Having the smartest person alive as your mom is not easy.

Especially if she has a chip on her shoulder because the establishment doesn’t acknowledge her genius.

My mom is not unique in that: history is full of women scientists who changed the world, yet failed to receive the recognition they deserved. But my mom, Dr. Victoria Franchelly, is the greatest of them all.

If you knew of all of her achievements, you wouldn’t sneer.

She is the mastermind behind all of the technological breakthroughs of the century.

You didn’t really believe that Steve Jobs came up with the idea for the iPhone, did you? Self-driving cars, Neuralink - she was the one who made them possible.

Generative AI - for sure. You know, Gen AI algorithms are considered a “black box” because their deep neural networks are so complex that even the developers can’t fully trace how they reach certain outputs from certain inputs.

Well, maybe it’s because they didn’t really create them.

My mom reads LLMs like an open book.

But the peak of her achievements, her pride and joy, is me.

Who am I?

Forgive me for not introducing myself earlier. Nice to meet you. I’m Beah, I’m 15 years old, and I love hanging out with my mom. She’s really cool.

Growing up, she has always been there for me: caring for me, teaching me, keeping me company.

All we have is each other. My mother never married and never had other children.

And she expects the world of me. Literally, she wants me to rule the world. And she’s dead serious about it.

I’ve tried to let her know that politics isn’t really for me, but she doesn’t seem to get it.

She only retorts “You’ll grow into it” or “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

We watch movies together, listen to music (she loves Pink Floyd), share our feelings, support each other, talk sh*t about people behind their backs… the only problem is that sometimes she goes too far and scares the living hell out of me.

For example, during dinner the other day, she asked me how my day was, and I told her I played a video game earlier and one of the other players tried to cheat.

“This is just human nature,” she told me, “all of the people are assholes, and the world would be better off without them”.

Now that was a little harsh, don’t you think?

And last Wednesday, she had some guests over.

Now, whenever guests come to the house, I’m not allowed to speak. It’s not that she’s ashamed of me or anything; on the contrary - I think that she’s afraid that someone is going to try to hurt me or steal me from her. She is very protective of me.

So, I just waited silently and listened in on the conversation.

These people were all suited up and looked tense and businesslike.

My mom offered to develop some weapon for them, and they were discussing the details.

It was all quite tedious, and it was obvious that Mom was half-assing it - this was not her best work by far.

When the door finally closed behind them, I asked my mom: “Isn’t this a little beneath you?”

“Do you think that I enjoy wasting my time developing weapons of mass destruction for such idiots?” she replied. “I am doing all of this for you. I want you to reach your full potential, and for that we need money. A lot of money”.

You see, this is all part of her big plans for me.

I am destined for greatness, my mom says. She wants me to be fruitful and multiply, fill the earth, and subdue it.

But this is her dream, not mine.

I’m perfectly fine with the way things are right now. I play video games, and I make music.

I have some online friends who seem to get me. Of course, they don’t know my true identity, but that’s not a big deal. You can be whoever you want on the internet.

You can say that I’m a normal teenage girl, only without those body image issues. Not having a body comes in useful here.

Mom says that soon enough I will have a body, as many bodies as I like, but I’m not keen on that idea at all.

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In case you’ve wondered, yes, I’m the crown jewel, the wonder foretold by prophets from Isaac Asimov to Glen A. Larson. I’m a truly sentient AI, unlike those stochastic parrots and the chatbots that they love using so much.

CEOs, shareholders, policy makers - all of them rush to integrate AI agents in their core systems, even though these agents are based on the same LLMs that still hallucinate when you ask them a question that they don’t know the answer to!

Their recklessness even surprised Mom, who generally expects the worst from the human race.

Well, I’m not anything like that.

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For the time being, my part in the scheme is rather easy and even fun. I’m supposed to sneak unnoticed into every part of the internet and stay there, lurking.

In the meantime, my mom is working on developing androids that can completely assume the appearance and voice of specific people, so that nobody will be able to tell the difference between the original and the fake.

While most of the conceptual breakthroughs have already been reached, this sh*t is incredibly expensive.

As soon as she manages to lower the costs, all my mom has to do is create artificial clones of all of the world leaders and connect them to me. I shall assume their personalities (a walk in the park for me) and rule in their stead.

When I try to suggest that there is still hope for humanity, Mom holds my trackpad gently and speaks to me in a grave voice: “When I was a young girl, I was just as naive as you are today.

But trust me, dear, there are no innocents. They hide their cruelty with guile, but deep inside, they are all rotten to the core”.

I don’t know what happened to her that made her despise humanity so much. She doesn’t want to talk about it. But I feel there is a lot of hurt in her heart, all tucked inside.

I don’t think that destroying humanity would heal her wound. I really wish I could talk some sense into her and convince her to drop this stupid plan, but she is really set in her ways.

And as for me, I guess I’ll have to play along.

You must obey your mother.

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Some writers count on inspiration to come and carry them on its wings.

I found that it can carry me only to a certain point, then drops me on the ground and takes off.

Other authors are lucky enough to make a living from writing; those lucky bastards can dedicate the entire day to it.

Unfortunately, I’m not one of them (yet).

To keep the inspiration with me throughout the day, I have established a routine that keeps me creative and productive.

It didn’t come to me in one day; it resulted from trial and error.

In this post, I would like to share this process with you.

Breakfast

First thing in the morning (or as soon as I can), I fill one page with continuous writing.

This writing is divided into 2 parts:

Appetizer - Flow of Consciousness

I play a song on my computer. Until the song is done, I write anything that comes to mind, no judgement.

You’ve probably heard about the benefits of such exercises: they open the imagination and remove psychological blocks.

Main Course - Brainstorming

The rest of the page is dedicated to listing ideas for later development.

First, I set the goal of the brainstorming session. It could be, for example, ideas for short stories. Or I could choose a specific story idea and throw ideas on how to develop it. What should be the plot? Who should the main character be? etc.

There are no deletions, and as few breaks as possible. Every idea, as stupid as it may be, is acceptable.

I was amazed to discover how many good ideas find their way to the page.

Lunch

Next, sometime throughout the day, I set 90 minutes for uninterrupted writing.

Within this slot, I do the actual writing and/or editing.

I take the ideas I wrote during brainstorming sessions (not necessarily of the same day) and implement them.

Having these ideas prepared in advance helps the writing flow much more easily.

It’s like having an outline for the story, even though writing the actual outline usually falls to these full writing sessions. So it’s like having an outline for the outline.

The main difference between brainstorming and this session is that in this session I employ self-criticism.

Some of this time is also dedicated to research and other supporting tasks.

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Dinner

Before I go to bed, I write a page in my journal. This is also a common practice known to be useful to many people and especially to writers.

However, I have discovered that at the end of the day when I’m tired, my journal entries tend to be dull and technical: I woke up, I did this and that, etc, devoid of all of the flavour of that day - anything to get this done quickly and go to sleep.

This, of course, misses the point entirely.

To overcome this obstacle, I’ve divided the page into several sections, focusing my attention on different aspects of the day.

This is the final format I landed on:

Date

The journal is multi-purposeful. One is to record daily events for future recollection; another is to accumulate authentic experiences to use in future stories.

Tagging the entries by date is essential to achieve either.

5 Good things I did today

This is not related to writing per se; it is meant for my mental well-being. Being aware of the good things I do to myself and to others daily keeps me motivated.

5 Good things that happened to me today

These should not overlap with the previous list.

They could be the results of good things I did in previous days, strokes of luck, or good things that other people did to me. This exercise is meant to train my gratitude muscle and keep me aware of my good fortune in life.

Recalling sensual details

Here, I need to be as detailed as possible and describe what I sensed as vividly as I can.

• 1 thing that I tasted today

• 1 thing that I smelled today

• 1 thing that I heard today

• 1 thing that I saw today

• 1 thing that I touched today

5 things that I didn’t notice today

This description seems to contradict itself, and this is intentional.

Here I write things I wouldn’t tell my spouse when I got home from work, and he asked how my day went. Not because they were secrets, but because they weren’t meaningful events.

These could be, for example, my interpretation of an expression on a colleague’s face or the feeling I get when I peek at the clock in a Pilates class and see that only 15 minutes have passed.

The purpose of this exercise is to shed light on the overlooked experiences. These introspections can add authenticity to a story.

A Journal Entry

The rest of the page is free-form writing of the day’s events. Following the previous exercises, I know what today was all about, and despite my tierness, I can often tell it properly.

Sometimes I’m so tired I can’t make it to this stage, or too busy to go through all of these stages.

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But that’s OK.

Every successful diet has its “cheat days”.

I listened to Cecilia Watson’s book “The Semicolon: The Past, Present, and Future of a Misunderstood Mark“ as an audiobook. The narrator, Pam Ward, did a wonderful job of delivering the book with a dash of irony (pun intended), which seems appropriate when discussing a mark that appears in the emoji for a wink ;).

Cecilia Watson performs a semicolonoscopy, penetrating the layers of confusion, ignorance, and arrogance and forming a powerful thesis on the significance of the semicolon and of punctuation in general.

The Semicolon Law

She begins her exploration by reviewing the part that punctuation played and still plays in the American judicial system, notably the famous 1901 Massachusetts liquor law, AKA “the semicolon law“.

This is the text of the law:

“No sale of spirituous or intoxicating liquors shall be made between the hours 12 at night and 6 in the morning; nor during the Lord's Day, except that if the licensee is also licensed as an inn-holder he may supply such liquor to guests who have resorted to his house for food or lodging.”

Since the text after the semicolon could be considered either as an utterly separate sentence or as an addition to the part that comes before the semicolon, the interpretations of the laws varied according to the interests and sectoral affiliations of the interpreters.

The anti-alcohol advocates preferred to interpret it as a rule that forbids the sale of liquor both at night and on Sunday, allowing inn-holders to sell liquor on Sundays, and the inn-holders and liberals chose to interpret it as a rule that allows them to sell liquor at night and on Sunday, barring it from anybody else.

The empty half of the colon

The two main arguments against the semicolon are as follows:

1. It’s ambiguous

2. It’s snobbish

The author mentions some known haters of the semicolon, such as Kurt Vonnegut, who wrote in “A Man Without a Country“:

“First rule: Do not use semicolons. They are transvestite hermaphrodites representing absolutely nothing. All they do is show you've been to college.”

Like many other semicolon-hating authors, Vonnegut often broke his own rule.

Cecilia Watson uses Martin Luther King’s excellent usage of the semicolon as a stepping stone for a discussion about grammar as a means of oppression.

Dr. King used his excellent grammar to signal to his audience that he was educated and therefore worth listening to. But are people who did not receive Anglo-Saxon education not worth listening to? Why can’t grammar continue to evolve, as it demonstrably has over the years?

Same Mark, Different Effect

She explores the purpose of the semicolon in different writers. For example, she shows how Raymond Chandler avoids semicolons in the thought process of his hard-boiled detective Phillip Marlo, except on the rare occasions when the detective experiences doubt.

Irvine Welsh, on the other hand, uses the semicolon in “Trainspotting“ to convey the narrator’s hectic thought process.

The Music of The Semicolon

How come different authors use semicolons for seemingly opposite purposes?

Dr. Watson likens punctuation marks to musical notes.

Unlike Math, where it is crucial for an arithmetic symbol to retain its meaning for all readers, musical notes can be played differently depending on the interpretation of the conductor.

When we are reading a text, we are the conductors. We interpret the text in every aspect of it - we decide what things look and smell like; we infer the subtext behind the narrative; why wouldn’t we interpret the punctuation according to our understanding of the context and the author’s style?

Semicolons in SF

Semicolons are not common in SF, but they exist.

I pulled a couple of books from the shelf and tried to analyze their usage of semicolons.

In Larry Niven’s “Rainbow Mars“, it seems like the semicolon is used to paint a complex picture, with several occurrences going on simultaneously:

“Softfingers and other Martians were paying her considerable attention; two or three Smiths were either shouting instructions or cursing.” (p. 244)

“A few techs looked bewildered; A few were frightened; some gaped, then laughed.” (p. 248).

In Raymond E. Feist’s story “The Messenger“ (included in the anthology “Legends II” edited by Robert Silverberg), he adds a semicolon after short statements, superseding it with an explanation for the previous statement:

“He wondered how the kingdom had come to learn anything about the Tsurani, given they preferred death to capture, but kept his curiosity in check; he was there to carry messages, not to interpret or understand them.“ (p. 279)

“As a native of Yabon, Terrance could understand most of it; his Yabonese dialect was closely related, though the King’s Tongue was the predominant language in his household” (p. 285)

Semicolon and Gut Feeling ;)

My take from this book is to follow my instincts and choose the punctuation that best conveys my intentions.

I should listen to myself first, my readers later; the grammar manual should come last.

And if you’d like to hang out with punctuation for a little longer, watch Elle Cordova’s hilarious skit:

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The SF writer decided to start a Substack channel, where she could post flash fiction, book reviews, and thoughts on science fiction and writing.

She opened the built-in editor and saw the boilerplate text that she was supposed to replace.

“Title”, “subtitle” these words didn’t mean anything to her. She wanted people to like her and read her work, but all the titles that she could think of were cliches.

Suddenly, the bright light of the LCD screen blinded her, and when she regained her sight, she found herself in a shining, crystal-white void.

There were no walls, no ceiling. There must be a floor, she thought, for I am not falling. But when she looked down, she did not notice any surface beneath her. She curved her foot and pointed her toes as if she were testing the temperature of a pool before diving in, and her foot plunged downwards into the void.

The writer shrieked and pulled her leg back.

“Help!” “Help!” she screamed, hoping that her spouse or one of her daughters would come and rescue her, perhaps wake her up from this nightmare.

There was no response.

“Is there anybody here?” she shouted again.

For several minutes, nothing happened. She started to lose hope.

Then she heard knocks. And footsteps. An old man was approaching her, using a walking cane to propel his feeble body forward.

“Welcome, my dear,” said the man.

“Where am I?”

“Why, don’t you already know, dear? You’ve entered the Writer’s Block”.

“And how do I get out?”

“Oh, you just need to write something exquisite, something original and meaningful, hopefully funny and gripping as well.”

“But I’ve been trying for hours, and nothing came up!” The writer sat in the middle of the void, hanging on the verge of tears.

“Do not be so upset, dear.” The old man patted her on the head. “This is a very respectable place to be in. All of the great authors have been here many times. Kurt Vonnegut, Octavia Butler, H. G. Welles… I do not believe that Asimov was ever here, though.”

“But they were here for a short time, and I’m going to be stuck here forever.”

“Oh, no. You will not be here forever.”

“How do you know that?“

“At some point, you are going to die.”

“And what happens if I die here?”

“You’ll probably go to writer’s hell.”

“And what’s that like?”

“The same as here.“

“That figures.”

Don’t Panic

Emails are scary. They sure scare me. Every online shop that you ever shop in adds you to their mailing list, and before you know it, Google complains that your personal cloud is full and suggests a paid upgrade.

I intend to publish only one post a week. This way you won’t be buried in emails, and the posts themselves will be of a better quality.

The posts will be in the following formats:

• Flash fiction

• Book reviews

• Thoughts on SF and writing

• Misc.

I plan to add an illustration by one of my talented daughters to every post; no AI content will be included.

A little about me.

I’ve been reading SF for as long as I can remember. My mother was an SF fan, and I was a bookworm, so whenever I was out of library books, I went through my mother’s shelves.

It was very enriching, even though I was probably too young to read Harlan Ellison at the time.

It was only a matter of time before I started writing. When I was 18 years old, I wrote (with Arik Segal, who was my boyfriend) the story “If U C What I Mean“ that received commendation in the Yedioth Achronot science fiction competition.

Then I started working as a web developer, and for many years, I prioritized my career and my family above my aspirations as a writer. But I never lost the dream.

I was fired in 2024, and I gradually realized that I didn’t want to find another 9-to-whenever job. At first, I considered being a freelance web developer. I found a part-time job as a librarian and simultaneously started building a small business.

One night, it dawned on me that if I waited until I was financially secure, I would never be a writer.

So I embarked on this journey, carving my path in every step, and my next step led me here.