I have known about the Long Now Foundation for only a few months, but apparently it’s been around for almost two decades. Regardless, it is still a relatively new thing. Kind of like the human race. On a geologic, cosmic scale, our species barely registers in comparison to the age of the Earth, or of the known universe. Yet we as a species must begin thinking of ourselves on such a scale, if we are to survive. 
 
The first essay I read on the Long Now’s website was written by Michael Chabon (‘The Future Will Have to Wait’). Immediately I knew I had discovered a group who ponders the same questions I do. Cares about the same things I care about. As I read more essays and blog entries on the site, this conviction deepened. The Long Now Foundation isn’t a clique or a cult. It isn’t a trend. Likewise, our species shouldn’t be viewed as a passing fancy of biological evolution. It is through the forward, long-term thinking of such organizations as the Long Now that might decide if we remain present on the Earth.

The Long Now Foundation asks people to think about what our planet and civilization will be like 10,000 years into the future. Not, that’s not a typo. That’s ten millenniums. 12,000 AD. And to provide a public focus for such thought, the Foundation intends to construct a clock that will still be ticking in 10,000 years. The purpose of this eternal timepiece is to goad people into thinking about the future. Some have criticized this as a lofty ideal, or a waste of money and resources. I disagree.

First, let’s think about the world in just the next one hundred years. Climate change is a reality, along with rising sea levels, hotter temperatures, and dwindling food supplies. It has been estimated that all top soil will be gone within the next 45-60 years. That means no plant life—and no crops. The acid levels in the oceans are steadily rising, and soon that will mean no marine life. Fifty percent of all water in the United States is used on livestock—animals that we slaughter for food—and according to the Worldwatch Institute, 51% of greenhouse gases come from animal agriculture. And nuclear energy/weapons still pose a deadly threat to us. I could go on, but the point is that change is hitting us. Hard. There’s no turning back from what we’ve done to ourselves and Earth. 

But everyone, deep down, already knows this. Doomsday has always been around the corner. This time it really is, though, as life on Earth will become much more difficult in the next few decades. How will people cope? Science alone won’t save us. Religion certainly won’t. Despair will set in, and that is the death of hope.

Thinking of ourselves with a longer perspective can provide that hope. Because if we still think humanity will inhabit this planet in ten millenniums, if we imagine a human ear will be around to hear the clock chime, then we are confident that we will survive. 
 
To get there, though, our civilization must re-evaluate how it functions. We need less waste, less ignorance, and less exploitation of people, animals, and the environment. We need more education, more application of sustaining technologies—and more understanding of each other. This is a herculean task. It won’t be achieved through political, economic, military, or religious means. It must happen in the collective mindset of humanity. Willingly, through an understanding of where we are going as a species, and how we will get there. 

I have been a pessimist and a nihilist for a long time now. Reading that first essay on the Long Now’s website reawakened something inside of me.

It gave me hope.

Though I am a new member, I am already expecting the Long Now Foundation to take its message into the mainstream. Just building this clock isn’t enough. Simply getting the support of people like Jeff Bezos, Brain Eno, and Ray Kurzweil won’t be enough. This message must enter the public conscious, and the Foundation’s members should lead by example: advocating sustainable, green energy; soliciting an alternative, healthy diet that focuses less on animal protein and refined sugar; creating real social networks that celebrates pluralism and culture; supporting space exploration; reducing the disparity between the rich and the poor; taking a strong stance on human and labor rights; educating people against superstition and bigotry; and seeing that food and water become the right of every human being, not economic amenities.

Otherwise, 10,000 years from now, that clock will take its place alongside Stonehenge, the Pyramids, and Chichen Itza as the relic of a civilization that thought it controlled its destiny. 
 
In closing, I’ll reference a few lyrics from a David Bowie song, ‘A Better Future’: 

Please
don't tear this world asunder
Please take back
this fear we're under
I demand a better future

It’s time that we all do.

Three years have passed since Tron: Legacy was released. For some, it was a nostalgic return to a world within a world: one populated by beings of light and motion, pixels and bits. While many wrote it off, like its predecessor, as nothing more than a gamer’s fantasy, Tron: Legacy is far more than that. Beyond its incredible special effects, slim plotline, and extreme marketability lies a vision of posthumanity and its relationship to artificial intelligence. 

The original Tron also had great special effects for its time, but wasn’t taken seriously by film critics. But there were some of us who knew what we were looking at. The Tron universe asked questions that are still relevant: what will sentient, free-thinking AIs think of their creators? What form would a virtual world take, one that allowed total immersion? And most importantly, who would control that world? A human, organic intelligence, or an artificial, machine one?

Tron: Legacy continued these themes, and took them further. In the original film, most programs viewed their programmers (called Users) as deities. Akin to a Creator, a God that had crafted that program in its own image. Reflecting this, the film’s programs physically resemble their Users, and often possess certain personality traits of their Users as well. In the newer film, the programs have challenged the Users. They have defeated their creators, their gods. And in the case of CLU, these programs want to fill their creator’s shoes. Even if that means entering the physical world as the flesh and blood manifestation of a program.

How many critics and fans saw these things as they watched the movie, I have no idea. I’m sure some did, but I’m willing to bet that most didn’t. The idea of Transhumanism has yet to catch on with the mainstream population. Sure, they’ve watched many other science fiction films or read similar novels that deal with these issues. Maybe even heard about the idea of ‘downloading’ the brain to a computer as a form of digital immortality. But Tron: Legacy is supposed to be just a popcorn, fanboy film, right? Part of that is true. Much of it isn’t.

There is a certain genius in these two films, working such issues into the narrative or the background. I say genius because these issues are within the subtext, not beaten over the viewer’s head. Several of these issues are ambiguous enough to allow multiple interpretations, which isn’t easy for any piece of art to accomplish. I’ll touch on the ones I found central to Tron: Legacy.

Jealousy: CLU is as much Kevin Flynn’s son as Sam Flynn is. Created by Kevin to help him ‘build the perfect system’ CLU has a directive and nowhere to practice it. Since he’s made the Grid ‘perfect’—by his tyrannical standards—he seeks to enter the human world and continue his directive. In the film, it’s easy to assume CLU is just another megalomaniacal villain. The movie should have invested more in character depth and development, but what is there is rather engaging in CLU’s case. He has done everything his creator asked, but receives no reward, no praise. He is thus jealous of Sam, who has done so little in his own life to live up to Kevin’s status. On the other hand, CLU has achieved great success on the Grid. Perfection achieved, with just one anomaly: the human presence of Kevin Flynn and any other Users who enter the Grid. The irony is, CLU is a human creation—and by extension, possessing some of humanity’s flaws. Watching the film, CLU seems a tortured character. Is it because he knows he himself is imperfect, and hates Kevin Flynn for making him that way? Jealous of Kevin’s power, and Kevin’s affection for Sam? Jealous of not being shown the world that Kevin originated from? The scene where CLU discovers Kevin’s apartment on the Grid, it’s as if he’s examining things he has no concept of. Knowledge that Kevin kept from him. When one of CLU’s lackeys examines a book, obviously ignorant of its purpose, or when CLU studies a platter of metallic apples—these programs are catching a glimpse of a world denied them by their User. It is Satan being denied access to Heaven by a fallible God.

Control: Aside from the obvious struggle of CLU’s totalitarian rule versus rebel programs and Users, there is another issue of control within Tron: Legacy. Who will oversee a creation like the Grid? It’s not possible for its architect—Kevin Flynn—to manage it all. He can barely macro-manage, much less micro-manage. Enter CLU to accomplish this. The catch is, CLU is sentient and free-thinking. He may have a directive set by Kevin Flynn, but CLU is advanced enough to formulate a successful revolt and coup d’état. What would this mean in the real world? Could an advanced system be governed by a human, yet maintained by an AI? And not just any AI, but one that is capable of independent thought. As our society treads deeper into the Information Age, and reliance on computer networks grow, having AI maintain the system is a logical step.  This has its dangers, which has been amply explored in other futuristic fiction. The difference in Tron: Legacy is, the Grid isn’t static. It evolves. Given the rate of accelerating change as dictated by Moore’s Law, such a system could quickly rise to a level that is above human comprehension. In that regard, the relationship between creator and created might flip, placing artificial intelligence in charge of revolutionary thinking and humans to simply a reactionary, subservient level. Granted, this is an extreme example, which leads into the next issue.

Immersive Reality: The world of the Grid in Tron: Legacy is more than just a virtual environment. In that reality, Users bleed (Sam Flynn’s wound in the Arena) and they age (Kevin Flynn’s wrinkled, gray countenance). Contrary to logic, these human Users seem to possess just as much intelligence as the programs. I say contrary, because once artificial intelligence reaches the capacity for independent thought, it has the processing power to focus on and resolve issues that humans might find difficult to formulize in their own mind—and in a much quicker fashion. But in the film, Users and programs seem to have a level playing field regarding intelligence. This hints at a synergy of human and machine that is different than the typical virtual environment. In these respects, the Grid is more than just a simulation. It is a new reality unto itself. The Grid also possesses many anthropomorphic aspects—programs have beds for sleep, they drink liquids, they seem to have intimate relationships (hinted at between Quorra and Castor), and there is even ‘homeless’ programs, which infers a social strata one would not associate with a mere machine/simulation. I admit this is most likely because the Grid is a human design, and, like all things humans interface with, it is approached and accessed in human terms. However, such limitations could be overridden by programs that might see these aspects as unnecessary or anachronistic (i.e., a program wouldn’t require sleep). This, coupled with the presence of the ISOs (naturally-occurring algorithms on the Grid) hints that while this reality is an artificial one, and it can be tweaked, it still maintains an equilibrium outside what organic or machine influences can wreak upon it. 

Having said all of this, Tron: Legacy still has flaws—mostly with the by-the-numbers plot and poor character depth. The first film had these same problems. Perhaps that is by design, though, in an effort to allow the viewer to see the greater issues these films address. While they will continue to entertain and thrill fans for years come, the themes inherent to Tron and Tron: Legacy will resonate well into the next step in human evolution. 

This article’s title will place most readers into one of two groups: those who view UFO stories as a relic of mid-20th century science fiction (and thus outdated), or those who turn their noses up at a phenomena that isn’t considered scientific by mainstream disciplines. Does that mean the subject matter is too risky or controversial for a fiction writer to take on? Or perhaps interest in UFOs has reached its nadir, and thus no agent or publisher (outside of conspiracy circles) will give such a manuscript the time of day?

By now you’ve guessed that I’ve written a UFO novel, or I wouldn’t be asking these questions. The first draft, under the working title ‘Project Red Book’ is over two years old; I have placed it under ‘trunk’ status while focusing on other novels. Yet I still love how it begins, and I like cover-ups, conspiracies, and secrecy in fiction. I still want to explore a plot with these characters. 

In other words, I’m not ready to give up on my UFO novel. But is it worth pursuing in today’s fiction environment?

Maybe if I revised it into a Young Adult novel—something everyone seems to be doing these days—but my story is too dark for that. My integrity must be invested in the project, so Project Red Book has to remain an adult novel. Either way, the target audience isn’t the problem—my quandary is, I don’t see anyone else mining this subgenre of science fiction anymore. It’s dead. In speculative fiction, the trends are vampires, zombies, steampunk. No big deal, I like a challenge. But browse through a bookstore and the only UFO volumes are in the conspiracy section. And they are short on facts and long on hyperbole. Not exactly what science fiction readers are drawn to.

I’d like to think I’ve done something original, but I know better. Regarding fiction—and science fiction especially—it’s all be done before, and by better writers. My only chance is to put a new spin on it. I won’t give away my novel’s details, but here are several key points I must decide on before revising this story into several drafts, put all the hard work into it, then send it out for an agent’s consideration.

# 1: The Era

In the original draft, I set the story in the modern day. Cell phones, internet, and all the accoutrements of the Information Age are present. Initially I thought this would make it more accessible to readers, plus it gives me the excuse that the hero is always under surveillance (this is a conspiracy-themed story, after all). I also added socio-political concerns that the character must deal with (immigration laws, drug enforcement, accusations of terrorism) that people still face, and are likely to face, for some time in the real world. 

But what if I set the story in the past? Maybe during the 1980s, right after the MAJESTIC-12 documents surfaced? Or even further back, in the midst of all the UFO sightings and abduction stories from the 1960s? The past would provide a more concrete setting, since I’d know its limits. (And writing anything in the 60s would be a hell of a lotta fun!) Plus the UFO phenomena was stronger back then. Don’t forget that the U.S. Air Force studied UFOs for several years during the Cold War. This sort of environment might make my story more believable. The problem with this idea is that the reader will know that these events have already happened, and obviously didn’t change the world very much. Might be a hard sell. Unless I can make the story more compelling, so that era wouldn’t matter. 
 
# 2: The Politics

Yes, there’s that ugly word. It plays a part in my original draft because of how human governments react to UFOs and aliens—and how these reactions affect the rest of us. Some will see only political diatribe, but in the real world, the existence of UFOs—particularly any interaction between them and the government—would have political ramifications. I really wanted the UFO phenomena to affect more than just the fringe conspiracy community in my story—otherwise, why even have it as a plot element? This goes beyond mere flying saucers, ray guns, and little green men. In my story, the presence of alien visitors affects government policy, towards the darker side. This also connects to the main character, and what his relation to the government is (he’s been wrongfully accused of domestic terrorism and is on the run). 

I may have written the politics in too much, though. And by politics I’m not referring to speeches and elections. I’m talking about public policy regarding drugs, immigrants, guns, and privacy. Hot button topics in today’s world. I worry that it may get in the way of the actual story, making this more of a political thriller than a science fiction thriller. The aliens are what the reader is here to find about, after all.

# 3: The Depth of the Rabbit Hole

How far should the conspiracy go? How many really know about/interact with the aliens? This is a fine line, and I probably crossed it in that first draft. If too many people are in the loop, it might make the conspiracy less plausible. If there are too few, then how is it possible to have a worldwide conspiracy? In the first draft of Project Red Book, the conspiracy is large enough that the government has donated large tracts of (government) property to its upkeep. Alien/Earth hybrids (they all aren’t human-based!) probably appeared too much. Kinda like sighting Bigfoot in every small Nevada town—it just didn’t work. 

What if I narrowed the conspiracy down? Make events more mysterious and surreal than blatantly have a hybrid step from the shadows every other chapter? This really appeals to me. But I still want to keep in my mutant Chupacabras, dammit! I’ll think of a way. In the end, though, the conspiracy must remain real—no way would I ever write a story like this, only to have the hero wake up at the end, or turn out to be insane. I might as well punch the reader in the gut.

# 4: The Nature of the Aliens

Without giving too much away, my aliens possess mental powers. Go on, laugh, because I know that’s not original. But these powers allowed them to reach Earth, not just an advanced, FTL propulsion drive. These are also powers that the government has attempted to recreate through the use of hybrids and some immoral gene splicing in the laboratory. One reason I went that route is I always hear that, if the government did indeed capture aliens at Roswell in 1947, then the discovery of their starship is responsible for all the technological advancements made since. What if the government were more interested in the aliens’ biology instead?

Yet while I’d like to retain this idea in a second draft, what else can I do to make my aliens different from the typical ‘Gray’ that has become a pop cultural icon? If this novel is ever going to get off the ground, my aliens must break from this mold. They should intrigue the reader—maybe freak them out a little. Or perhaps they are in plain sight (no, I refuse to do anything resembling David Icke’s reptilian rulers, disguised as humans).

Even if I revise these issues in a second draft, would that really matter? My main concern still rests with the marketability of such a project. I write stories I want to read, but I have so many I want to tell. Focusing on the ones that have the best chance at success becomes a priority—and I’m still unsure if Project Red Book, even after several drafts and a proper retitling, would ever escape from trunk story status.

Then again, if you believe in something, you should stick with it. Maybe I’ll venture once more into the Nevada desert…and bring back a story I can be proud of.