He grinned. Toweling off after a shower, he pulled on jeans, yanked a plain black t-shirt over his shaggy hair, and coaxed Bunsen to abscond with a squeaky chew toy instead of his socks as he padded into the kitchen to start his coffee, all while his phone continued to chirp.
Forster
Murderbot has plenty of downloaded tv shows to choose from while it’s traveling around having adventures, but if you were heading off to a foreign planet and could only take one show to watch—potentially forever—what would you pick?
With the brew dripping into its pot on a timer, he laid strips of imitation bacon into a cast iron skillet and considered Forster’s question.Only one show?The bacon began to sizzle. He prodded it to the edges of the pan to brown and cracked an egg into the empty space. Bread went into the toaster, its timing planned for readiness with the eggs—even the relative spontaneity of his weekend breakfasts (Scrambled eggs or fried eggs? Wheat toast or sourdough?) involvedsomeoptimization—and then he leaned against the counter with his spatula in hand, watching for bubbles at the edge of the egg whites, thinking.
Ethan
I’d want nonfiction. Not because I don’t enjoy fiction. I do. But I’d want something with standalone episodes, so that I could choose a segment based on my mood or interest from anywhere in the series and still watch a complete program. I also like consistency, and tv show characterizations often aren’t very consistent.
Of course, neither were people.
Even Erin, whom he’d thought he knew—but she’d stopped arguing with him after their last all-hands and now she was avoiding him—
Frowning, he flipped over his egg to seal its yolk against the surface of the pan, then tipped it onto a slice of toast, arranging his bacon alongside the open-faced sandwich.
Bunsen whimpered, and his phone chimed.
Forster
Attenborough’s Planet Earth series, maybe? Those opening shots of the planet seen from space are incredible. Now that I think about it, though, they’re probably digital graphics or composites. But I like to believe that it’s some photographer’s job to go to the ISS to get footage for work, and then float around in zero gravity for fun.
Ethan
The ideal working vacation.
Forster
Right.
Ethan
I was thinking of Bill Nye the Science Guy. But Attenborough’s never a wrong choice.
Forster
I obviously aspire to live the sort of life that would require a series narrated by Sir David.
More typing notifications appeared while he ferried his breakfast and milky coffee to the table. Somehow, some fake bacon and a taste of egg ended up in Bunsen’s kibble.
Forster
Just imagine: “A human writer stirs. Cautiously, they approach their computer. This device is often used for play by the young of the species, but the adult writer is serious in their pursuit. This is no game. This is a hunt. They open a document. Then they hold very still, fingers poised, waiting for an unwary flicker of inspiration to approach, before—snap! They pounce, and the first word appears. They feast. Or not. Perhaps they wait in futility all morning, until they eventually close the blank page in despair. No inspiration has come. But when asked how they spent their day, they’ll always respond, regardless of the condition of the page: Oh… I was writing.”
Ethan
I can hear him say it.
He cut into his sandwich, typing out another one-handed reply between bites.
Ethan
I tell myself that I won’t ink my lines without drafting a pencil sketch first. I know what the finished piece should look like before I start, so I’ll sometimes try. But it’s always garbage. Is it like that with writing? You have to get through the bad early drafts to get to a good version? Or do your words come out right from the beginning?
Forster
Definitely not. First drafts are torture. I don’t usually know what the story looks like at all—I go in blind. At least you have a visual of your drawing in mind. You’re right about needing to start somewhere uncomfortable—even bad—to have something to finish well, though.
