, but I’d like to challenge myself to think about why that is.
Why is coding something as distinctly unlike us in physicality and language shorthand for unsympathetic? For any works made during the Cold War era, I think the answer is painfully obvious, but for as much as we like to think we’ve progressed beyond looking at the subtext of what a popular trope could insinuate, I’d say there’s a lot more to be said about how we represent extraterrestrials in sci-fi and how we treat others who may not be similar to ourselves in physicality and language in real life.
(My work-around for the amoeba- like Ceruleans, another one of my alien species, is mild shapeshifting abilities, but in my attempts to assure myself I’m not ripping off Star Trek, I made sure the closest Ceruleans got to humanoid was four limbs and eye spots)
This leads to the titular question: do aliens need to be humanoid? If we ever meet sapient life in space, I think the answer is maybe, probably, most certainly no. In fiction though, not necessarily.
It doesn’t matter if they’re Nana Visitor with nose ridges or goop in a bucket. Consumers are smart, and if you give them a character with motivations and thoughts and feelings they can either empathize or sympathize with, they will. For once, I think we can take a lesson out of the sci-fi romance handbook: no matter what something looks like, some reader somewhere is going to relate to them in one way or another.
I can’t be the only one who’s ever looked at a bar of soap and thought “it smells good, it looks good, it must be delicious.” My youthful optimism died with the horrifying realization that you can’t always believe your eyes and nose when determining what will make a tasty afternoon snack. Fortunately, this was a lesson I only had to learn once, and to this day, I have a instant repulsion for foods in a certain tint of pastel lavender.
Nature has its own form of the appealing-but-unappetizing which acts as a species-wide survival strategy called aposematism.
Take the monarch butterfly. Unlike other insects such as the grasshopper which usually sport coloration matching their chosen habitat, the monarch butterfly takes a lesson in subtlety from Sasha Velour (though the fabulous monarch shown above is actually a king, you can tell by the black dot on each hind wing).
Though it seems counterintuitive, this bright and distinct coloring actually acts as an overall advantage for the monarch butterfly as a species. Due to their diet of milkweed as caterpillars, monarch butterflies retain a level of toxicity that can make predators who ingest monarchs sick.
This usually plays out in nature like so: a bird sees a conspicuously-colored monarch and decides to take an early lunch, the bird becomes ill shortly after eating the monarch, and now, the bird now associates the bright wings of the monarch butterfly with sickness and avoids all monarch butterflies it may see in the future.
If you think back, you may be able to recognize this phenomena of warning coloration—aposematism—in other species. From poison dart frogs to coral snakes, nature has developed its own form of distinctly-colored, snack-shaped, disgusting-to-eat soap that leaves a lasting impression in the minds of hungry foragers.
Though there are many reasons animals are pushed to one coloration or another (I’ll have to go through them some day, they’re fascinating to consider), aposematism provides a unique option for sci-fi and fantasy world builders looking to add a bit of elegant and unsuspecting peril to their settings.
