Image from the Hubble telescope, pulled from Wikipedia.
Ever since high school, I have always been intrigued by Pulsars. As we learned all those many (I won’t say how many) years ago, pulsars are a special kind of neutron star, one which emits a highly-concentrated pulse of radiation detectable from light years away. The scientists who first detected this radiation dubbed it LGM-1, for Little Green Men, positing (mostly jokingly) that they had found proof of extra-terrestrial life.
I for one find it fascinating to consider how a massive explosion like a supernova could result in the creation of something so small and so compact, and yet so powerful that it could send a message across light-years, one which is not (alas) from extra-terrestrial intelligent life sending us a message, but … then again define intelligent and define life.
This post will be spoiler-free, I promise! But in the most recent episode of Doctor Who, the birth of stars is presented as the birth of a kind of life. The universe is – if nothing else – brilliant. As an unapologetic believer in God, I see intelligence and I see messages written across all the universe. The universe seems designed for wisdom.
Pulsars tell me that sometimes power is hidden in plain sight, that something which is small can be powerful, even more so because it IS so small, because of all that is held inside, bending the world around it.
Human beings are like that too. Creativity, and imagination are like that. To be truly creative, we need a room of our own and time and space and resources. We need space. The universe is filled with reminders of this fact, in the light – and also in the darkness. That’s how I see it.
What do you think?
Hard to believe but it is September already and the First Wednesday of the Month strikes again. Time to bare our hearts and souls – well, a little bit anyway, as part of the Insecure Writer’s Support Group.
There never seems to be enough time to write.
Writing novels seems to be very addictive to me, possibly even more so than Minecraft, Final Fantasy AND Netflix binge-watching. As I last typed The End somewhere around – oh – 4 in the morning, I was already thinking of the novel after that one. Yeah, I’ve got problems.
This past month has been…interesting. I got a short story accepted for publication in an anthology (yay) and (re-)self-published a novel. Every time I think about that last part, I get all nervous and twitchy.
The print copies got here and I put them in the basement and refused to look at them until forced to. Speaking of “forced to” I hand-delivered an autographed copy to my former boss, and saw several of my former co-workers. (Reminder: I’ve got a job waiting for me if/when I get past this whole crazy full-time writing thing.) Meanwhile, I kept wanting to apologize and tell my former (possibly future) boss I’m sorry for this terrible book – thanks for agreeing to buy one. Not because I really believe it’s terrible, but just in case, to cover my bases.
What is a girl to do?
Where does the time go? Well, as writers at least we’re making the most with the time we’ve got – and trying to manfully (womanfully?) do what we love. How do we make time for it all? And where does the time go? Are you thinking what I am right now?
Is it really September already? What happened to summer?