[JMR202006092005: Backup]
Most of my attempts at writing novels have featured some permutation of myself in one or more of the characters. But I keep getting stuck trying to work the permutations out.
So I'm going to write this one featuring myself, beginning more-or-less as I was in November 1980. Maybe I won't get stuck telling this story.
Except the main character of this book is already making different decisions within the first several paragraphs of the first chapter. He seems to have finally learned his lessons from the missionary work by the time his term as a full-time missionary was done, so he can't really be me with no permutations. Can he? (I didn't. Did I? What missionary learns everything he needed to learn during the two years of full-time working as a missionary, anyway?)
Especially different, since he is going to instigate a second microcomputer revolution in this novel. That was definitely beyond me. He has to do some things very differently. And the people around him will be reacting differently, also, to make it work.
Now, you may ask why I waste the time to write this story, when everyone knows how things really ended, and this kind of story does not sell.
There are five reasons I write:
- I can hope that one day my children will read some of my writings, and come to a better understanding of their strange foreign dad.
- Maybe, even if not very many people read them, someone will profit from having read one of my stories.
- Writing, especially extended writing, helps me improve my ability to express myself.
- Writing fiction is like doing scratch calculations in math. It gives me a chance to explore ideas and choices the real world does not or did not allow.
- Writing can be therapeutic in other ways, too.
Now, in your doubts about such stories, you might remind me that God has told me to never look back. But this is not about me getting fixated on things I've done wrong.
No, this is in no sense a memoir. My journals are all in storage half a world away, so, even if I were writing a real memoir, the experiences, the people, the places, the events and the order they occurred, would all be from aging memory, and therefore diverge from what actually was.
So this is a scratch calculation -- What would have happened if ...
But I'll leave both premise and conclusion to the story to tell.
For the plot, the props and McGuffins, the world around him, etc. -- the context and the players all have to be tweaked in small and major ways to allow him to be as revolutionary as he needs to be to make the story work.
Names have been changed as well, because I don't want to ask permission from everyone, and, anyway, if the main character is different, so are all the rest. There will be parallels, but it's all mix and match.
Most public persons and corporations, institutions, communities, and geographical locations will appear by names you are familiar with, more or less as they affected me, but that really isn't who they were. So they aren't really the same either, especially as the novel proceeds.
But even with the name changes, even though it would move the plot forward faster, I guess I'd better not have him marrying someone I didn't in the real world. That really wouldn't be playing fair. Chika would complain.
If you find yourself in this story, I hope you won't take offense. It isn't really you.
Chapter 0 -- The Plane Trip Home
I sat in the darkened passenger cabin of the Boeing 747, numb to the pulse of the engines, the constant circulation of air, and the movie on the passenger cabin screen, half listening to random audio channels on the headphones, half dozing, sometimes looking at my scriptures open in front of me, sometimes at the Japanese paranormal science fiction novel to the side of them, sometimes reading from one or the other, sometimes thinking about my past, the transitions I had experienced over the last few years, and about the transitions ahead of me.
It was those transitions culminating in my return before I thought I was ready, but on schedule, that had left me numb.
My priorities and interests had changed significantly during the two years of my mission for the Church and for the Lord, from my plans for the work I would be doing throughout my life, to my ideas about the woman I had thought I wanted to share my life with.
When I was fourteen, I still had dreams fueled by the works of such as the Victor Appleton cooperative, and of real authors such as Robert Heinlein, of being a greater inventor than Edison. I was going to single-handedly bring about nuclear fusion, alchemy, space travel as common as air travel, terra-forming, and all the rest of what humanists think will save our society and civilization. And I was going to be a literal rock star bigger than the Beatles.
By the time I graduated from high school, I had seen through the illusions of the popular music industry, and, while I still enjoyed the highs of listening to music, I was no longer interested in promoting the idolatry. And I had settled on more modest plans of becoming an electronics technician working in a local shop of some sort.
During my mission, I had recognized that the freedom to exercise arbitrary choice and power in any field, including the mission field, were of the same fabric as the idolatry of the entertainment industry. And, where I had seen the emptiness of prescribed beauty before my mission, I had learned the fullness of the natural beauty of every individual.
During my mission, I had begun to explore the clues to the things that I would personally be called upon to do, or, in other words, the talents that I actually had -- as opposed to the talents popular literature influenced me to believe I should have had. Advanced math and its applications were evident in my heart, and I wanted again to dig deep into physics and electronics, but I also began to see some of the parallels between literature and math that my high school thesis-level English teacher had told us were there.
I'll make more mention of Beryl and others later. But in the final interview with the mission president, he had mentioned thinking ahead about what kind of woman I would like to marry -- not to set preconditions, but to attempt to shed light on the path ahead. And I had realized that three things were important to me, that I wanted to be able to share with the woman whom I would marry: the growing relationship I had been developing with God; Japan and the Japanese language; and technology. When I married, it would need to be with a woman with whom I could live without giving these things up, even if I might not expect to find a woman who shared all three interests.
There were three books on the table folded down from the back of the seat in front of me -- the Triple Combination we often carry which contains the Book of Mormon, the Doctrine and Covenants of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and the Pearl of Great Price along with some study aids; to the side of that, the new edition of the Holy Bible, King James version, containing the Old and New Testaments of the covenants the Creator of this world makes with His children along with the Church's footnotes and indexes, which had been a gift my parents had sent me while I was in Tokyo; and a novelization of Keiko Takemiya's science and neo-magic fantasy 地球（テラ）へ (Romanized as Tera he -- in English, Toward the Terra, or To Terra).
If you read Japanese, you may wonder at the ateji applied to the name of the novel. Marketing, we should suppose. Of course the neo-latin "Tera" would be more of a cool name for this earth than the literal reading of 地球、 "Chikyū". And of course I was reading the novel in Japanese, or trying to do so. But the scriptures were English. (My Japanese copies of the scriptures stayed in my shoulder bag beneath my seat for most of the flight.)
From time to time, I read, but mostly I was praying, still wishing the Lord would change something so I could stay in Japan. Something about the country felt more like home to me than my own homeland.
I was aware that the feeling might be an artifact of the intersection of my personality with Japanese culture and the dedication one develops to the missionary work, and that such artifacts are more projected than real. And the Lord had inspired me to commit to giving US culture a real try on my return.
I exhibit traits of what used to be called Asperger's syndrome -- sometimes called high functioning autism. I'm definitely on the spectrum, and I never really felt at home in the US until sometime after I returned from my mission. At the end of my mission, it felt like I was leaving a newfound home to go back to a home that never was -- not talking about my family, family is family, but the cultural "home" I was brought up in.
I think there were only three others from the twenty in my Missionary Training Center group with me on the flight from Narita to San Francisco. The rest were on different flights, some even leaving from the older Haneda Airport. Each of the four on this flight was lost in his own thoughts, and we didn't talk much beyond a few of the usual comments about the changes in life and our excitement and trepidation for the changes coming up, and about how much we would miss Japan.
Now, as I say, I had finally figured out what I was supposed to have been doing as a missionary, just in time to go home. And two years was the limit for a mission. Missions only got extended in very special cases, and then only for a month or two. I wasn't one of those very special cases. At the start of my mission, I had wanted to be one of those special cases. I thought it would be really cool to be asked to serve an extra six months or year. Or maybe just never be released.
I suppose I had thought that would be very validating, although the term "validating" hadn't yet entered my vernacular.
No, my help wasn't required in the mission home office. Never had been assigned there.
None of the people I had been teaching -- "my investigators" -- were depending on me to lead them to the next step. I had always been careful to try to make them God's investigators, not mine, anyway.
And I didn't have a large pool of people I was teaching. Nor was I some kind of especially exemplary missionary for the other missionaries to learn from.
By the time of the flight home, I was recognizing that the desire for validation was, in itself, a kind of lust, and not worthy of someone who was trying to serve the Lord.
By the end of my term, I was becoming more willing to not try to be superhuman, to accept whatever the Lord gave me, to be more willing to at least keep my mind open to the idea that I didn't need external evidence that God cared about me.
That is what the desire to be superhuman is, isn't it? For validation from God?
As a point of possible interest, while learning what I was supposed to do as a missionary, I had also begun to understood how my good intentions of trying to point people's hearts to God instead of to myself had been misinterpreted by many as not caring for them -- as being stand-offish and unfriendly.
I had changed my approach over the last two months, letting more my uninteresting (as I thought) self out when others were around, sharing more of myself, my arcane interests, and my unusual opinions, etc. with the people I worked and associated with and taught -- to the point of talking about such things as calculus with missionaries and Japanese young adults. I had even, on one occasion, walked a young woman in the Oyama ward through the basic steps of the swing. That quick dance lesson required physical contact with a member of the opposite sex beyond shaking a hand, and was technically against the mission rules. But this was me, and I was sharing, and I felt that I was helping other people more.
Now what lay ahead of me was to apply the principles I had learned on my mission, to quit hiding the peculiar aspects of my personality. I was to be an ordinary citizen with my personal peculiarities, and a regular member of the Church. There was no time left to apply those principles as a full-time missionary, but there was plenty of time to apply them as a full-time member trying his best to understand and live the Gospel.
Thus, I was to go home and continue being a missionary, but, now, being a missionary by setting an example more than precept, as I lived the life of an ordinary young adult US citizen member of the Church -- ordinary as far as my personality allowed. Ordinary, except I thought that I would no longer be trying to make the very ordinary mistake of being the first to give in to the social pressure of toeing the line of human dogma when my conscience, my connection to God, was telling me to do other things than what society was telling me was right, even when it would be the society of the outward Church -- the Social Church -- telling me what was right and what I should do.
And I was to try to figure out how to deal constructively with the misinterpretations others made of me.
As I dozed, I dreamed I was wandering around a building that reminded me of ancient Greek architecture: white marble columns, floors, and staircases; glorious lights, all whites, indigos, golds, and vermilions; no noticeable ceiling.
I wandered until I came to a room and a scene that seemed familiar. It was as if I was seeing a scene within a scene that I had seen before.
A shining young man was watching a three dimensional presentation of some sort. Apparently there was no need of a 3-D projector. At least, there was none in sight. I eavesdropped unobtrusively from one side.
I couldn't fully make out details of the scenes he watched. But I could see enough to understand that he was watching the general outline of the life he was called to live. I understood he was in what many call the pre-existent state, the state of the soul before birth.
He stopped at one scene and looked up. At this point I became aware of the man and woman watching over him, clothed in glorious white and light. He addressed them.
"I'm going to get this decision wrong. I know I am."
The man spoke: "Your decisions will be your decisions. You must accept that."
"I won't remember this. Isn't there something someone can do to help me get it right?"
Now the woman spoke: "What would you have to be done?"
"Can't someone be sent in a dream to warn me?"
The man spoke: "How would that not be cheating? How would it not be an abridgement of your agency, your responsibility to make your own choices based on the knowledge you yourself will have won from life? How could you then retain your freedom to receive the consequences of your own unprejudiced choices?"
Then the man and woman both turned and looked directly at me.
"Nevertheless, you are warned. All men and women must make this one choice many times in their lives. But to do as all men and women are assumed to do is not the best choice."
The young man looked around and saw me. His expression turned pensive.
"Beware the praise of the world."
And as the dream faded away, I thought I heard him continue, "The criticism of the world is the back side of the praise, also of no eternal value."
33209, an Alternate History of the Microcomputer Revolution
Joel Matthew Rees
Copyright 2020, Joel Matthew Rees
Chapters
- The Plane Trip Home
- Homecoming Dance
- A Christmas Present -- Micro Chroma 68
- School
- Micro Chroma 68 Lives!
- Possible Uses for the Micro Chroma 68
- Marion Had a Micro Chroma
- Wandering Eyes
- Bootstrapping, or Baby Steps
- Interviewing IBM
- Parameters
- Headwinds
- Storm Warnings, and Exercising Diskette Drives and Controllers
- Running Out of Electronics Courses
- A 1-bit Music Box on the Micro Chroma 68
- Electronic Data Processing
- BASIC
[JMR202006092005: End]
[JMR202001151859: Backup]
Author's Foreword
Most of my attempts to write a novel have featured some permutation of myself in one or more of the characters. But I keep getting stuck with the permutations.
So I'm going to write this one featuring myself, beginning as I was in November 1980. Maybe I won't get stuck.
Except the main character of this book is already making different decisions within the first several paragraphs of the first chapter. He seems to have finally learned his lessons from the missionary work by the time his term as a full-time missionary was done, so he can't really be me. Can he? (I didn't. Did I?)
Especially since he is going to instigate a second microcomputer revolution in this novel. That was definitely beyond me.
I don't have access to the details recorded in my journals, so even the trip home from the airport will end up different from what I experienced. Events, the world around him, props and McGuffins, etc. are going to differ from what I actually experienced in major and major ways. Still, I will be borrowing heavily from my own memories.
Names of people are changed because I don't want to ask permission from everyone, and, if the main character is different, so are all the rest. There will be similarities, but what those similarities might be is your guess.
Public corporations, institutions, communities, and geographical locations will appear by the names you are familiar with, more or less as they affected me, but that really isn't who they are. So they aren't really the same either, especially as the novel proceeds.
Even with the name changes, even though it would move the plot forward faster, I guess I'd better not have myself marrying someone I didn't in the real world. That really wouldn't be playing fair.
If you find yourself in this story, I hope you won't take offense. It isn't really you.
Chapter 0 -- The Plane Trip Home
I sat in the darkened passenger cabin of the Boeing 747, numb to the pulse of the engines, the constant circulation of air, and the movie on the passenger cabin screen, half listening to random audio channels on the headphones, half dozing, looking at my scriptures open in front of me, sometimes reading them, sometimes thinking about my past and the transitions ahead of me. My priorities and interests had changed significantly during my mission for the Church, from the work I had thought I would be doing in my life, to the woman I had thought I wanted to share my life with.
Mostly I was praying, still wishing the Lord would change something so I could stay in Japan. Something about the country felt more like home to me than my homeland.
I was aware that the feeling might be an artifact of the conjunction of my personality with Japanese culture, and that such artifacts are not real. And the Lord had inspired me to commit to giving US culture a real try on my return. But I felt a little like I was leaving a newfound home to go back to a home that never was.
I exhibit traits of what used to be called Asperger's syndrome -- high functioning autism, and I never really felt at home in the US until sometime after I returned from my mission.
Now, as I say, I had finally figured out what I was supposed to have been doing as a missionary, just in time to go home. And two years was the limit for a mission. Missions only got extended in very special cases, and then only for a month or two. I wasn't one of those very special cases. At the start of my mission, I had wanted to be one of those special cases.
My help wasn't required in the mission home office. Never had been assigned there.
None of the people I had been teaching -- "my investigators" -- were depending on me to lead them to the next step. I had always been careful to try to make them God's investigators, not mine, anyway. And I didn't have a large pool of people I was teaching.
By the end of my mission, I was more willing to just accept whatever the Lord gave me. More willing to at least keep my mind open.
As a point of possible interest, while learning what I was supposed to do as a missionary, I had also come to understood how my good intentions of trying to point people's hearts to God instead of to myself had been misinterpreted by many as not caring for them -- unfriendly.
I had changed my approach in the last two months, being more myself, sharing more of myself, my arcane interests, and my unusual opinions with the people I worked and associated with and taught, to the point of talking about calculus with Japanese young adults. I had even, on one occasion, walked a young woman member through some of the steps of the swing. That required physical contact with a member of the opposite sex beyond shaking a handshake, and was technically against the mission rules. But this was me, and I was sharing.
Now what remained for me was to apply the principles I had learned on my mission as a regular member. There was no time left as a missionary to apply them.
So I was to go home and continue being a missionary by example, living the life of an ordinary young adult US citizen member. Ordinary as far as my personality allowed. Ordinary, except in that I would be trying not to make the ordinary mistake of giving in to social pressure when my conscience, that connection to God, was telling me to do other things than what society was telling me, even if it were the society of the outward Church -- the social Church.
And I was to try to figure out how to deal constructively with the misinterpretations.
As I dozed, I dreamed I was wandering around a building that reminded me of ancient Greek architecture: white marble columns, floors, and staircases; glorious lights, all whites, indigos, golds, and vermilions; no noticeable ceiling.
I wandered until I came to a room with a scene that seemed familiar.
It was as if I was seeing a scene within a scene. A shining young man was watching a three dimensional presentation of some sort, and I eavesdropped from one side.
I couldn't fully make out details of the scenes he watched. But I could see enough to understand that he was watching the general outline of the life he was called to live. I understood this to be what many call the pre-existent state, the state of the soul before birth.
He stopped at one scene and looked up at the man and woman clothed in white and light who were watching over him. (I first noticed them as he looked up.)
"I'm going to get this decision wrong. I know I am."
The man spoke: "Your decisions will be your decisions. You must accept that."
"I won't remember this. Isn't there something someone can do to help me get it right?"
Now the woman spoke: "What would you have to be done?"
"Can't someone be sent in a dream to warn me?"
The man spoke: "How would that not be cheating? How would it not be an abridgement of your agency, your responsibility to make your own choices based on what you yourself understand? Your freedom to receive the consequences of your own choices?"
Then the man and woman turned and looked at me. "Nevertheless, you are warned. All men and women must make this one choice many times in their lives. But to do as all men and women are assumed to do is not the best choice."
The young man looked around and saw me. His expression turned pensive.
"Beware the praise of the world."
And as the dream faded away, I thought I heard him continue, "The criticism of the world is the back side of the praise, also of no eternal value."
33209, an Alternate History of the Microcomputer Revolution
Joel Matthew Rees
Copyright 2020, Joel Matthew Rees
Chapters
- The Plane Trip Home
- Homecoming Dance
- Christmas Present -- Micro Chroma 68
- School
- Micro Chroma 68 Lives
- Running Out of Electronics Courses
- A 1-bit Music Box on the Micro Chroma 68
- Electronic Data Processing
- BASIC
[Backed up at https://joel-rees-economics.blogspot.com/2020/01/bk-33209-2nd-Microcomputer-Revolution-Homecoming-TOC.html.]
[JMR202001151859: End]
[JMR202001041107: Backup]
Author's Foreword
Most of my attempts to write a novel have featured some permutation of myself. I keep getting stuck. So I'm going to write this one featuring myself, as I was in November 1980.
Except the main character of this book is already making different decisions by the third paragraph of the first chapter. He seems to have finally learned his lessons from the work by the time his term was done, so he can't really be me.
And I don't have access to my journals, so even the trip home from the airport will be different. Events, props, and McGuffins are going to have both minor and major differences, although I do borrow from my memories.
Names of people are changed because I don't want to ask permission from everyone, and, if the main character is different, so are the rest. There will be similarities, but what those similarities might be is your guess.
Well, a few public figures that I did not have any direct dealings with will appear more or less as they affected me, but that really isn't who they are, so they aren't really the same people either.
If you find yourself in this story, I hope you won't take offense. It isn't really you.
Chapter 0 -- The Plane Trip Home
I sat in the darkened passenger passenger cabin of the Boeing 747, numb to the pulse of the engines, the constant circulation of air, and the movie on the cabin screen, half listening to random audio channels on the headphones, half dozing, sometimes looking at the scriptures open in front of me, sometimes thinking about the transition ahead of me. Mostly I was praying, wishing the Lord would change something so I could stay in Japan.
I had finally figured out what I was supposed to have been doing as a missionary, just in time to go home. Two years was the limit. It only got extended, maybe for a month or two, in very special cases. I wasn't one of those very special cases.
I wasn't necessary in the mission home. Never had been assigned there.
None of the people I had been teaching -- "my investigators" -- were depending on me to lead them to the next step. I had always been careful to try to make them God's investigators, not mine, anyway.
Now I understood how my good intentions had been misinterpreted.
It remained for me to apply the principles I had learned as a regular member, no longer as a full-time missionary.
I was to go home and continue being a missionary by example, living an ordinary life. Ordinary, except that I would try not to make the ordinary mistake of giving in to social pressure when my conscience, my connection to God, was telling me to do other things.
And I was to try to figure out how to deal constructively with the misinterpretations.
As I dozed, I dreamed in was in a large building that reminded me of ancient Greek architecture. White marble columns, floors, and staircases. Glorious lights, all whites, indigoes, golds, and vermillions. No noticeable ceiling.
I wandered until I came to a room with a scene that seemed familiar.
A scene within a scene, a young man watching a three dimensional presentation.
I couldn't make out details of the scenes he watched beyond enough to understand that he was watching the general outline of the life he was called to live.
He stopped it at one scene and looked up at the man and woman dressed in white who watching over him.
"I'm going to get this decision wrong. I know I am."
The man spoke: "Your decision will be your decision."
"I won't remember this. Isn't there something someone can do?"
The woman spoke: "What would you have done?"
"Can't someone be sent in a dream to warn me?"
The man spoke: "How would that not be cheating? How would it not be an abridgement of your agency, your responsibility to make your own choices based on what you yourself understand?"
Then the man turned and looked at me. "Nevertheless, you are warned. All men and women must make this one choice many times in their lives. But to do as all men and women are assumed to do is not the best choice."
The young man looked around and saw me. His expression turned pensive.
"Beware the praise of the world."
Chapter 1 -- Homecoming Dance
33209, an Alternate History of the Microcomputer Revolution
Joel Matthew Rees
Copyright 2020, Joel Matthew Rees
Chapters
- The Plane Trip Home
- Homecoming Dance
- Micro Chroma 68 for Christmas
- School
- Running Out of Electronics Courses
- A 1-bit Music Box on the Micro Chroma 68
- Electronic Data Processing
- BASIC
[JMR202001041107: End]
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