I’m long overdue for a blog post. This year was — and probably still is — the year that I intend to start releasing my Spaceport series to the world.
As January rolled around, I focused on the first novel…and then the world changed.
At first, I admit to hoping the world would return to normal…but slowly I began to hope that the new normal might be better than the old. I hoped for environmental changes, an easing of the stressful pace of life, new economic opportunities.
With each passing day, those hopes weaken.
I have long been deeply disturbed by the life experiences of my diverse collection of friends. The world some of my black friends live in is different than the one I inhabit. The disparity breaks my heart. In many ways, Spaceport is my cry for change. My voice to say that we could change.
We could be better. We could be so much better.
I used to work for NASA. When you talk to astronauts, they say that from space you don’t see color. From space, the Earth is a small thing, a place where we all must work together and where the pain and suffering of our fellow humans is intolerable.
In space, you rely on each other.
When one hurts, all suffer.
My hope for the Spaceport series was to show a world that could be, a path through the darkness where people could learn mutual respect and understanding.
Since the global pandemic, I have become increasingly concerned that my series is too unrealistic, too cheerful, too…optimistic. That in hoping for this better world, I had lost touch with reality.
Perhaps my dreams have passed beyond hope into impossibility.
As the pandemic spread, I expected that the stress from the lock-downs would take its toll on the economy, and people’s sanity would slip. Tensions buried too near the surface would explode. I feared widespread rioting due to economic tensions.
But I find a tiny hope in the protests rocking the United States as I type this. Despite the horrors of the most recent incidents of prejudice…that barely scratch the surface of history, I have hope that many have had enough and are beginning to stand up for our black brothers and sisters.
Still, even in these hopeful protests, a disruptive element has crept in and the vital message is being lost in destruction and pure evil.
Perhaps all that is good is doomed to failure on our little demon-infested rock of a planet.
The Spaceport series is becoming darker. I’ve long resisted going as dark as I felt compelled to, but now I find I no longer have the capacity to write the cheerful stories I had intended.
Perhaps in time, they may yet be hopeful. But I must warn you, while they are still playful, they are no longer light.
Stay safe out there, dear friends.